I love my loner lifestyle, I dearly do.

However, I really struggle to *own* it.

When someone asks me ‘what I got up to at the weekend’, I squirm. When someone asks me ‘what you doing for the holidays?’, I want to run away and hide.

Why, though? Why is it that I get so scared/shy/embarrassed to talk about my life, essentially?

Because I worry what people will think about me.

I worry they’ll think I’m weird,

That there’s something wrong with me,

That I’m lonely, uninteresting, living a half-life,

That I’m sad, tragic, pathetic.

There’s a number of reasons why I think this:

My teenage hell. I didn’t have any friends between the ages of 11 – 14. Rejected by my peers for being ‘too quiet’, I become the girl who spent lunchtimes by herself in the library. Of course, this only made me even more of a social pariah, for there is no greater shame than to be a billy-no-mates, to be seen to be hanging out on your own; it simply isn’t ‘normal’. My teachers and parents reinforced this as well. They made me believe that my social isolation, my inability to ‘fit in’ and behave all giddy and rowdy like the other girls, meant there was something wrong with me, something that needed to be fixed: ‘You need to talk more, socialise more, mix more with your peers’ type-thing.

I still bear the psychic wounds caused by this blaming and shaming today, and this is why I hesitate to be open about my solitary ways. I fear that people will see me as they did when I was younger: as the loser loner girl who just needs to learn to be more social.

The assumption that alone = lonely. It seems that society is becoming increasingly brainwashed by the idea that to be single/to live alone/to do things by yourself makes you lonely. Health and happiness come from having others’ company, we are told. Too much time alone and you’re headed for the psych ward and/or an early grave. As such, spending time/doing things alone is more commonly seen as something to be pitied; a sad state of affairs; something to keep an eye on, because who can really, truly, be happy solitarily? This is also why I get uncomfortable talking about my loner life: because I don’t want people’s pity. I don’t want them to ‘aww’ me, to feel sorry for me; I don’t want them belittling and baby-talking me: ‘Won’t you be lonely?’ ‘I hate to think of you on your own’, etc.

Extrovert Supremacy!

“Extrovert-Supremacists confuse their lifestyle with life itself.” Shy Radicals 

Extrovert Supremacy tells us that the only life worth living is one which involves ‘going out’, interacting with other human beings, doing lots of sociable things. And this is what makes for most conversation: people talk to each other about what they got up to with other people; they share stories about the fun times they’ve had with other folks. People don’t just want to talk about what you did, they want to know who you did it with as well. 

When I’m asked about my weekends/holidays/home life, I stiffen, go all shy, get self-conscious, because I worry people will think me ‘sad’/‘not very exciting’ because I live a solitudinous life; I don’t go to parties, take fancy holidays, or do stuff with family; I basically just stay home a lot. And it doesn’t seem to matter how much I like my cosy nights in, my meals for one, my Saturday evenings spent writing, my solitary walks round the park, my trips to the cinema alone: I still can’t shake the feeling that my life is somehow ‘small’ and ‘boring’ in comparison to the lives of the extrovert-majority; that it comes across too paltry, too pinched. A bit too ‘Eleanor Oliphant’. And then I go back round again, worrying that people will feel sorry for me/think there’s something wrong with me/that I should just learn to be more sociable etc. etc. etc…  

  I so fucking wish I was able to look people in the eye, and say - unashamedly, unabashedly, confidently - that I spent the whole of the weekend at home, alone; that I’m not that social; that I live a pretty reclusive life; that I’m not looking for Mr. Right.

I’m a queer, naturally solitary, aromantic woman who intends on staying single forever. I love that I know that about myself; that I know my truth. And when I’m alone, living that truth, I’m perfectly content, happy, healthy.

It’s when I come into contact with Extrovert Supremacy (aka The Outside World aka the world I must venture into in order to earn a living), with all its denigrations, assumptions, and stereotypes about quiet/shy/introverted folk, that I stumble.

That’s when the shame and fear – the self-hate - sets in.

I want it to end. I want to shake off the shyness, the self-consciousness, the hating-myself-ness, so I can just be myself in the world – my weird queer solitary self; no longer afraid, no longer ashamed.

That’s what I want.

But how do I do that?

What will it take?

I was a shy/quiet kid at school; and bullied because of it. My teachers and parents also gave me a hard time for it; taking the same side as my playground tormentors, they too picked at me about why I didn’t speak, why was I so quiet, why didn’t I put my hand up more?

They didn’t understand how I couldn’t help it; that being quiet is just the way some kids are. My shyness my silence made me weird strange wrong. It was something to be fixed; to be overcome. Teachers would talk about how I needed to come out of my shell participate more and my parents would nod and agree coming back home from parents’ evenings disappointed in me…  

  All this has come up after I read a book about how the (UK) education system upholds the extrovert ideal and the struggles faced by quiet students/teachers as a result.

The book says that for quiet children to thrive, “they need to feel emotionally comfortable”, and, “The first step towards building confidence in quieter students is learning to understand each individual and why they might be more reticent: next comes sensitive encouragement and support. Always bear in mind that there is a link between emotional competence and achievement.”

I didn’t experience anything like this. No attempt was made to understand my shyness/introversion. It was just deemed to be a weakness something not good enough about me that needed to be done away with, grown out of. Instead of being treated with sensitivity, I was shamed and stigmatised. Instead of being encouraged and supported in my quiet ways, shown how to make my innate nature work for me, I was told I couldn’t do certain things because I wasn’t ‘outgoing enough’.

Emotionally comfortable? Ha, hardly. The messages I was sent, the way I was treated, by my parents and teachers, never mind my mean girl tormentors, had a real deleterious effect on my self-confidence, the impact of which still reverberates through me today.

Why didn’t anyone try to help me? People could see I struggled socially; but instead of trying to understand that, all I got were dictates to come out of my shell, to pipe up more. Left to struggle alone to face my bullies every day no one reassured me actually supported me.

What difference would it have made had I received some affirmation for my inborn quiet ways; heard ‘it’s okay to be quiet’ every once in a while? What more could I have achieved? What more could I have become? Had the wings of my potential not been clipped by being told that being quiet is wrong wrong wrong.

                                                            …....

 It makes me ache to think that there could still be kids going through what I went through, as schools continue to perpetuate the extrovert ideal, equating sociability with good mental health and the prospect of future success.

The quiet kid in class still sets alarm bells ringing in their teacher’s head; the student who sits by themselves on their lunch break must surely be depressed; silence and solitude are allowed when ordered by the teacher, but the kid who expresses a preference for either? Well, what a weirdo! After all, what kid doesn’t want to be playing, chatting and shouting about?

This lack of understanding and acceptance of quiet children is even more baffling in the context of the increasing emphasis in the (British) school curriculum on promoting empathy, diversity and inclusion; and on character education, which seeks to promote pupil’s emotional and mental wellbeing.

There’s still a lot of unconscious bias at work in our schools against introverted/quiet/shy pupils; they’re treated, spoken about, and viewed in ways that simply wouldn’t be tolerated in relation to other innate characteristics/personality traits. A teacher wouldn’t say to a pupil who’s struggling to read, ‘you’re not DYSLEXIC, are you?’; and yet they’d have no qualms saying ‘you’re not SHY, are you?’ to a pupil who prefers to keep schtum.

It's precisely stuff like this that undermines/contradicts all the lessons about how important it is to respect each other’s differences. ‘Embrace your uniqueness!’ children are told. Unless what makes a child unique is how much quieter, calmer, and contemplative they are compared to their classmates. Then they’ll be encouraged to ‘come out of their shell’ in order to meet our extrovert-biased society’s model of a healthy/normal child i.e. one who is more sociable.

And whilst there’s a lot of noise being made – quite rightly – in schools now about the importance of children’s mental health and wellbeing, teachers (and parents) don’t seem to realise how much damage they’re doing to a kid’s sense of self-worth when they point out their quietness or shyness, like it’s a bad thing; something that needs fixing.

  There’s a lot more awareness of introversion these days; certainly more so than when I was at school. But so ingrained does the extrovert ideal continue to be in society, that introverted children remain fair game; ending up stigmatised and shamed for something they can’t help being.

I almost didn’t get a job once because it was thought I “might be too quiet”.

I was my line manager’s preferred candidate, but the two HR advisers who also interviewed me wanted this other chick; because she was bubblier than me, they said; came across more chitty chatty.

I was therefore discriminated against on the basis of my basic personality, my innate temperament. For being a quiet/introverted person. It wasn’t as if this was some corporate gig either, where an ‘if your face doesn’t fit’ vibe is probably more rife. This was an admin job in the public sector; as long as you tick all the boxes – the official ones, on paper – you’re good. My introversion shouldn’t have come into it. But it did.

  What did they even mean anyway by “might be too quiet”? “Too quiet” for what? My manager had told me that my introverted disposition wasn’t a problem for her; she just wanted someone “who could do the job” (my manager had the final say over who was appointed, hence why I got the job). But what about the two advisers from HR? They obviously had different criteria.

It soon became clear to me what this was. The HR team was an extroverted team; full of loud, bubbly personalities, who’d engage in lots of banter, squeal whenever someone brought in samosas; organise the nights out and the Secret Santas.

So, of course they would have gone for Bubbly Chick over me, because she came across as one of them: someone clubbable, sociable, fun-lovable.

  This is how Quiet Prejudice manifests in the job recruitment process. In addition to the official person spec, there’s another set of criteria you’re assessed against; to gauge how suitable you are for that other job office workers are required to carry out; socialising with the team; contributing to the camaraderie.

This means that sometimes it doesn’t matter if you’ve passed the test given a great presentation answered all the interview questions correct. If you come across too serious, or even worse, a little too shy; then you could be passed over for another candidate, one with less experience perhaps, but who makes up for that by being more lively, chit-chatty, jump-up-and-downy.

That’s almost what happened to me. What those HR advisers meant when they said I “might be too quiet”, was “too quiet” for getting on and fitting in with them. They wanted an extrovert in the job, because office spaces are also social spaces and introverts can make things awkward dampen the mood a bit with our conspicuous silences and getting our heads down and on with it.

“Children ought to be back at school; they’ve been at home too long, missing out on, not just their education, but also essential social interaction. They should be back amongst their peers again, playing with their friends.”

  Such are the exhortations of our extrovert world when it comes to kids returning to school after COVID-quarantine. When I hear stuff like this, from expert educationalists, who emphasise children’s ‘need’ to be social, how it’s oh-so-vital to their social, emotional and mental development…

… I automatically think of the introvert kids; the shy boys and the quiet girls. Are they looking forward to being back in the classroom again, back with their teachers and friends? Or do their stomachs churn at the prospect, and their minds start fretting?

I reckon for a fair few, it’s the latter.  

  Alex is 10 years old and has loved being at home these past few weeks.

She’s not missed sitting in a noisy classroom with her rowdy classmates.

She hasn’t been going to bed exhausted, from the always being surrounded.

She’s not had teachers telling her she’s “too quiet”; that she should put her hand up more.

And she’s not had to endure the Little Miss Populars taunting her with “Cat got your tongue?” and “Why don’t you play?”

Chipping away at her self-esteem. A little more each day.

  Claims that children should be in school because they need to be playing with their friends again exposes our education system’s extrovert bias. And this extrovert bias leads to what I call ‘Quiet Prejudice’.

Introvert/shy kids are misunderstood, humiliated, called out, marked down, ignored, belittled, baby-talked and bullied, all because they were born with brains hardwired for quiet. This is discrimination. This is Quiet Prejudice.

School tells quiet kids their quiet is bad. It’s not enough to be conscientious. If they really want to make the grade, introvert/shy children are told, they must be able to mix comfortably with their peers. To get on in the adult world, you’ll need the ability to get on with people, to put yourself forward, they are told. You won’t do as you are, introvert/shy children are told, you need to fit the extrovert mould.

Quiet Prejudice.

  The truth is, for many introverted kids, being at home these past couple of months would have done them a world of good. Away from the tyrannies of group work messy play and sports day; from the cacophony of the canteen, and teacher’s daily demands to partner up! speak up!; quiet kids have been…

… free.

Free to be themselves.

And when you’re free, you flourish.

  I’m not saying introvert/shy children shouldn’t be in school; what I am saying is education’s extrovert bias needs to be examined. A school system that operates on the assumption that all children are inherently social, can seriously fuck quiet kids up. The celebration of diversity equality and respect for everybody are all the rage in schools these days. And quite rightly. But all this counts for nought when the shy boys and the quiet girls get penalised and picked on all because they just so happened to be born the introvert way.

It was World Introvert Day yesterday, and there’s no denying that 2020 was our year, with the pandemic forcing most of the world to stay home and reduce social contact. This was no big deal for us introverted/asocial/solitary types. Lockdown didn’t really make a huge difference to the way we lived our lives, because staying inside and keeping to ourselves is what we do anyway. What was different though, was how the introverted way of life became the new social norm, which meant that us introverts have been able to enjoy a reprieve from the tyrannies that constitute everyday life under Extrovert Supremacy. We’ve not had to worry about turning down invitations, or slipping out early, or feeling weird/wrong/guilty for wanting to stay home for the third weekend in a row.  It’s literally been against the law to mix with people from other households!

But our time is about to come to an end; because once the vaccine’s been rolled out, the Extrovert Ideal is going to return. And it’s going to do so with a vengeance.  

There’s talk that post-pandemic, we could see something akin to the ‘Roaring Twenties’. After being locked down for so long, people will be chomping at the bit to enjoy their freedom again; to be back out there dancing eating drinking and mingling with one another, face to face, in the flesh, away from that goddamn Zoom screen like in the good ol’ days BC (Before COVID). So, once enough people have been vaccinated and we’re given the green light to GO! again, we can expect to see an upsurge in nights out, foreign travel, wining, dining, and just general pissed-up party times.

This is going to be pushed by media, big business and our politicians. We’ll be told to GET BACK OUT THERE!; to socialise ‘n’ spend, socialise ‘n’ spend. We’ll be told it’s our duty to do so, to help our country get back on its feet, to aid our recovery.

This is going to be HELL for introverts.

The Roaring TwentyTwenties won’t go easy on those of us who want to continue to stay in, to work from home, and to sack off the after-work drinks. No, no, no. ‘This is not the time for staying home, for doing things alone,’ expect to be told. ‘That was for the COVID-era. There’s no need to be living that way no more. We’ve been cooped up inside, socially distanced from one another for too long. Now it’s the right thing, the best thing, the HEALTHY and NORMAL thing, to get back out there, to party and play, to SOCIALISE.’

For this is the thing: we’re going to see the Extrovert Ideal being pushed because it’s a way to help the economy recover; but it will be done via messaging that extols the benefits of socialising for people’s mental health. ‘Going out’ with friends/family/co-workers will be sold as the feel-good cure we all need after the many many months we’ve had to spend inside, unable to be with one another.

A colleague of mine recently wrote in an email: ‘we should have a big party when this is all over!’ I’ve also heard people suggest we should be given a couple of extra bank holidays in the summer once enough people have had the vaccine so we can all GO OUT and CELEBRATE!  

I fear there’s going to be so much more where this came from.

We introverted/solitary/asocial types have always found it hard to turn down social invitations; our extrovert-biased society has always eyed those of us who prefer a quiet night in over a rowdy night out with suspicion, as if there must be something wrong with us.

This is only going to intensify in the hyper-social, extroversion-on-steroids, post-pandemic world we’re about to enter into.

For whilst 2020 was the year of the introvert, there was still plenty of extrovert bias around. Staying home was made out to be something that had to be endured, not enjoyed; the general assumption was that those living alone would find things particularly difficult, because how can one not get lonely/bored/depressed when they don’t have anyone to hang out with/talk to? A life which involved staying home a lot and not going out much was made out to be a half-life.

This is why as soon as we’re allowed back out again, I reckon introverts are going to be in for a tough time. Choosing to continue to lead a quieter, more solitary life in the midst of so much ‘GO OUT!’ messaging could see introverts/asocial sorts being deemed even sicker and weirder than we were before.

How are we going to decline that first party invitation without being deemed a total pariah?

Review of Quiet by @susancain What an enlightening read! #introverts

At least one-third of the people we know are introverts. They are the ones who prefer listening to speaking: who innovate and create but dislike self-promotion; who favor working on their own over working in teams. It is to introverts–Rosa Parks, Chopin, Dr. Seuss, Steve Wozniak–that we owe many of the great contributions to society. In Quiet, Susan Cain argues that we dramatically undervalue…