The Quiet Rise of Introverts

by Brenda Knowles

  I headed off to one of the biggest universities in the country, Michigan State University. I think it’s safe to say my interest in novelty and opportunities outweighed my fear of not knowing anyone and having to meet new people. In a way, the size of the school allowed for a certain amount of anonymity. I could get lost in the large class sizes (up to 800 students per class). I could walk across the vast campus without recognizing anyone.

  True to my wishes, it was a whole new experience with not much in common with my hometown. Socioeconomic status was noted and obvious based on the town or suburb you hailed from. No one had heard of Alma. Most of the people on my dorm floor, including my roommate, were from affluent Detroit suburbs.

  Every ethnicity known to man existed at MSU. One I found particularly intriguing was the Jewish population. Most Jewish students lived in one or two of the oldest dorms on campus. The girls dressed differently (high pony tails, plaid shirts, tapered jeans, big boots) and there was always something labeled Kosher in the cafeteria for the Jewish students. As I said, we only had a maximum of two Jewish families in Alma at any one time. Those families, for the most part, assimilated with the Christians who monopolized Alma.

  In a school with 50,000 students it is necessary to fight for resources. I had to stand in line at ungodly hours for crazy lengths of time to receive financial aid, register for classes and get food in the cafeteria. Parking spots were scarce and parking tickets were aplenty. I rarely developed relationships with professors. I figured they would never remember me from their class and it would be difficult to schedule an appointment given all of the students requesting them. Plus, talking to strangers of authority seemed daunting, a trait of social anxiety many introverts may recognize.

  Whenever I met people for the first time they asked where I was from. It immediately set up “us versus them” dynamics. Since no one knew Alma, I often started out as a “them” in their eyes. They were often from the Detroit suburbs or bigger cities, like Lansing or Grand Rapids. They were already worldly. I was small-town.

  Another difference I noticed while at MSU was the breadth of recreational chemicals used while partying. In Alma, alcohol was the main source of intoxication. Marijuana occasionally surfaced but mostly only stoners did that. In college, pot, mushrooms, acid and even cocaine, although still behind alcohol in usage, were much more prevalent.

  I went to school using grants, scholarships and financial aid. It seemed most of the other students’ parents had saved for their education. I am probably exaggerating the number of kids with college funds, but it felt like I was in the poor minority.

  SOCIALIZING AMONG THE MASSES

  I made friends with people on my floor and brother floor. The university was good about creating opportunities to mix socially. This was both good and bad for this, at the time, closeted introvert. My roommate was an effervescent blonde who could not wait to join a sorority. We got along surprisingly well until our sophomore year when I found a boyfriend and she joined a sorority. Prior to that she had lots of friends on campus and always knew of parties to attend. I got sick of the “Where are you from?” question and the “Are you in a sorority?” question but overall, I had a good time socializing. Again, I could maintain a level of anonymity or do what introverts do best, meet people on the fringe of the party. I could strike up a conversation with one or two people observing the action from the edges of the room. I could even join in the main activities if I’d had a drink or two. Yes, the studies correlating social anxiety and alcohol consumption ring true to me.

  I also met people at my campus job at the language lab. I handed out tapes to students taking foreign language classes. Sometimes the students requested English tapes, because they were from other countries like Somalia and Ethiopia. We lab workers smugly called these students (behind their backs) J.O.B.s. (“Just Off the Boats). I’m embarrassed to admit that, but it is the truth. The offensive nickname subconsciously unified us geeky lab workers and made me feel like I fit in with my coworkers.

  As you can see, there were many more instances of “us versus them” mentality. I only made one new deep friendship while I was there—Debbi. She later became my post-college roommate and longtime friend. I did date one man for a year and a half, and I met my future husband my senior year. My junior and senior year in college I had the perfect roommate—one of my best friends from Alma, Emilie. There was something so comforting and lovely about rooming with someone who knew where I came from. We never argued. We talked a lot. We had fun together. We partied the same—which was to say we liked to be social but not the life of the party. We shopped the same. We even had similar energy levels. Emilie was good for my nervous system. I think I was good for hers too.

  The comfort and pleasure I found in Emilie’s presence had to do with two things. One, she had introverted tendencies too. We loved doing things one-on-one, like running to discount clothing stores and looking for bargains together. She was a quiet studier and dedicated to her schoolwork, as was I. She had a calm nature, but still could get into giggling and laughing fits as we shared stories.

  Secondly, she was a familiar haven in the first years away from home. The large university did not provide a lot of emotional familiarity and comfort, but it did feed my need to learn and experience new things. There is a natural pull toward the familiar and safe when we are away from our comfort zone. With Emilie, I did not experience any social anxiety. I could be myself because we were old friends. I had more courage to explore and take part in new activities because of her safe presence. Just like the secure babies with their attentive mothers in Mary Ainsworth’s attachment style experiment, I felt safe and assured to explore and then return to my friend’s companionship.

  DIFFERENCES IN A ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIP

  As I mentioned, I met my future husband my senior year at Michigan State in a business law class. He offered me a ride to class. I thought he was rather arrogant at first, because he seemed to talk a lot and brag. Bragging was frowned upon where I came from. I did not know it then but that boasting and speaking with conviction were forms of competing. It gave him an aggressive edge. It also could have been distancing behavior (avoidant attachment style) or his way of trying to impress me.

  We came from very different socioeconomic backgrounds and he was Jewish. He grew up in a mid-sized city in Ohio. His father was a surgeon. His parents were still married and they had his college and graduate school financially covered.

  Although scientific evidence says we are attracted to what is familiar, I seemed to be attracted to novelty and differences. Perhaps I was subconsciously looking for a relationship like the one I had with my sister, so I could heal it?

  Nevertheless, we fell in love. I adored his stories about his active, close-knit family. He made me laugh. I appreciated his intelligence and sense of security.

  We dated for six months at MSU, and then broke up when we graduated. We were rather practical about it, but I did feel a loss. He had a job lined up in Ohio. I had plans to move to Chicago. Yes, I wanted to move to an even bigger arena with even more diversity. I believed success looked like people who lived in big cities. They seemed so smart, independent, efficient, and worldly. If I could make it there, I would be impressive.

  I lived on saltine crackers and peanut butter dinners, but I made it there. I lived in the city with Debbi, the one new close friend I made at MSU. She was from a smallish town in Michigan with a similar upbringing to mine. We held our small-town values but explored and experienced every inch of the big city. I gathered knowledge of people and places. I picked up a few skills to advance my career, such as Excel spreadsheet manipulations and office diplomacy. All of it aimed at advancing my status.

  Eventually, my husband and I reconnected and got married. We moved five times after we were married. Each time living in or near a large city. I worked outside the home until our oldest son was born in Houston, then I stayed home with him and later his broth
er and sister. I made a circle of friends in each place we lived. Even as an introvert, I wanted regular connection and engagement. I constantly reached out to or was approached by new people. We maintained a decent balance of social and downtime. My husband liked just having time with the family. I enjoyed that too. The addition of our daughter, giving us three children four years old and younger, made downtime almost impossible. Then we moved to Minneapolis.

  LIFE IN THE BIG LEAGUES

  My husband received a job offer we could not refuse, even though my initial reaction to Minneapolis was, “No. I don’t know anyone and it’s a tundra.” He would work for a promising hedge fund. During the interview process, the company wined and dined us. We had a personal assistant who stood at the end of the restaurant table, explaining each of the six to nine courses we received. We learned proper wine pairings and what an amuse bouche was (a single bite-sized hors d’oeuvre served for free to patrons at the chef’s discretion). I can’t lie. I loved it and found it fascinating. It satisfied my needs for novelty and impressiveness.

  We picked up stakes in Ohio (leaving behind good friends, a wonderful college student who helped weekly with the kids, and a comfortable middle-class lifestyle) and moved to the suburbs of Minneapolis. Our children were five, three and one at the time.

  We left our 1970s-colonial home in Ohio for an early-2000s build in Minnesota. We had ten-foot ceilings, five bathrooms, five bedrooms, a movie theater and an exercise room. I was so excited to move into that house.

  Neither my husband nor I had any family in the area. We had no babysitters or friends either. My husband went to work at his high-paying, high-pressure job every day. I stayed home with the kids.

  “An isolated mother is a distressed mother.”—Dr. Bruce Perry

  A TRIBE WOULD BE NICE

  In Born for Love: Why Empathy is Essential—and Endangered, Dr. Bruce Perry and Maia Szalavitz state that humans have spent most of the last 150,000 years living in multi-generational, multi-family groups. The ratio of mature individuals to young children in these clans was roughly 4:1. An abundance of kin surrounded kids and helped educate, nurture, discipline and enrich them.

  Now the average household has 3.53 people (2016, per The Statistics Portal) and teachers are outnumbered 30:1 in classrooms (2010 census). We have created a much more isolated culture where extended family does not even live in the same state, let alone the same house.

  As an introvert, I am not sure I would love having a twenty-person clan around all the time, but I definitely see the benefits of multiple nurturing bonds for my family and myself.

  Soon after our move to Minneapolis is when I found myself in the doctor’s office asking for a pill to give me energy, a sex drive and a mood boost.

  In Wired to Connect, Dr. Amy Banks states that when we are cut off from others, our neural pathways suffer and this can result in chronic irritability, anger, depression, addiction, and physical illness. The human brain is built to operate within a network of caring human relationships. To reach our personal and professional best we must be warmly and safely connected to partners, friends, coworkers, and family. Within such relationships, our neural pathways get the stimulation they need to make our brains calmer, more tolerant, resonant, and productive.

  In the suburbs, there were few unifying events. There was a monthly Bunco (dice game) night for the neighborhood women for a while. I met a few women there, but everyone seemed focused on their kids and running a household. Wealthy lives are complicated. Everything from home decorating to child presentation to fitness and appearance must be perfect. With all that money, it is expected everything be done to the hilt. We did not help each other a lot either. Everyone relied on family or managed their household by themselves.

  We did not cultivate a religious practice or membership to a church or temple. I was not 100% sold on Judaism, and my husband was not interested in anything to do with Christianity. We did not celebrate Christmas. We did celebrate Passover, but most of the time by ourselves with no extended family present.

  There was little time for casual socializing. It was rare for my husband and I to get invited to events outside of the occasional office party.

  I know, I know. Cry me a river. It is hard to garner sympathy when you seemingly have everything, but there was a feeling of emptiness. I felt alone but also overwhelmed by family and obligations. I could not articulate the alone feelings until years later.

  FINDING SUPPORT OUTSIDE THE MARRIAGE

  I did make friends at the gym. The health club offered a bright spot and good opportunity for social interaction. They had childcare, which my kids did not like. I felt guilty for putting them in childcare but it was the only nourishing grownup time I had.

  I later started taking guitar lessons and writing classes. These fed me, but took me further away from my marriage and at times, my children.

  Our marriage started to unravel. My husband and I were not a team. We did not shore each other up. We did not agree on disciplining the kids. We did not offer each other compassion or presence. Passion was nonexistent. At times, I did not feel we were even friends. I believe we mostly saw each other as resources. It was lonely.

  During the next four years, my husband made the most money he’d ever made and lost his job. Neither brought us together. We did the obligatory counseling but we could not fix the marriage. We divorced after four years of treading water.

  The next two years I focused on taking care of my children, building a business, and dating. I leaned on my writing group friends for emotional support. We met weekly for a while but then reduced our meetings to monthly. I talked with my parents via phone regularly. They were wonderful sounding boards and gave me a lot of beautiful emotional validation and support.

  I realize the gym and taking classes might not be the right fit socially, financially, or schedule-wise for everyone.

  To find your right fit, I suggest reflecting on the times when you feel most alive.

  When do you feel at home?

  When are you most energized?

  Those places and people are the ones who can heal you. If you do not have a rejuvenating place or person in your life currently, think about when you were younger.

  What or who made your eyes sparkle in the past?

  How can you connect with something similar now?

  For example, if when you were younger you loved to play school with your siblings, see if there is a way you can get involved with a local school. Could you volunteer? Could you get a job there? Do you know any teachers you could kindle a friendship with?

  If you have a major interest in something like teaching, astronomy, knitting, or whatever, the list is endless and the Internet is your friend. Search for online groups with the same interest. Although it is comfortable and convenient to only convene online, I highly recommend finding a group that meets regularly in person. The in-person meeting offers more neurological and social benefits, including an improved ability to read facial and body language cues. In-person relating is ideal, but online social groups are still beneficial to banishing the feeling of being alone.

  THE TRIBE GETS SMALLER, BUT THE WORKLOAD REMAINS THE SAME

  I felt relief after the dissolution of the marriage. Not having to face a sad marriage every day lightened my spirit for a while. But then, the heavy load of managing a household, raising kids, and building a career from scratch without emotional support hit me.

  Children do not understand the full weight of a parent’s workload, but they have an uncanny way of noticing what is different and what they are missing. They definitely do not know the emotional toll of a bad relationship or a workload for two that one person now handles. I did not want them to know, so I tried to keep it all together myself.

  That community tribe sounded better and better.

  FORCED COLLABORATION

  Two years after the divorce, my mother was dia
gnosed with a form of ALS or Lou Gehrig’s disease. She still lived in Alma, Michigan. She never remarried after my parents divorced. She was single, and needed my sister and me to help her. The type of ALS she had affected her cranial region first. Her speech deteriorated right away. Within months of noticing a slight slur, she could not make any voluntary movement with her mouth or face. We could no longer talk on the phone. Along with her speech, her ability to swallow declined. She went from being a meat and potatoes lover to a ramen soup eater to taking in packaged formula through a feeding tube.

  She moved in with my sister and her family for about six weeks. My sister lived an hour away from Alma. My mom did not want to leave Alma, but she was not healthy enough to live on her own. It was too hard for my sister and her family to care for Mom daily. My sister was a dentist, and her husband was an assistant professor at a major university.

  Beside the medical care Mom needed, she also suffered greatly psychologically. She had lost her home, her ability to talk, and her ability to eat. She could not be left alone, or she would panic. We moved Mom into an assisted living facility. It was difficult for her to make friends there, as she could not talk and did not join the others in the dining room because it was torture for her to watch others eat regular food. She refused to learn how to type and use a keyboard for speech. Even with those barriers, two female residents did approach and befriend her. God bless them.

  I flew back and forth to Michigan as often as possible. I visited every six to eight weeks for a long weekend. During my visits, I stayed with my sister and her family. Twenty-six years of living apart and the necessity to work together for the good of our mom’s care helped eliminate residual tension between my sister and me. My brother-in-law also served as an excellent diplomat and buffer for two sisters with different personalities.