Jim’s Blog

There is nothing wrong with being extraverted.  More than half of the population is.

Being extraverted means you’re probably more comfortable meeting new people, being in crowds, and making new friends than are more introverted people.  You may be the one that moves a group into action. 

Being extraverted does not mean that you never want time to yourself.  It means that when you feel depleted, you re-energize yourself by spending time with others. 

As an extravert, you are more likely to express how you’re feeling, but you may get confused about what more introverted people are thinking or feeling.  It’s easy to take their silence personally, imagining that they’re snubbing or rejecting you.  This is rarely the case. 

If you are worried or unsure of what an introverted person wants, ask!  You’re not expected to be a mind-reader, and the other person will probably like that you’re interested. 

It’s not your job to make sure the introverted person is enjoying himself.  You can invite that person to join you; if he says no, trust that he is taking care of himself.   When you try to be “helpful” by continuing to draw out someone who has declined your invitations, you can become a hassle to that person.  He may accordingly withdraw further to avoid being “helped” further by you.

It is easy for an extraverted person to feel analyzed or judged by someone who is quieter.  Although it’s true that introverted people tend to be keen observers, he is no more likely to be judging you than is another extraverted person.  Realize that assumptions about an introverted person are nothing more than that until you ask questions to find out whether or not the assumptions are true.

Realize that introverted people tend to be more comfortable in more structured situations where they know what the expectations are.  For example, an introvert may enjoy himself more playing a game or going to a movie than “just hanging out.”  

You may find yourself naturally wanting to make new acquaintances.  This is fine, but don’t forget to follow up on connections with people that you want to know better.  Just as introverts sometimes have to push themselves to increase the number of people they meet, you may need to push yourself to choose only a few of your relationships that you want to deepen.

In general, extraverts can feel insecure when they do no get the response from others that they are expecting or want.  Remember that you are just fine as you are, without approval from anyone else.  Be careful of focusing too much of your self-worth on how others respond to you.

There is nothing wrong with being introverted.  Nearly half of the population is.

As an Introvert, you’re probably a good listener and you notice a lot.  These are valuable skills that people admire.  Building deep, trusting relationships is probably easier for you than it is for more extraverted people.  You may be more independent and more content doing things on your own.

Being introverted doesn’t mean you never want to have fun, be loud, or socialize.  It just means that the way you relax and refuel is to have time by yourself. 

Having time to yourself is essential.  Make sure you have this time; explain to those around you if you must that being by yourself is not about them.  It’s about you re-charging so you can be in the world.

It’s O.K. to want to do your own thing.  It’s O.K. to want to be alone or with just one or two other people.  It’s O.K. to be at a social event and not say much.   It’s O.K. to do something different from what the rest of the group is doing.

As an introvert, you are less likely than extraverts to express how you’re feeling.  That’s O.K., but it means that the people around you may have to guess about what’s going on inside you.  And they often guess incorrectly.  Introverts have to put up with being thought as shy, angry, proud, stuck-up, sad, strange, serene, judgmental,  uptight, tired, out of it, or socially awkward.

Of course, you may at any given time be feeling one of more of these emotions, but it is annoying to have others assume that is what you’re feeling.  Unfortunately, if you don’t tell others what’s on your mind, they’re going to make assumptions.

You may feel pressured to act a certain way rather than do what you want because you’re worried about offending or disappointing others.  Doing so makes you resentful and withdrawn, and the whole problem gets worse.

To avoid feeling resentful of or controlled by others, accept that being introverted is O.K.  Others will look to you to see how comfortable you are in your own skin.  If they sense that you think your introversion is a problem, then they’ll see it similarly.  If you seem at ease, then they probably will be too.

When going to a party, remember that few people immediately start having fun.  Give every party 20 minutes; if at the end of that time, you still are uncomfortable, then you may leave but not before.

From time to time, you may have to reassure others that you’re O.K. and that you don’t need anything.  As obvious as this seems to you, it will probably be news at least to some people.

Expect that others will sometimes misinterpret what you’re feeling.  If you can, respond lightly and non-defensively: “No, I’m not sad.  I’m just thinking about some things.  So tell me more about that test you took.”

Smile—not all the time but probably more often than you’d like.  Introverts tend to be into their own experience and forget that a neutral expression can look like something’s wrong to others.

Take the lead when in a group that is deciding what to do, proposing an idea of something you’d like. You probably feel more comfortable doing group activities when there is some structure.  In that way you don’t come across as a nay-sayer. 

Remember that extraverted people re-charge by being with others.  So the extraverted friend who persistently asks you to do things is not necessarily nagging you.  He may be asking you to be a part of his re-charging.  You are under no obligation to accept that invitation, but realize that the gesture almost certainly is not an attempt to be annoying, controlling, or hostile.

I ran across a great chapter in Judith Vorst’s “Necessary Losses” that lets the reader know that friendships are “imperfect connections.”  Here is a quotation: “For we once believed that our friends were our friends only when our love and trust were absolute, when we shared identical tastes and passions and goals, when we felt that we could bare the darkest secrets of our souls with utter impunity, when we willingly would run–no questions asked–to help each other in times of trouble.  We once believed that our friends were our friends only when they fit that mythic model.  But growing up means giving up that view.  For even if we are lucky enough to have one or two or three beloved ‘best friends,’ friendships, we learn, are at best an imperfect connection.”  (p. 187).

How much unnecessary grief do we give ourselves and others for falling short of these mythical standards?  When we let ourselves be disappointed repeatedly by a friend’s not acting as we would wish her to, we are like a gardener who keeps faulting his daffodils for not being tulips.  The gardener misses the unique beauty of the daffodils, and he wastes time that he could spend in finding the tulips he seeks.

In addition, when we feel we have been negligent as a friend, it’s easy to let the guilt cause us to avoid the person toward whom we have been negligent.  And so we create a vicious cycle and a self-fulfilling prophecy: instead of making the most of the yearly phone call we do feel like making, we berate ourselves for not calling monthly and make it all the more likely that we won’t call at all.

I am of course not saying that friendship should be free of expectation or accountability.  But imagine how much better life would be if I could think of a friend and think fondly of the times we have pizza together rather than wishing she would ask me more about my family.

In an early work, Jung wrote the following: “The neurotic is rather a person who can never have things as he would like them in the present, and who can therefore never enjoy the past either.”  It’s funny how often in psychological works, the “neurotic” is spoken of in the third person, as if the reader and author have no first-hand experience of neuroticism.  Using Jung’s definition, aren’t we all a little neurotic?  For me the striking thing about this sentence is the hope of change implied therein.  I may become aware of my present unhappiness not only in its own right but also as a manifestation of my not allowing myself to be satisfied with things as they are or not allowing myself to take the steps to change my situation so I will like it better. Every day and indeed every moment offers us a chance of becoming aware of our role in creating our dissatisfaction with the present.  The solution may not be available or clear, but framework is there: “How am I in this moment rejecting what is and longing for something different?  And what could I do differently?”  Even if I don’t know the root causes of my neuroses, I always have the ability to try to answer these questions.  At best, I change my situation and work through a block to my own peace.  At worst, my efforts produce no change but I get clearer about what is not true–still valuable!

From Fritz Perls’ The Gestalt Approach and Eyewitness to Therapy (1973, p. 65):

For awareness always takes place in the present.  It opens up possibilities for action.  Routine and habits are established functions, and any need to change them requires that they should be brought into the focus of awareness afresh.  The mere idea of changing them presupposes the possibility of alternative ways of thinking and acting.  Without awareness, there is no cognition of choice.  Awareness, contact, and present are merely different aspects of one and the same process–self-realization.  It is here and now that we become aware of all our choices, from small pathological decisions (is this pencil lying straight enough?) to the existential choice of devotion to a cause or avocation.

I grew up in a household where Dad was seemingly always angry in a slow-burn way.  He did his best to hide it but it came out in the tension of his body and the frequent muttering under his breath.  Mom was often depressed.  Looking back, I can see a woman frustrated by the limited options for a professional woman who also loved being a mother.  At the time, all I could understand is that somehow being at home with us kids made her unhappy.  Their unhappiness was palpable but indirectly expressed.  Mom might make a martyr’s statement about having to carry her burden, and Dad would deny that anything was ever wrong. In such an environment, I as a little child felt that things were wrong and suspected they were my fault but was clueless about what to do.  Maybe if I suffered too then it would make up for whatever I was doing wrong.  And maybe my distress would distract them from their problems and have them take care of me, which felt really good.  And the rage I feel about being in this confusing, frightening situation–well, where else can I turn it but inward?  The rage at them then becomes deep guilt and shame that I am hard to please or “demanding.” All in all, it’s a perfect recipe for suffering being the default feeling or way of being in the world.  But as a fish would not be able to describe water, so too I was largely unaware of the medium I was swimming around in.  Moments of satisfaction or joy were the exception to the rule.  It was not an easy path to figure out all of the above and get to a point where I was brave enough to hope for more from life than suffering and deferred gratification.  And it is still a strange world such that I have to guard against reverting to the old assumptions, passivity and helplessness.  We never fully arrive at a destination of contentment or satisfaction–more like a calculus differential, ever approaching infinity but never reaching it.

Insight and catharsis are fine, but the biggest struggle in therapy is putting new behavior in place.  In my own life, I have identified a pattern whereby when I was a kid, I received love when I fell apart.  And it seemed I received more love by falling apart than by taking care of things.  So even though the falling apart has not elicited the result I want in many years, a primitive part of me still keeps using that strategy. Choosing not to fall apart makes me feel very angry and very sad for a while.  But I know that in time I will feel good about having accomplished something.  And I make it that much easier to take care of things next time I fall apart.  But in the midst of feeling the strong emotions, I struggle to think and not trust these feelings this time.  That’s very hard to do especially for those of us who rely on our feelings as a way of making decisions and making sense of the world.

The most meaningful and productive therapeutic work that I have been a part of has resembled being in school–both for the client and the therapist.  Both participants enter the relationship with a keen curiosity about what will happen between them.  The client, of course, wants to learn what is causing her pain or stopping her from being who she wants to be.  Sometimes it is tempting as a client to come to therapy hoping the therapist will diagnose the problem and prescribe a course of action, but this is seldom enough to change whatever is not right.  Such a passive approach to therapy is a client’s way of saying, “I want relief but I don’t want the discomfort or pain associated with changing myself.”

The client who takes an active role in learning all she can about herself, the relationship with the therapist, and the tools the therapist is giving her makes the process come to life.  At the same time, she is teaching the therapist about herself.  So she is student and teacher simultaneously.

The therapist too is both student and teacher.  When I am working with someone, I am excited about the opportunity to instruct the client about using the tools my training and experience have given me.  And I am a student of the individual in front of me.  No matter how much training I have had, this person is unique.  It is quite possible that I am mistaken when I think I understand what she is saying.  And so therapy becomes a dialog of instruction, and the more actively involved each participant is, the livelier the therapy is and the more quickly the two of us move to new discoveries.

A name can be a powerful thing.  I’m struck with the elation my transgendered clients feels upon choosing a name that fits their true sex; being called “Jennifer” instead of “Steve” for the first time is like finally finding the suit of clothes that truly fits. Sometimes we wait, in effect holding our breath, until we achieve the status that we are aiming for.  But what is stopping us from being the thing we want to be right now?External acknowledgement and achievements are important supports for an identity, but ultimately, is it not we ourselves who determine who we are?  I may be employed as a cashier, but if I know inside that I’m an actor, doesn’t the check-out counter become a stage if I want it to be?  Or if I’m a teacher longing to be a businessman,  each interaction can become a form of commerce–perhaps not with money but using some other, less obvious currency. This is not wearing rose-colored glasses.  This is becoming the author and director of our own lives, using the actors and props available to us and giving the best performance we possibly can.  How will the thing we want to change ever change if we do not first believe that it has already begun to change.

How hard it is to be struggling for change and not to feel that change happen!  It does not seem fair–if I’m working this much and I’m doing the things I’ve been told to do to feel better, why isn’t it happening? I think two things trip us up in this situation.  One is that we have a vision of relief that is categorically different from what we’re feeling now.  We believe that if we try hard enough, we will have an a-ha experience that will produce irrevocable change and lead to the state that we have longed for.  There is an all-or-nothing error here.  Although we do at times experience life-changing epiphanies, they are not the change themselves but the bright flash of light that makes clearer the heretofore obscure situation we found ourselves in.  We still need to put into action the ideas that the epiphany produced. More often, lasting change comes about incrementally.  It is often so subtle that it is only in looking back over a period of months that we are able to appreciate the difference. The second thing that trips us up is that we focus on the goal rather than the process.  We think that when a certain set of circumstances change for us, then we will have arrived.  But of course that is not how life works, and that’s a good thing.  Would we really want to achieve a state in which there was no room for improvement or growth?  In the midst of our pain, perhaps we say yes.  But life is about the process rather than the goal.  Goals are important but more as a guiding light rather than as objects of devotion. It is the set of choices we make day to day, moment to moment that make up the sum of who we are. If my goal is to be a writer, then how much have I written today?  I do not somehow arrive at the identity of being a writer through some series of stratagems; I make the statement “I am a writer” true every day by writing–no matter how poorly.  If I seek to be outgoing, or confident, or skilled, I do not arrive at those states of being at some distant date.  I create the reality of being outgoing, confident, or skilled by doing those things, even if only I know that I’m doing them or even if my efforts fall short of how I would wish myself to be.  Life *is* change, and when we change with awareness, we are truly living.