Hello. My name is Michael John Bertrand, and I am an introvert.

{SFX : Crowd saying “Hi, Michael!”}

I am not at all sure why that is a confession. I have certainly never consciously thought of myself as anything else, as far as I can tell. If you had asked me at any point in my adult life “Are you an extrovert?” I would have said “No”, or more recently, “No, but I am somewhat more extroverted than some introverts”.

I even accepted the I in INTJ (my Myers-Briggs personality type) without the slightest question or hesitation, and that I stands for Introverted, no ifs, and, or buts.

I have been shy and dreamy my entire life. I have always been very sensitive and bookish, and not terribly driven to explore the world when I could just stay home and read in comfort and safety.

And as if there could be any doubt left, I am currently semi-housebound from the deep effects of social anxiety disorder, which could easily be described as introversion to the point of pathology.

So why does simply saying “I am an introvert” make me feel like I am confessing a terrible, shameful secret, one that I should never confess to anyone, ever? Why do I feel so vulnerable and exposed when I say I am an introvert? What has this artificial space between what I know to be true and what I admit to myself and to others been protecting me from?

Because obviously, part of me is just not prepared to wear that label. As I type this, I feel an intense resistance to this entire process, and it is this resistance which fascinates me, and which suggests to me that there is something worth exploring in this unexpected cognitive gap.

So why the resistance? Certainly, in some circles, there is a stigma attached to introverts. We are seen as aloof, anti-social, unfriendly, and worst of all, broken. Defective. The assumed normal level of sociability and gregariousness of society is placed quite above what introverts feel comfortable with, and hence throughout our lives, we are made to feel like there is something wrong with us.

So that certainly must be part of it. As much as us smarty pants intellectual types like to occasionally think we live in self-made towers of independence, apart from and above the influence of the madding herd, the truth is that we are as much a product of our culture and the value messages we all absorb from our social milieu as naturally as a fish takes a drink of water, and so I have likely absorbed all kinds of messages about how weird, unfriendly, and just wrong I am for not being like the other kids.

But I think it goes a lot deeper than that with me. I think it cuts all the way to the bone, and I think I am beginning to understand why, and how.

I think that deep down, I feel like I cannot afford to be anything less that completely friendly and easy to get along with and affable and sociable, because in my mind, I am a horrible person who does not deserve to have anyone get close to him, and therefore I have to try as hard as I can to charm and beguile and entertain and impress people, because almost nobody pays any attention to me anyhow, so I have to be ready at all times to make the most of any opportunity to get the attention I crave so badly. If I dance fast enough, maybe I can get people to pay attention to me for a little bit longer.

Faced with a vast and aching need for attention like that, it’s no wonder that I don’t feel like I can afford to be choosy, to have limits, to put barriers between myself and others, to give myself full permission to be grumpy or out of sorts or simply not feeling sociable sometimes.

The reality is, I am not all that friendly a guy. I am an introvert, not the life of the party. I like small groups of close friends over large groups of shallow friends. I shun the bright, loud, hot, busy places and prefer the shady, quiet, cool, calm places, both in the world and in the world of the mind.

And there is nothing wrong with not really wanting to associate with a lot of people. Most people, if you really look at it, only really get along with a narrowly defined band of the larger population. Why should I feel bad for not being any different?

I can still think of myself as a friendly and likable guy without surrendering my right to pick and choose how and why I associate with people.

I give myself permission.