Yesterday I couldn’t lift my head up. I spent the day trudging through my chores and feeling all was wrong with my world. I couldn’t figure out what it was because it was absolutely unconnected from the actual happenings of my life; I had no reason to be sad. Finally I came to the conclusion that I was strung out from a busy week ending with a very busy Friday.

I’m a classic introvert. I pretty much would always rather be home with my family (and sometimes without them) than socializing — even with people I adore. When we lived in Portland I had a coffee routine that I dropped as soon as the counter people started recognizing me and chatting me up in the mornings. I dread events where I have to meet new people. Thursday night, before my big meeting day, I dreamt about the people I was meeting because I fret in my sleep. Sometimes even my bulging email inbox feels invasive.

But I fake it. My mom thinks I learned to fake it early on because I was sandwiched being two extroverts. That could be true. I think both my parents are introverts, too, although I think my dad is like me and has learned to operate as if he isn’t. (I think this because as outgoing as he is, he’s pretty studied about it.)

Faking extroversion comes at a cost. From the nighttime anxiety in the days leading up, to the heavy emotional come-down the day after, I pay in spades. But such is life. I just need to learn how to manage it. Like scheduling alone time to recharge and reminding myself when all seems dire that I might just be wrung out from a very busy week.

Still. It’s hard. It’s hard before and after and it’s sure hard during. Sometimes my worries during a meeting make me act more boisterous than I feel and not always in a good way. (It’s yet another reason I’d never never drink at anything even marginally work-related and hardly any other time either — I’m already operating slightly impaired. But I love it when everyone else is a little drunk because I count on their fuzzy thinking to soften my rough edges.)

I’m just thinking on it since yesterday was such a bad day and it was my first free day after a rough and tumble week. I need to learn how to cope with it better and recognize the gloom for what it is. (I wanted to work on a business plan yesterday but was feeling so down that I knew it was a bad idea to try. I took the day off from work entirely since anytime something work-related crossed my mind I got pointlessly teary.)

The world is built for extroverts since, after all, they’re 3 to 1 to us shyer types. People look askance at those of us who would rather be alone and don’t always understand why we can’t meet for coffee straight from some other event. And the business sphere is definitely made for go-getters. I want to be successful, which means learning to go against my natural inclinations (I’m hoping that at some point I can cut back on all this moving and shaking though — I’m putting in the work now in the fervent hope that I won’t have to do it as much later.)  The result is that people don’t believe me when I tell them I’m shy. Granted I say it while we’re chatting it up in a crowded room where I seem to be a fun-loving gal with an always ready quip. So it’s hard to believe it when I tell them that I’m sweating through the back of my shirt and feel like bursting into tears — especially when I say it with a smile.

The saving grace for me — and I think it’s how my father operates — is that I know that my public self isn’t really me (it’s my stage persona), which makes me feel protected somehow. The challenge, at least, is interesting to me. I do like to push myself.

I may put my brakes on my bike when I’m rolling downhill and be terrified of going in water over my head and I may be too scared to put on ice skates or roller skates (i.e., I am a total physical wimp) but when it comes to stepping outside of my emotional comfort zone, I kick ass. I try to take some pride in that — gear myself up by delivering an internal inspirational speech before heading into a meeting. But until I learn how to deal with the draining come-down, I’m only half-way there.

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