In social settings, many perceive me as an extrovert. You’d see a lively and humorous woman who engages in conversations. However, when discussions veer towards trivial topics, I often become quiet and seek deeper, more meaningful interactions. As someone who embodies both introverted and extroverted traits, known as an ambivert, my experience has been complex.
Growing up, I tended to lean more towards extroversion but still cherished my alone time. My family is predominantly composed of gregarious, talkative individuals, and they often struggle to comprehend my quieter nature. They misinterpret my moments of silence as antisocial behavior, which is far from the truth.
I’ve realized that prolonged small talk frustrates me. At family gatherings, I often feel trapped in conversations that lack depth, leading to agitation and irritability. They might describe me as aloof or reserved, but I’ve stopped trying to clarify my personality to them. While they love me, they may never fully understand my ambivert nature.
Reflecting on my childhood, I wish I had recognized my dual characteristics earlier. Social gatherings often left me feeling uneasy, despite my participation in sports and theater. I would feel sick before events, yet once I was on stage or engaged in activities, I felt relief afterwards. I was labeled as a “people person,” a term I believed did not truly represent my feelings.
My mother, a true extrovert, often questioned my social habits during my teenage years. I had a couple of friends—one introverted and one extroverted—who supported different aspects of my personality. This pattern persisted into college, where I made friends with varied characteristics. I enjoyed the balance of quiet moments and lively outings, but by my twenties, I began to feel different from others who seemed to thrive in constant social environments.
As I matured, I started to identify more with introverted traits, especially when I discovered that introverts aren’t always shy. They can feel drained after socializing, often needing time alone to recharge. This realization helped explain my exhaustion after gatherings, an overwhelming sensation that left me feeling emotionally drained.
During family visits, I craved tranquility, but my childhood home was often filled with noise and activity, which heightened my stress. I sought out quiet corners to escape to, only to be drawn back into conversations that failed to captivate me. I found myself longing for solitude rather than family gossip or mundane discussions.
Eventually, I discovered the term “ambivert,” which accurately encapsulated my blend of introverted and extroverted traits. This understanding brought me relief and acceptance. When I explain my ambivert nature to others, they usually associate me with extroversion based on the times they’ve seen me more animated. However, ambiverts fluctuate between both ends of the spectrum, and in my case, I find more comfort in introversion.
As I grow older, my need for social interaction has diminished. I now have a few close friends and spend ample time in solitude. While my family may still not completely understand me, they have accepted my unique social preferences. I’ve finally embraced who I am.
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In summary, understanding my ambivert nature has allowed me to navigate my social world with more clarity. While my family may never fully grasp my personality, I’ve learned to embrace my unique blend of traits and cherish my need for solitude.