Have we ever met, you and I? If so, you may have come away with the impression that I’m soft-spoken, agreeable, and sweet. And I am, more or less–at least, until I get comfortable. You see, I’m an introvert, which means that most people only brush up against the protective outer personality I wear to keep my daily interactions with strangers and acquaintances simple, brief, and free of conflict. With few exceptions, only those who know me well (or know me drunk) have ever gotten a good look at my more nuanced, less pliant underpersonality.
I think extroverts sometimes make the mistake of conflating “introverted” with “detached,” “unopinionated,” or “meek.” But in fact, introverts experience the world around us with intensity, we care very much what goes on in it, and some of us deploy expletives with startling facility.
Not to generalize: I’m sure some introverts really are perfectly serene all the way through, but I’m not one of those. Anyone who’s spent enough time with me to see the outer layer start to peel away has probably seen evidence of this. I’ve been accused of bluntness, of not having a filter, of failing to think before I speak. These aren’t unfair characterizations. I do tend to overshare. I like things done the way I like them done, and I try to express my preferences unambiguously. My sense of humor has a distinct acerbity. I like to think I’m naturally analytical, but I’ve also heard it called “critical.” I’m as sensitive as the stereotypical introvert, but I don’t usually respond to hurt feelings by crawling inside myself; instead, I go on the lookout for ways to wound in return. Generally speaking, when I’m not shuttering myself against an awkward or unpleasant exchange with someone unfamiliar, I’m not very good at biting my tongue. Sometimes, I forget to even consider it as an option.
Because I don’t believe that this is a healthy way to maintain relationships, conduct business, or live my life (I’m sensitive on behalf of others as well as myself, and I’ve wasted many hours worrying about how something I said may have made someone else feel), this is something I try to work on every day. “Try” is the operative word, of course; I don’t always catch myself in time, and even when I do there’s a possibility that I’ll make an honest assessment of what’s about to come out of my mouth and decide to go for it anyway. But I do try. I absorb criticism as neutrally and silently as possible. If I know my response to something will be nasty, I think hard about what I’ll gain from making it; if the answer is only relief from irritation and a momentary sense of self-satisfaction, I keep it to myself. And when I’m tempted to criticize, I ask myself the three questions Craig Ferguson says his failed marriages taught him to consider before speaking: “Does this need to be said? Does this need to be said by me? Does this need to be said by me right now?”
Meanwhile, I’m training my soft-spoken, agreeable, sweet alter-ego to speak up for herself just a little bit more in the presence of strangers. It’s hard work, being around other people. No wonder we introverts gravitate toward solitude.
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