Life as an introvert can be challenging in ways that many people might not understand. My journey into introversion began at a young age, shaped by experiences that left a deep mark on my personality and how I interact with the world.
When I was a child, around 6 or 7 years old, I was a happy and talkative kid. I was full of energy, always eager to engage with the people around me. My father worked abroad, and life was relatively stable until one day, my father decided to take my mother with him overseas. My mother, worried about leaving me behind, expressed her concerns. However, my father insisted that I could stay and study in a hostel. I was too young to have a say in the matter, and my fate was decided for me.
My mother left me at my aunt’s house, a place that was unfamiliar and unwelcoming to me. I didn’t know my aunt well, and suddenly, I found myself in a situation where I was surrounded by strangers. This marked the beginning of a significant change in my life. I started to talk less, retreating into myself as a way of coping with the overwhelming loneliness and fear. The once happy and talkative child slowly faded away, and in his place was a quiet, introverted boy who struggled to express his emotions.
Being an introvert, especially one with social anxiety, is like carrying a weight that others can’t see. When I go to the store or interact with people, my mind races with thoughts of how I might embarrass myself. My heart beats faster, and I feel a tightness in my chest. I have a stammer, which only makes things worse. Simple tasks like asking the shopkeeper for an item or inquiring about the price become monumental challenges. The words get stuck in my throat, and it takes me a long time to say them. Most of the time, people laugh or smile, not understanding the struggle I’m going through. They might see it as something funny or awkward, but for me, it’s a moment filled with dread and frustration.
When I’m with others, they see me hesitate, stumble over my words, and struggle to keep up with conversations. They might offer a smile or a look of pity, but no one truly understands the depth of my anxiety and discomfort. It’s a lonely place to be, feeling like you’re different from everyone else, like you’re not capable of doing the things that seem so easy for others.
I’m now 23 years old, and I still face these issues daily. But I’ve learned to cope in my own way. I remind myself that people don’t really care about what I say as much as I think they do. I avoid looking directly at the shopkeeper’s face, knowing that if I do, the anxiety will only intensify. I’ve also accepted that this is who I am. I can’t change the fact that I have a stammer or that I’m an introvert, but I can change how I deal with these challenges. If someone has a problem with the way I speak or behave, that’s their issue, not mine.
Being an introvert is not just about being quiet or reserved. It’s about navigating a world that often feels overwhelming and unforgiving. It’s about finding ways to express yourself when words fail you, and learning to be okay with who you are, even when others don’t understand.
