Why There Is No Reason To Feel Wrong As A Highly Sensitive Introverted Person

Why There Is No Reason To Feel Wrong As A Highly Sensitive Introverted Person

Why there is no reason to feel wrong as a highly sensitive Introverted person. There are people who seem to be active all the time, who like to talk a lot, love meeting new people, exchanging ideas, communicating, partying all night in clubs that are too loud and with too many strangers.

Those who are absorbed in making and maintaining contacts and are rather at war with being alone. I’m definitely not that kind of person – that much I can say by now.

There’s been a lot of awareness-raising about introverts lately, and the vast majority presently comprehend that being an introvert doesn’t necessarily make you shy or unsociable.

Truth be told, numerous introverts are social individuals who love investing energy with a couple of dear companions. Yet, introverts get depleted rapidly in those social circumstances and need a lot of time alone to re-energize their energy.

If you’re a highly sensitive person (HSP), you’re considerably more liable to be a thoughtful person than a social butterfly. Dr. Elaine Aron, the author of The Highly Sensitive Person, estimates that about 70 percent of HSPs are also introverts — so it makes sense why they’re often confused for one another.

A highly sensitive introvert may appear to be exceptionally attentive, mindful, enthusiastic, and ready to peruse others well — despite the fact that individuals exhaust them!

But, I am not shy. And I will be lying if I say I live in harmony with that all the time and that it is totally okay for me not to belong to the active-communicative species that consumes sensory impressions with relish like I enjoy cooking my special meal on selected days and perceives social detachment as isolation.

The opposite is true: I celebrate the days when I can be alone with myself and my thoughts. Sometimes these are already too much for me – and further sensory impressions (caused by whoever) are more than out of place in such hours.

Silence as currency. Not to be weighed against any gold in the world.

I’m one of those people who has to process sensations for a long time and let impressions from the outside run through all the convolutions of his brain and through what feels like his entire body three times before he’s ready to process them communicatively.

I am the one who gets too much when he has to talk on the phone and for whom stepping out of the front door sometimes feels like setting off on a white-water expedition.

It often takes a long time for me to answer because the right words (in the sense of being accurate on both a logical and empathic level) don’t always want to slip to the tip of my tongue right away, and I involuntarily wonder whether the hesitation could be interpreted as slowed thinking, i.e. a lack of intelligence.

I am also the one who knows who he is (though not necessarily what he wants, but who knows), what he can and wants to be able to do. The one who has enough self-confidence to immediately recognise the injustice done to him and to be able to categorise it appropriately – and, if necessary, to react to it accordingly.

Shyness was a companion for a long time in my childhood – over the years, however, what has remained is almost exclusively introversion.

 “Of course, there are also situations in which I am shy – but they are not the rule and certainly not so dominant that they could function as a sign of a character trait”.

Why There Is No Reason To Feel Wrong As A Highly Sensitive Introverted Person.

There is a difference between introversion and shyness, because not every introvert is automatically shy.

I am not always shy when I am quiet. Although the two traits look the same from the outside, they feel fundamentally different.

Someone who is shy above all suffers from it and would like to be more daring. I usually feel extremely comfortable being quiet because I don’t feel the need to talk at that moment. I am primarily an introvert. But as a result, sometimes shy.

The key difference between introversion and shyness is that introverts who are not also shy are actually quite comfortable in their skin and with their behaviour most of the time.

It’s not just that they can’t go out partying three nights in a row and become best friends with you right after the first contact. They don’t even want to.

Why There Is No Reason To Feel Wrong As A Highly Sensitive Introverted Person.

Introverted: Enjoying being alone

As an introvert, I have an invisible wall around me – although this is again an inappropriate image, as it conveys the shell-like seclusion of a shy person.

This wall is perhaps better described as a semi-permeable membrane: some things can get in and out, others stay out (and in) (for now).

In my case, this means that people who are similarly quiet and not loud and energy-consuming (because they demand attention) are much more likely to get in and out. With them, a bond is established more quickly, the spark jumps over better.

Because you somehow understand each other and feel after the first sniffing that you don’t have to play the (in turn extremely energy-sapping) game of shallowly plodding conversation for the hell of it.

Whereas the bigger hunks are also at the same time those who are initially denied access to a little more impartiality because of the tension that the permanent social confrontation with them requires.

That sounds somehow discriminatory. Ultimately, however, it is a kind of reflexive protective mechanism that prevents me from overshooting the red mark with my energy budget, which is always on the edge of emergency reserves in the wild anyway.

Because on some days – as I described – it is already an achievement to go out among people.

And then to achieve communication in which one is classified as likeable (and not arrogant, depressive, or even shy) because of the conventionally prescribed openness and responsiveness – that borders on mastery.

And I notice again and again (and sometimes ignore this fact as purposefully as latently masochistically) that after socially active days I need at least one just for me.

To get thoughts and feelings off the rollercoaster and out of my head and do something productive with them. Usually, this flows into something musical and artistic – the classic form of processing.

Introverts enjoy being alone as a way to recharge their batteries, shake off the state of physical and mental fatigue that sets in after a busy, people-filled day, and find their center a little more again.

This distinguishes them from non-introverts, who quickly associate being alone with loneliness and often find it hard to stand the silence. But being alone only turns into loneliness when you connote it negatively – it’s a question of attitude, like so many things.

For me, being alone is a high form of happiness.

And then again this question: What is wrong with me?

Let’s not misunderstand each other here: Contrary to the quote above, as an introvert, I do suffer from being the way I am from time to time.

And I ask myself what is so difficult about being so supposedly easy and open and active and interested and constantly communicating through life. And why I can’t manage it – no matter how hard I try.

A progressive society – as it unfortunately quite often seems – has little or no room for introverts. They take too long, they’re not flexible enough, they don’t make relevant contacts quickly enough, and they come across as somehow solitary.

But in a world of teams, WhatsApp conversations, start-ups, and permanent sensory overload, it is precisely people who are sought after – also apparently – who can communicate quickly and build up (and drop again) bonds that pulse in time.

There is simply no time to dig deep and usually none for procrastination and emotional-strategic tactics. Ideally, batteries should not have to be laboriously recharged, but should always be ready for use. One hundred percent (100%).

And even in my immediate environment (the one that doesn’t know me closely), the behaviour I display sometimes seems disconcerting or even exhilarating.

If it becomes too much for me in the middle of an actually nice evening because I feel I can’t breathe, I can no longer concentrate on the conversation because my thoughts are doing capers and my emotions are dancing the salsa (regardless of who is sitting across from me), I noticeably withdraw.

And to someone who doesn’t know me, it may well seem as if I am suddenly disinterested or have said or done something wrong. Neither the one nor the other is the case.

It is simply that I would like to grab my coat and rush out the door. Fresh air! Clear head!

But most of the time it doesn’t work out the way I want it to, and I feel bound by the conventions of social coexistence, which at that moment seem far too rigid.

Nevertheless, in such moments the judgement machine in my head still starts rattling and whispers in my ear that I shouldn’t make such a fuss, at least pull myself together, what should people think.

As a result, I strain to remain socially compatible – and feel like the smile is stapled to my face. All my attention is focused on saying the right things, nodding at the right places and making appreciative/interested/astonished noises, and not giving the impression that this is all getting too much for me.

In such moments you can question yourself a lot.

Because sometimes you don’t want the other person to notice. And you actually find the other person exciting – and would like to be considered exciting (or at most attentive) yourself.

The effort involved in achieving one or perhaps both of these goals, however, is sometimes disproportionate. And that can be a real pain in the neck.

The path to realising that you are okay and perfectly right the way you are is a rocky one – whether you are introverted and/or highly sensitive or not. That’s no secret.

Still, sometimes I wish things would run smoother and more fluidly – and there’s little I can do about the fact that my brain’s central administration regularly labels me a mimosa.

I think the best way to make friends with introversion and sensitivity is (as with all things) to come to terms with it and accept what you’ve been given and actively use it for yourself and others. To see it as a gift, not a flaw to fight against.

Those who have fulfilled themselves in life – and given back to their family, society, and ultimately themselves – find meaning in their stubble.

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