Introvert | this woman's work

Carpet Fuzz

Jun 172010

My head is spinning today.

I have pictures of green landscapes for my desktop background because green trees make me feel calmer. I read a study awhile back that said looking at the pictures doesn’t help as much as looking at the actual trees but it does help so that’s why I keep my desktop green. Of course the problem is that if I’m on my computer then I’m working and there are windows open but I can hide all my applications and just stare at the outside when I need to.

Here, I put all of my desktop pics (over 100? a little less?) in a zip file for you. (It’s nearly 63 mb so it might take awhile to download). And you can download it here for awhile.

Ok, you introverts know that being sensitive is fodder for teasing even as a grownup from grownups. People can’t believe that you are that annoying or that you’re not being prickly on purpose. I remember going on a roadtrip with friends that lasted longer than we expected. They wanted to get a hotel room and I told Brett that if we did, I couldn’t share. I was tired of them, tired of people entirely and knew that if we slept in the same room that I’d fall apart. I’ve got a tendency to shut down and be hostile as a protective measure and while I’ve gotten better at controlling this, twenty-ish years ago I wasn’t great at hiding my feelings. Well, one of the other couple was just furious that I wouldn’t share a hotel room and save on expense. When we stopped for gas, I pulled Brett aside to tell him I was serious about this — our own hotel room, please. And the angry person in the couple had followed us away from the car to hear what I was saying and then berated me for the rest of the drive home (I wouldn’t budge on sharing, the other person wouldn’t budge on not) and telling me all the ways I was an impossible, prickly person who enjoyed ruining everyone else’s good time.

It is true that I am often impossible and often prickly but I swear to goodness I don’t like being the spoil funner although I’ve been her my whole life.

It has been gratifying to meet other introverts who also dislike “fun” things like parades, carnivals, festivals, crowds, exciting cities, great parties, etc. etc. I have gotten better at doing those things and I can even enjoy them but it takes special care before and after and I have to get through a lot of dread beforehand. But you know how it is, people don’t believe you. How could you not enjoy this super fun thing??? How could you be such a drag once we’re there? Why do you have to ruin everything???

Introverts, in my experience, are highly sensitive in other ways. We can be randomly fragile people (although many of us are, I have found, awfully strong in the long run and I think that comes from all that practice we get steeling ourselves). We are used to having our feelings dismissed. We are used to people telling us to get over it. We are used to hearing it from people who love us and who are otherwise kind to us (like our parents and friends and family).

Here’s an example. When I was a kid — like a little toddling kid still in diapers — I was afraid of carpet fuzzies. You know, those little fuzzies that get up between your toes when you are a sticky-footed toddler walking on acrylic carpet. I don’t quite remember being afraid of them but I do remember sitting, looking at my be-fuzzied toes and feeling despair. (Sensory issues — I’m telling you, introversion is a sensory issue and lots of us introverts have other sensory issues, too.) My big sister used to throw fuzzies at me and it would make me scream.

Of course it’s ridiculous to be afraid of carpet fuzz and it’s ridiculous to feel despair at the way they wind their way around your toes. But I was about two. And when you’re two you don’t have a scope of reference. You are still fresh and new and small things (especially if you are perhaps maybe a little sensory impaired) can feel overwhelming. You don’t know that the despair of unrelenting carpet fuzzies is part of being new to the world and will — for most of us — wear off.

It’s still a family joke about me once being afraid of carpet fuzz and it’s still something my sister teases me about. I am, of course, no longer scared of them. (I can walk barefoot across carpet with the best of ‘em!) I’ve also long learned that there are much more frightening things than carpet fuzz and, too, I’ve learned that there is usually a light at the end of things and that I am unlikely to be permanently undone by temporary discomfort. Of course I’m forty. You can see how that’s a lot for a two year old to know. Anyway, it’s still a funny thing, this phobia I once had and it sums up — for me and for my family — the thin-skinned-ness of me. Not only was she impossible on road trips (getting carsick and so always getting a window seat while my brother and sister had to trade off on the middle), not only was she slow to warm and quick to cool, she was afraid of carpet fuzz. Well, that just says it all, doesn’t it?

Here’s a secret: I don’t actually think it’s funny yet. I mean, that I used to be afraid of carpet fuzz. Because I remember that despair and I remember how overwhelming the world is when you are small and learning and while carpet fuzz is indeed one of the sillier things in the world to be scared of, as a stand-in for all the uncontrollable mess of life in the mind of a 2-year old it makes perfect sense to me. I’m old enough to laugh along with my family when they bring this up because with time you realize that having the people you love not always understand you is a grown up version of carpet fuzz. Itchy and uncomfortable but only as hurtful as you let it be. (That is a very stretched metaphor but I’m gonna leave it because I need to finish this and make my kids lunch so we can get to homeschool park day.) So, you know, I laugh because it’s easier to go along with how funny my insane sensitivity is then to prove how insane it really is by taking offense.

This experience and all the zillions of experiences like it that I had growing up is why I’m a great listener when it comes to my kids feelings. I’ll admit, I’ve rolled my eyes with Noah’s clothing predilections when he was younger, but I worked to acceptance because I know how it feels to be lovingly dismissed. I don’t mean that my parents did anything wrong — they just didn’t always get me and really I’m not easy to get, (which is why Brett is stuck with me forever and ever and ever — I know a good thing when I’ve got it!! And we may not have a shower but my feeling about the shower now are nowhere near the feelings I had about fuzzies 38-years ago). So I work hard to get my kids. Frankly, I work my ass off at it. I don’t always get it right the first, second or third time but I listen and when Noah tells me I’m blowing it, I hear him even if it isn’t easy. (Madison hasn’t told me I’m blowing it yet but at 13, Noah has my number.) I take them seriously and they know it.

It’s because of the fuzzies, my friends. At least they ended up being good for something.

When people ask me if they should homeschool

Homeschooling 1 Response »

May 272010

I am not a hard core homeschool activist and I don’t strongly identify as a homeschooler. We homeschool and it defines our experience but it does not define my identity. (The kids, on the other hand, might say something different.) I also think homeschooling brings a whole lot of problems with it and if you don’t 100% (or at least 95%) believe in what you’re doing, those problems aren’t worth it.

Now we love homeschooling here. We’ve been very happy with out experiences so far. We’re also very one-day-at-a-time about it and as Noah heads into what will be eighth grade, I have no idea if he’ll homeschool for high school or not. (I know he wants to go to college and so next year we’ll be working on identifying his options to help him figure out how to do that.)

Here are the problems I’ve had with homeschooling (this is a very personal list and in no way assumes anyone else has or will have these particular problems):

Finances. We really need to be a two-income family and homeschooling limits our ability to do that. Fortunately I have a fairly portable career so this issue isn’t as daunting as it might be otherwise.
Time. Because we need to be a two-income family, I am constantly, constantly stretched. Honestly I think grad school would be a vacation.
Support. I have wonderful homeschooling support. I have wonderful working support. I have wonderful writing support. These three support systems rarely meet and for an introvert, juggling several support systems (not to mention adoption support, transracial support, Jewish support, etc.) is challenging. If I was less introverted or needed less support, this wouldn’t be an issue. But I am and I do so it is. There are days when I don’t fit in anywhere and then I’m lonely and self-pitying. Don’t worry — I get over it but I do have those very very bad days.

Like I said, I love homeschooling and I don’t regret our decision for a minute but it’s not for everyone. Usually I tell people who ask if they should homeschool that they should do whatever they want. Because if they WANT to do it, likely their kids will be fine. I think happy, loving parents tend to make for happy kids, generally speaking, and no one ought to be a martyr. The other thing I tell them is that school is there if they want it; homeschool is there if they want it. None of us has to make a definitive decision and I know many parents and kids who have gone back and forth depending on what makes the most sense right then. So it’s not as do or die as it sometimes seems.

Anyway. These past couple of weeks have been a lot more juggling than usual and when an already very busy parent asked me if she should homeschool the other day I said, “Well, probably not.” And I wanted to refine my answer a little bit. More like, “Who the hell knows. Give it a shot, what the heck. Or not. It’s all good.”

Quotes, love and the blues

Adoption, The Story of My Life 24 Responses »

May 242010

Quotes from Madison today

“Thanks for making that coffee cake. I am famished!”

“Can you get me my sunglasses? I want to bask in the sun for a little bit.”

Love

We babysat Roscoe on Friday; Noah adores him. He adores Noah right back and I’d say (although Madison would disagree with me then wander off because she thinks babies are a little bit boring) that of the four of us, Roscoe loves Noah best.

Pennie brought pizza and after a raucous, silly dinner she left to see a friend for a bit while we got Roscoe duty. Brett and Madison took off to run an errand but Noah opted to stay behind and keep on with his Roscoe adoration. We were lying around the family room watching Roscoe crawl over Noah’s legs and make scrunchy faces (for the sheer joy of watching Noah make scrunchy faces right back) when Noah said, “Why are babies so exhausting when you’re basically not doing anything at all?” I told him that mobile babies are stressful because they can so quickly get into trouble if you turn attention away for a minute and also Madison is right — they are pretty boring and the stressed/bored combination wears a person out.

Then Noah asked what kind of baby he was and what kind of baby Madison was and then he reminisced a bit about baby Madison and how good she smelled.

“Like formula,” he said fondly then lamented that Roscoe didn’t smell exactly the same way.

“He smells good,” he said. “But not like Madison.”

Then he asked me if Roscoe was a particularly interesting, fabulous baby and I said he was indeed an extremely nice baby but that the babies you love seem better than the babies you don’t love “And you do love him,” I said. And Noah sighed and smiled and then scrunched his face up at Roscoe again and said, “I know, I really really do.”

That evening we all sat outside in the rocking chairs while Madison raced up and down the driveway on her scooter and Roscoe slept all snugged up in a blanket taking turns in our laps and I thought, really? We get to do this? How did we get so lucky?

When Pennie came back, Roscoe cried the way babies do when they’ve been waiting waiting waiting ever so patiently for mommy to come home and are SO relieved when she finally does and it was thundering and lovely out. Madison ran out with her to the car in the rain and it was a very good night.

The Blues

My introvert overload hit me hard on Thursday night and I fell apart at the seams. It took all weekend to recharge and I still feel fragile and trembling. This week will be much much lighter, thank goodness. Related to this I was talking to Brett about my inability to do small talk. I’m not totally unable to do it but I have to work really hard at it; it takes terrific effort for me to keep a conversation light and casual. When I’m introvert overloaded I have an even harder time with it and sometimes I just can’t so I go stiff and silent. Better to not speak at all than be wildly intimate and inappropriate.

“So your husband works a lot of late nights? Do the evenings ever feel endless and you find yourself standing at the counter mixing up yet another pot of macaroni and cheese and wondering how in the hell you’re going to do it for one more night?”

Ok maybe not THAT bad but still.

I think this small talk issue might be because introverts like to have a few close friends more than they like to have lots of casual friends. Right now the nature of my life means I have lots of casual friends (most of this is because of the kids — I have a lot of casual friends because of the kids’ involvement in this or that. You know, you chat at the soccer field during games, stuff like that). So there are lots and lots of opportunities to make small talk and sometimes when I’m burned out I just can’t do it. I’ll hold my own for several social events and then hit a wall where I can no more chat with strangers than I could run a marathon. I’m just done. Depleted. Exhausted.

Which made me think about how introverts can often seem hostile when really we are overloaded and unable to participate with any grace in casual conversation and that for the overloaded introvert, the rest of the world seems hostile. which is why we’re hostile in defense. Like you go to a dinner party where you don’t know anyone when you’re already feeling a touch more introverted than usual and you walk into the dining room and you’re just SURE that no one wants to sit next to you or talk to you and then when someone does, you can’t think of what to say because you’ve lost your ability to chit chat so you mumble something and cross your arms and stare at your plate and let the conversation drop without grace leaving dead air in its wake and then the night kinda goes downhill from there.

I know you introverts know EXACTLY what I’m talking about.

But I can recognize my introversion for what it is and cut myself slack for not always being up to whatever social task is set before me. Hitting my limit is sometimes inevitable (end of year events came fast and furious over the past couple of weeks) and it’s a reminder to say no to things. Which is why I’m not going to Madison’s end of year pizza party for soccer tonight. Brett can have pizza party duty and he’ll enjoy it so even though he’s worried I’m missing out, I am gleeful that I will be alone alone alone for about three hours this evening. I think I will putter around the house. I’ve been so busy that the house could use some attentive puttering.

Living in a state of confusion

work work work 24 Responses »

Oct 132009

This is how introverts like to work: Self-directed, uninterrupted. Space to focus on one task at a time. Did I mention uninterrupted?

This is how I am currently working: LOTS of interruption (from other people in the office via email, from the kids CONSTANTLY). Multi-tasking (right now I have my Mac open for a design project and the work PC is open next to me so I can get emails from the office). Lots and lots and lots of random input from people actually charged with giving me input (coworkers) and people not at all charged but happy to weigh in (everyone else). And my schedule often up-ended when someone else decides the priority project needs to get moved in the middle of doing it and I need to work on something else unexpected.

My brains feel shredded by the end of the day.

I need some coping mechanisms and unfortunately the ones I’ve come up with so far (leave town and rent a cabin without internet access; join a monastery; refuse to read or answer work emails while at home; quit parenting the children between the hours of 9am and 4pm) aren’t feasible. And my office is a little nervous about telecommuting so I have less autonomy than I would if I was in the office.

I fantasize about Someday. Someday when I have peace and quiet and a home office with a door. Someday when I am not so exhausted from juggling input from dozens of people I’ll be able to write again. Honestly by the end of the day I can’t even look at the computer let alone type on it.

I know it’s not forever but sometimes it feels like it will be.

So I’ll ask the working introverts out there (I know there are a bunch of you who read me), what are your coping mechanisms working in an extroverted world? My biggest challenge is figuring out how to survive the constant interruptions, which aren’t going to go away so I need to learn how to live with ‘em. If you have advice, I’d welcome it (just not that I need to tell other people not to interrupt me because that’s not possible. My boss is an extrovert and is very chatty via email, phone, in-person.)

Being weird and homeschooling

Homeschooling 14 Responses »

Nov 072008

harriet4 Julia and I were talking homeschooling the other day (a big discussion/gentle debate) and she said, I like to think gently, that maybe I liked being the odd parent out and this had something to do with our homeschooling choice. You know, that much of my identity comes from going against the grain.

I’ve been thinking on this. It’s a charge I’ve had leveled at me before especially when I was a disgruntled teen with bad punk rock hair and questionable taste in clothes. It’s true that when I was a teenager that I reveled in my weirdness but that’s just it — I didn’t like to be weird; I was weird. And when I was a teen and grappling with my identity, I wanted to be very in people’s faces about it as teens will be.

So see, it’s not that my identity is wrapped up in being weird like a status symbol; it’s that I am who I am and I’ve learned to be proud of it as opposed to defensive and worried about it. Am I proud of being a homeschooler? Sure. I’m proud that we’re living out our values even though homeschooling has added to our challenges as a family (financially for the most part) and I don’t need that celebrated although it would be nice to have it accepted instead of questioned.

Back to being weird and how it relates to our homeschooling choices. I was an odd kid and pretty early on I figured it out as odd kids will do. It seemed like I usually wanted to do things differently than my friends or had interests that they didn’t share. I’m fortunate that I wasn’t the kind of kid who got harassed much and I’m sure part of this is that my mom (and I think my dad) like me an awful lot and told me so. What made me weird, I learned early on, was also what made me special so I never wanted to pretend to be something I wasn’t.

I think when it comes to intrinsic weirdness having confidence is what saves you from getting harassed. Also as introverted as I am (and this introversion certainly contributed both to my weirdness and my school misery), I do like people and my social skills were always good. You know, “plays well with others” and stuff like that. I’ve always had close knit friends and generally get along with people and my unhappiness with the social world at school had to do with the way I saw it and experienced it and not with how I was treated.

There are two bullies that stand-out in memory — one being some random kid in Chicago who used to follow me home from school and wash my face in the snow. I don’t know how it started or how it ended but I remember the feeling of trying to get across the wide open field between the school and our house during the blizzard of ’78. The snow was too deep for me to get across quickly, so I’d struggle huffing and puffing and praying he didn’t catch me. The other bully was in middle school, one Eric Bielke who was a big, dumb, mean guy and who had it in for me for reasons I still don’t understand. He’d wait for the Home Ec teacher to leave and then threaten to strangle me. But mostly I had my friends and things were fine as long as I was comfortable with feeling awkward, which I learned to be. Which is to say, again, that my misery wasn’t social misery.

Some weird kids, they have charisma and can wear their weirdness to the top of the pack (my first boyfriend, Joaquin, was one of these). But the rest of us have to make some choices: