How I Learned To Embrace My Inner Introvert

I always thought I was an extrovert.

In retrospect, I always tried to be an extrovert, because I thought that was the correct way to be. Who doesn’t want to be the life of the party? Introvert, for some reason, had negative connotations to me. Shy. Unapproachable. Anti-social. All things that I was taught from an early age were disadvantageous to be. So I made myself loud and boisterous–– the center of attention. It took me way, way too long to realize that in almost every situation where I was forcing myself into that role, I was wildly uncomfortable.

As I’ve gotten older, I developed pretty bad anxiety. It had to do with a lot of things–– my brain chemistry, some pretty long-ingrained perfectionism, and my Crohn’s diagnosis, to name a few. But it was far too hard with my rising anxiety to pretend to be the most outgoing one in the room all the time. This was both a blessing and a curse: I was self-conscious that others would view my new “personality shift” as weird, but I also felt so much more comfortable in a middle ground.

Me in my natural habitat: at home with blankets.

Don’t get me wrong, I still enjoy attention as much as your next narcissistic writer. But as I’ve grown into myself as an adult (especially an adult with a chronic illness), I’ve enjoyed shifting that attention to a more behind-the-scenes approach. Rather than needing to be the one yelling out a funny story at a party, I’m content to express myself through writing. Instead of forcing myself on stage, I wrote a web series and cast some friends as the leads. It’s been all about finding a happy medium. I still love to talk and meet new people, but I’ve realized I don’t need to force myself to command a room.

But then my illness got worse, and things got a bit more extreme.

For someone like myself who’s often been self-conscious about my introvertedness, being forced to stay in due to illness can really get my anxiety going. My thoughts can go from zero to doom-spiral in 60 seconds flat: do people think I’m just rude? Anti-social? God forbid, boring? And when people say things like “I’m so jealous, I would love to lay in bed all day!” Or, “You went to bed how early? That sounds great!” It can make those anxious thoughts even worse. Even though, as an introvert, I love staying in every once in awhile, staying in because of my illness isn’t a choice I’m making–– and believe me, most Friday nights, I’d way rather be doing anything but going to bed at 8.

But thanks to some nice friends and paid professionals, when that doom-spiral comes a-knocking, I remind myself of one simple fact: people don’t think about you nearly as much as you think they do.

One of the best people to stay in and build a gingerbread house in matching onesies with.

The attention-loving part of me has a pretty intense imaginary audience complex, as we all do to an extent, that believes that when I miss a party or a night out at the bar, everyone is sitting around wondering (and discussing) why. In reality, when I miss a night out at the bar, most of my friends wish me well thoughts and then go down a few tequila shots and make some bad decisions. For good or bad, I am not the crux of their thoughts for the evening.

The shitty thing about anxiety is that it’s not also simple enough as remembering logical thoughts like that, because anxiety is, by nature, illogical. But it has helped to remember that the real friends I have are never going to bail because I stay in on a Friday night. In fact, some of them might join me. With puzzles. And ginger ale. And season five of “Scandal.”

I Go To Therapy. Is That Supposed to be a Secret?

Un-fun fact: a lot of people who suffer from chronic illness also struggle with depression and anxiety.

The actual numbers on it vary so I’m not going to throw any highly scientific stats at you, but suffice it to say, physical and mental illness often go hand in hand. Some people are already predisposed to chemical imbalances in the brain like anxiety and depression. For others, the stress of being diagnosed with and coping with an incurable illness is the trigger.

I’m somewhere in the middle of those two types of people. This is not my first therapy rodeo. I’ve gone on and off since I was a kid and my parents got divorced. I went in college when I developed panic disorder. I’ve started back up again going now to deal with the day-to-day garbage that being sick does to my brain.

And by “does to my brain,” I’m not talking about the physical. Crohn’s disease doesn’t actively rot my cerebellum or anything, but it is a lot easier to go down a hole of dark thoughts when you’re faced with a lifetime of meds, doctor visits, and expensive copays. So what’s a professional sick patient to do?

Day-to-day relaxation methods include coloring and sassy mugs.

Talk to someone! For some, it’s enough to just talk with friends and family about how they’re feeling from time to time. For others, an actual, trained therapist can do more to help. Thanks to my latest flare I found myself repeatedly thinking: this is so unfair. Why can’t I go out and get drinks and real food with my friends? Why can’t I plan a trip knowing I’ll be in good enough health to go? Why am I so tired from doing basic tasks like carrying groceries? Why do I have to spend so much disposable income on a CT scan for a disease that I didn’t ask for?

And when those thoughts come, I know it’s time to seek out the big guns. And that it’s also maybe time to start dating a radiology tech for free medical care, if I can swing that. There’s such a stigma to seeking mental health care in our world: people think it makes them weak, or that it implies some kind of defeat. I personally think taking charge of your mental health is one of the most important and brave things you can do. And the more we all talk about it, the more we normalize it and make it okay for others to seek out help when they need it. People aren’t meant to be islands–– it’s okay to need a little help sometimes. Or a lot of help.

And while friends and family are awesome, there are actual professionals out there who specialize in helping people deal with the repercussions of chronic illness. When it comes to physical illness, your body can really be affected by your mind. Crohn’s disease specifically can be made worse by stress, which is a pretty cruel and unusual never-ending cycle. So if you think about it, you can’t really effectively treat the body without also treating the mind.

Cat pillows are also great for my mental health.

One kink in this plan that I do have to address, though, is cost. The state of mental health care in the United States, at least, is pretty abysmal. People (ahem, insurance companies) don’t prioritize it the way they should, so care is often prohibitively expensive–– hard to deal with when you’re already stressed about paying your other medical bills. That being said, there are other (free or cheap) resources you can seek out to talk to someone. There are hotlines to call and support groups both online and at a number of hospitals and medical centers. If you’re a student, mental health care is often free on campus. Some really nice employers even offer assistance programs where you can get a certain number of counseling sessions for free!

So while a lot of people might feel uncertain or embarrassed talking about going to therapy, I don’t think it needs to be some big state secret where I make up an elaborate lie about how I’m going to Bingo every Thursday night. Just like my medication infusions, or my check ups, or my trips to get blood work, therapy is one of the many tools in my arsenal I have in the fight against chronic illness. And it’s a damn good one, if I do say so myself.