In elementary school, I was often deemed quiet, shy, or even withdrawn. My first grade teacher, Mrs. Cypert expressed concern to my mother during a parent teacher conference that I spent my recesses wandering around the playground without interacting much with the other children. She wasn’t the only teacher to worry that my seemingly antisocial behavior was indicative of a bigger problem. I, on the other hand, was perfectly content in my own little world, simply doing what felt right to me. Evidently, I was not meant to be a social butterfly.

My introverted tendencies have been a part of me for as long as I can remember. Most of the time, they are not crippling to the degree of serious anxiety disorder. Speaking with other people for an extended period of time, especially with groups or those I do not know very well, can be mentally exhausting for me. Minor insecurities become major concerns, and I find it nearly impossible to not repeat every conversation in my head, recounting all of the things I could have said better. Certainly, not all introverts are alike, and everyone has different degrees of tolerance for social situations, but mine is usually fairly low. I find calm and renewed energy in spending time on my own. I feel overwhelmed and over-stimulated if I do not give myself time to be alone for at least some portion of the day. I have come to realize that this is just the way in which I operate, and that in order to function at my full potential, I need to respect my own boundaries. However, being such an introvert does not come without its complications.

Like any other person, I instinctively prefer to avoid negative experiences and emotions when possible. For me, this means that I usually do not look forward to situations in which I will be around people whom I know. The prospect of a polite “Hello,” evolving into a full blown conversation scares me because I know I do not have quite the social stamina as my peers. When these types of interactions are as stressful as tests, homework, and essays, my gut reaction is to limit them when possible, even though I may feel guilty about it.

These feelings build a wall around me. Brick by anxious brick, I am surrounded by an enclosure distancing myself from others. I am capable of climbing the wall when necessary, depending on the circumstances. Things like polite small talk and chatting with a close friend or family member do not require as much effort to vault over the wall. Speaking with anyone else can be more difficult, depending on a number of factors such as how long, and what topic we are speaking about. I can certainly pretend that the wall is not there when necessary, like during an interview. The wall can change in height according to the situation, but it is always there, a constant. Afterwards, the wall pulls me back behind its confines, and this time I willingly comply, relieved to finally be alone.

This wall is both my refuge and my enemy. It allows, or rather, forces me to retreat to my comfort zone when I am overwhelmed by social situations. But it also serves as a barricade blocking me from developing many potentially great friendships. While keeping to myself helps me to feel calm and safe, it can also be isolating.

Nowhere has this reality been more apparent than in starting college. Most of the time, I prefer to stay within the protection of my dorm room walls. But even when I venture outside of my room, the wall of introversion still follows me. I spend a lot of time hoping that no one recognizes me so that I am not obligated to speak with them. It is not that I am not fond of the people in my life, but I just find it draining to be around others as much as the average college student might prefer.

A nearly obvious result of my behavior is that I have not made many solid friendships in my first seven months at university. I have become friends with a handful of fellow students, but I highly suspect that those people consider me to be only an acquaintance. This is my fault because I am generally too uneasy to devote the amount of attention to a friendship needed for it to grow.
I admit to being terrible at responding to texts or Facebook messages on time. I rarely feel comfortable enough to make plans with friends. As incredulous as it may sound, these things cause me an amount of stress and discomfort that does not seem to outweigh the enjoyment I am “supposed” to gain from it. Furthermore, I rarely feel comfortable disclosing these thoughts to possible friends because that puts me in a vulnerable position in which I may not be understood or taken seriously. Cultivating friendships takes a level of sociability that I often am not in a position to provide.
I realize that some may dismiss these concerns as the result of trivial over-thinking or a small confidence deficiency that a simple pep talk can cure. Since most people do not feel the same way as I do about social interactions, I have to understand that such suggestions come from a place of wanting to help. But please believe me when I say that I have tried just about every tactic to calm down and expand my comfort zone that one might expect to find in a teen self help book. I have accepted that being so painfully shy is just a part of my natural state of being.

The wall is there for a reason; it keeps me from putting myself in too many situations that could leave me emotionally burned out. But I have to find a balance between viewing the wall as my protector and viewing it as an obstacle to be challenged. I have no interest in somehow morphing myself into an extrovert; I believe that would change a fundamental part of my personality. But I also need to place more value in what lies on the other side of the wall. Meaningful interpersonal connections require effort. Such effort does not come easily for me, but friendship is worth the work.