It’d be much easier for them to see my solitude as isolation, and I agree. I wish I could tell them how much peace I find in being in my own company, but it’s a long story trying to get the point across. The sad emojis, the confusion, the back-handed praises of my bravery and confidence to go out on my own. I can let them know anytime I need someone to go out with, just shoot them a message. I’ll tell them that I’m on my own and before I can even get the chance to explain why– there it is- my pity party. I tell that to people, anyone who asks me what I’ll be doing on the weekends and who I’m out with every time I post an image of being outside. It’s such a simple phrase to understand, isn’t it? A person who loves spending time on their own is, to put it simply, those who are alone most of the time and are alright with that. I am human after all, in all my complexity.īut if you really insist on it, then yes, I do exhibit characteristics of an “introvert,” mainly spending time on my own. Take me off the spectrum and see me for what I enjoy doing and what I prefer. I am me, look at me and stop throwing all these words just so I can be classified into your categories. Now I spend a lot of time listening to people trying to convince me that I am an introvert, to which I try to tell them I am not- nor am I an “extrovert.” Oh, I must be an “ambivert” then.

I liked being alone ever since I was little and spent so much time doing everything on my own. I always spill over the barrier fails to keep me in every time and the corners come near bursting with the parts of me struggling to relate, trying to push their way out. I hate the word “introvert.” I never liked words or terms that act as a fence to keep in who I am or what I’m made of so that others can understand me easily.

Journal of a Solitude by May Sarton