Hermit.

I love alone time. It’s a treat to me. It is the ultimate source of rest to be secluded, in control of my environment, my time, and what’s happening around me.

I remember a previous boyfriend pointing this out. He said something like, “I want to understand why you like being alone so much. I don’t get it.” Until he brought it up, I don’t think I got it either.

I’ve always been introverted and I’ve grown to anticipate the incoming shame from people when they learn that. I fill with fury when someone makes any comments along the lines of: “Oh you’re an introvert? No wonder. That’s why you’re so quiet,” or “So if you’re an introvert, you don’t like people, right?” or with a laugh they deliver, “You’re introverted. Right—because you’re shy. Hey! We call you Chey because you’re shy!”

I’ve tried for years to vehemently correct people’s misconceptions of introversion—i.e. when you’re introverted, it’s not that you’re afraid of people or don’t like them, but rather, you gain energy from being alone…That’s the kind way to explain, however oftentimes, I’m urged to say instead: “Yeah, I’m an introvert—less obnoxious and socially needy than an extrovert like yourself.”

It’s not popular at least in American culture to be introverted. We praise and admire loud leadership, charisma, and assertion.

But I’ve grown to accept and honor my introversion. In fact, I’ve learned how to expand my capacity where my introversion was limiting me previously. I’ve learned how to tend to a growing social life and busy calendar and also understand when I need to take a step away to recharge.

However, I still encounter the remnants of those shameful perceptions. There are quieter seasons of life where I’ll feel guilty that I want an evening alone or find no motivation to make plans to fill an empty Friday night. Time alone sometimes feels like something I need to personally earn before I can partake of it. If I had a chill weekend one week, I feel the need to fill the next weekend with something socially relevant—even if it’s something I don’t necessarily want to do.

Why?

Who am I performing for? What am I trying to prove and to whom?

I’m trying to be more honest with myself these days—honest with who I naturally am and not see that as fundamentally faulty. I don’t want to be around people all the time. That’s heaven to someone, but hell to me. I spent a lot of years feeling less-than because I didn’t engage people in the same way as those around me.

There’s this song by Jesse Gold that’s been my hermit anthem lately. It empowers the part of me that honestly would love nothing more than to be utterly and beautifully alone.