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Superheroes: Lettering Series by Risa Rodil

The Introvert’s Way: Living a Quiet Life in a Noisy World by Sophia Dembling

AFFIRMATIONS FOR INTROVERTS

Staying home is doing something. Time spent alone is not negative space. It has its own purpose, both in what you do with it and in what it does for you.

My presence is a gift, not a requirement. If you receive an invitation to do something that doesn’t sound fun, you might choose to do it anyway. And that would be very nice of you. But you don’t have to.

I like who I like. You are not required to like everyone, and just because you don’t like everyone doesn’t mean you hate people. It’s not your problem if a person is a bore or a boor.

Listening to bores is not my job. Just because you’re a good listener doesn’t mean you are obligated to listen to anyone who wants to bend your ear. Your listening skills is a gift to be bestowed on only the deserving. You owe it to yourself and loved ones to preserve your limited energy for them and not waste it on people you don’t like.

Managing my energy is a favor to myself and everyone around me. Don’t let anyone tell you that you’re being mean when you step away from the fun. They obviously don’t know how cranky you get if you push yourself too hard.

Saying no can be a kindness. If you say no to them, they may say no to you. Sooner or later they will realize what a blessing the freedom to say no is. Plus, if you say yes when you want to say no, you probably won’t present your best self and you might not be much fun.

I can love other people and still not be responsible for their good time. Sometimes you will do things you don’t want to just as a kindness to someone you love. But you don’t have to do that all the time.

Just because I am quiet doesn’t mean I have nothing to say. Some people are raconteurs who can hold a room full of people in their thrall. If you’re not, oh well. You have plenty to say when the time and circumstances are right for you.

I know what I need better than anyone else. Yes, they love you. Yes, their intentions are good. Yes, sometimes their suggestions are useful. But even your most intimate intimates don’t know you better than you know yourself and you are allowed to weigh their suggestions against your self-knowledge and dismiss them if they don’t feel right. No fuss and confrontation necessary, just stay centered and calm and own your own choices.

Putting on my dog and pony show is optional. I’ve been known to panic if conversation is stilted among a group of people, and that puts me into dog and pony overdrive. But I’ve started giving myself permission to just let things be if I don’t feel like putting on a show. This makes socializing much easier. When I felt compelled to put on my extrovert face every time I went out, socializing seemed like too much trouble.

A ringing phone is not a mandate. Some people can’t ignore a ringing telephone. You can. And that’s fine. Just because somebody wants to talk to you right now doesn’t mean you are obligated to indulge them.

Other people’s desire for me to participate is not more important than my desire not to participate. No matter how much someone wants you to do something, no matter how much pressure that person puts on you, that other person’s needs and desires are not automatically more important than your own. You may choose to accede to the other person’s wishes, but you also may choose to go your own way. This does not make you a mean person. It makes you your own person.

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 I have met many, or so I was told. They sat across from me on first dates, deeply sniffing a wine and commenting on the forenotes of fruitiness before asking if I “read much?” They tell stories about their love of Kafka; pausing only to look at me with this sad little knowing smile. To a child, they tell me much about the books I have already read. They explain words I learned and used well before them. When I try to interupt, to explain that, yes, I read, and as a matter of fact Kafka is right next to Dante on my bedside, I am talked down. Talked over. 

 The nice men don’t understand why being nice isn’t working. Women, I guess, are strange creatures to them. When we are approached on the subway and told we are pretty; when we only flash quiet tight smiles, it is an affront. They were only trying to be nice, it’s not their fault that our bodies are ships that others want to pirate. We should know by the smell of your rose lips that nice men - they exist. It is my fault for being so goddamn difficult. Nice men decide for me it is their duty to inform me of my physical accommodation to their pleasure. That compliments have never come as knives, a cage to suffocate the bird in. That because they used “pretty” and not “hot,” We should be sure that we are safe, that nice men only want us to hear what’s best for us. We’ll miss it when we’re older. Nice men are doing us a favor, until we don’t smile for them. Then they are nice men telling us we are bitches, sluts. 

 The nice men are only trying to help. Women won’t take it, because we are all dumb wild animals bumping our blind eyes against “jerks” who don’t know what we really need. We don’t even know what we really need. What we need is a nice guy, and the nice men are there for that; to force her into situations where she stands to lose a close friend again because he couldn’t stop seeing her as a sex object. She doesn’t know it, but she needs him. Nice men tell me a lot about myself; without my mouth ever opening. Nice men tell me I’m too stupid for my own good and need to be explained every little thing, that I don’t know if I’m worthy until I cause attraction, that I can’t even make my own sexual decisions. 

 Nice men, I am told, are not like other men. Nice men sometimes even call themselves feminists and then write poems about how hard it is to be a male feminist. Nice men are artists with their dark disney princesses, are pleasantly amused by the efforts of queer girls, offer shading advice to someone with headphones in. Nice men tell you while you’re buying roof tiles to go get your boyfriend. Nice men don’t understand why we flinch when the label “nice guy” explodes in our faces. 

 We are silent in all of this, an active object that they fondle with their meaty mitts. They assume our little chickadee brains can’t conquer poetry. They teach without being asked for a lesson. They insert their opinion. They know better than we do, about our bodies, about what is best for us. We are a curious thing to them, that does not bend, that talks back on other frequencies, says silly girly things like “I read,” “Of course I knew that,” “I saved a life once,” “I don’t feel comfortable with a strange man approaching me,” “I am able of knowing who I should be dating,” “I am a human and I have my own life, am not hive mind, have my own experiences and values and feelings and you should stop assuming things about me." 

 Who told the nice men they are nice? What did they do to deserve that label? Was it be a decent person to that poor underclass of women? Did you deign to find them human? What does a nice man do that is nice besides tell me he is nice? What do the nice guys do? Did they ask us if we felt comfortable with the type of nice they offer? Did they ask us how to be nice or did they just all talk in one big group until some rules appeared, some "nice guy” guide. Is there a ceremony where nice girls and nice guys all sit around while the nice men sip wine and talk about how nice it is to be nice, did you know they once held a door and didn’t spit on her? The whole time us silly girls with our silly wildflower wilting hearts, we melt as these nice men glisten. 

In my early high school years I was the nice guy but really a people pleaser if anything at all. A selfless person who wished to gain almost nothing, just a little respect in return with some attention.

It wasn't until I was actually trying to date that I found myself to be a different person entirely. It's as if the culture of damsel in distress took over instinctively. I wanted to protect girls from evils, but by doing so I put my own judgment. As if they weren't smarter than the monsters, but sometimes they just found them attractive.

I would find myself in "friend zones", my confidence diminished to the point where I just wanted to be like all those other jerks because being nice wasn't really attractive. I began to criticize both genders, more so females because I wanted to expose the discrepancy between all the romantic comedies they loved and the guys they would date. I shed whatever nice guy title I had to my name in the process but I was just trying to be bluntly honest.

And really I have still been that monster deep down as I build a better self image. Because even in good intentions, one can still be selfish. Whatever culture has turned males this way has been progressing or so you might think. I don't know if I am the nice guy of this piece or of my own, but God I hope to myself that bitterness will be gone and I won't like some of my friends mutter "bitches" when things don't go my way.