Coming To Terms With Being An Introvert: A Journey From Shame To Acceptance

I didn’t realize this until recently but my childhood was more painful than I thought. Not because it was particularly traumatic — it was not. I had two loving, flawed parents, who loved me the best they could and allowed me to search out my path in the world with lots of support and kindness. No, my childhood was painful because I wasn’t my younger brother.

My brother was an extrovert. But not just your run-of-the-mill extrovert. He was a life-of-the-party, makes-everyone-laugh extrovert. My brother was just magnetic from a young age. People were drawn to him and loved him. He always had a lot of friends. Girls seemed to swarm to him in a way they never did for me. He was always the center of attention.

In many ways, I was the complete opposite. I was quiet. Incredibly quiet. New people were scary to me. It took a lot for me to open up. Also, I wanted to be alone a lot, whether it was reading or playing video games. While my brother was very comfortable being in the spotlight, I absolutely hated it. I didn’t have a ton of friends, but the friends I did have were deep friendships. And holy shit, I was sensitive ha! I would write in my journal for hours about all the hurts I felt. I felt deep empathy for many people. I wrote love letters to girls that got me rejected.