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My
experience of being introverted by N.
When Nancy asked me to write my story as an INFP for her website, I had to think about it. I hesitated because I could still hear the little voices in back of my head. They would ask, “Do you want people to be convinced you’re crazy?” Despite those little voices, or perhaps in spite of them, I decided to do it. I think the process will help me, if only to lay claim to a few things I haven’t been able to before - providing I can ever get this thing to read as I think it should. I keep thinking, “Oh! I should have said…” or “I need to add…” I’ll try not to re-write War and Peace but I’m not making any promises.
I first took the Myers Briggs test in a psychology class over twelve years ago. It told me then I was an INFP but I guess I wasn’t ready to do anything with it. I basically took the information and said, “Okay, so?” It wasn’t until the last year or so I decided to actually begin looking into what it meant to be an INFP. Of course, I took the Myers Briggs again just to make sure nothing had changed before I started. According to what I’ve found so far, it explains a lot. I just figured I was a strange kid.
In many ways, my childhood was an ideal one for an introvert. I was an only child and there weren’t many other children nearby in the neighborhood. I had a lot of time and space to be myself without being bombarded with too much stuff from other folks. I read a lot, worked on my artwork and roamed the woods – usually with an entourage of cats or an occasional dog or two - when I wasn’t in school.
I grew up on what I called my very own “Hundred Acre Farm” and like A.A. Milne’s Christopher Robin; I had an animist view of all my stuffed animals. I remember one particular little rabbit friend who had white and silver fur. I took him with me one day as my mom and I went for a walk in the woods behind the house but didn’t realize when we stopped to sit on a small limestone bluff, I had left him there. I looked everywhere I knew to look for him but he was nowhere to be found. I didn’t find him for about a week, when we went back to the bluff. I felt so guilty for leaving my poor friend out in the woods for so long, especially since it had rained and he was still damp. I apologized to that rabbit over and over and kept him in my sight for days afterwards. I felt I had let him down, for both leaving him in the first place and then not finding him sooner. I wanted to make doubly sure he forgave me. I think he finally did…after sulking for a long while.
Being a woods sprite as well as a bit of an animist is something that never totally went away. I think it influenced some of the paths my life has taken. I have leaned toward Pagan and shamanic paths, many which also take an animistic view. They say the rocks, trees and critters of the planet have things to teach us, if we only stop to listen. They also taught me some tricks I wish I had known as a child, for they would have saved me a lot of grief and fear.
You see, there were a few movies, as well as my own imagination, that worked me over when I was a kid. I lived in terror because of these things. Whenever the wind howled as it hit the house, I was sure it was some horrible critter letting me know it was there. It didn’t matter if it was there to eat me or what – usually just the knowledge of it being there was enough to nearly do me in. I wish I had known I could do something as simple as making a “monster repellant” spray, or a small ritual to “seal” the room and keeping the monsters out.
There were other things that caused some grief, though. It was usually for simply being myself. School, in itself, wasn’t so bad and I liked learning. It was the students who I didn’t understand many times and evidently it was mutual – “weirdo,” “strange” and “moody” were things I heard fairly often. P.E. class was often a trial; especially on days we played games like softball. Everyone else played regularly in the town league or with friends and therefore knew the rules. I didn’t. I was usually getting yelled at for doing things I didn’t know were against the rules of the game. I remember one day I was reduced to tears, simply because someone said, “Really! How many times have you played this game?” My answer: “Never.” I felt penalized because the instructors simply assumed everyone knew the rules and never bothered to explain them.
Dodgeball was a brutal game but it was the one I did learn to excel in. I have to admit I took special glee in being able to catch the balls the bullies threw at me. They threw them as hard as they could and I still caught them. It became a personal challenge to catch those things. It did hurt but it also showed I wasn’t going to be pushed around into being something more comfortable for them. I guess I have always been stubborn like that.
I don’t know exactly what to say about being an adult INFP. I’m thirty-four now and I’m still figuring that out myself. I spend a lot of my time alone, usually out in my garden when I’m not working on a painting or studying. I still feel the most at home in the woods and always have cats around - twelve at the moment. They are part of my chosen family. In February, I lost my oldest cat. I had raised him since he was a day old and it nearly killed me when he died. He was a month and nine days short of his eleventh birthday and he was the closest thing to a son I will ever have. We looked out for each other and his character judgment was much better than mine. It’s been six months and I still expect to see him coming up the path or think I need to let him in at night. I think I will always miss him.
Although I spend a lot of time alone, I don’t shun the outside world. I am pretty fond of some parts of it. I am working toward my fine arts degree at a local college. I am a sometime ghost hunter, although my membership with a local group has lapsed due to my college classes. I go to a little movie theater in town quite a bit. Not only does it show five-dollar movies, it has bonus points for being a restored theater from the twenties, complete with the original seats. I also go to the occasional concert, especially if the Cure is in town.
I usually have to prepare myself, though. One great technique I use is to envision a bubble surrounding me, creating an insulating barrier of sorts. It is tiring to keep the bubble constantly in mind so I envision it as being constantly renewed by sunlight so I don’t have to worry about keeping it up. Sometimes, I envision it taking all the craziness around me and converting that energy into its own power source, becoming stronger and more protective. This shielding technique keeps me from feeling as if I am bombarded all the times by excess energy of the Wild Ones (or extroverts) of the world. I still get tired but I don’t get completely exhausted…usually. I still get irritated if someone insists on making a complete conversation out of the price of grapes or how the latest marriage of so-and-so is in trouble. I have never mastered the art of small talk. It just seems like a complete waste of time and energy. I work on being able to do a little of it but honestly, it’s not much of a priority.
Well, that’s it. That’s my story. I’m an INFP. Being an INFP isn’t the sum total of my being but rather another piece of the puzzle that makes up the picture of who I am.
