Introverted Mom Read online

  We aren’t attempting to make our lives calmer out of selfishness. We are mothers, called to lay down our very lives for our children if necessary. We are here because our families deserve our best. Because we deserve to understand ourselves, our strengths and weaknesses. There’s nothing wrong with you, fellow introverted mom. And I hope that by the time you finish this book, you will have begun to believe that.

  I write these words not because I’m an expert, but because I needed this book and it didn’t exist. How I desperately needed this book! I needed someone to confirm that there was nothing fundamentally flawed with the mother I was. That my instincts could be trusted. That I wasn’t ruining my children. That somehow my family could live together without me constantly feeling like I was at the end of my rope. I offer these words in the hope that other introverted mothers will come by these insights more easily and earlier than I did.

  I share mainly through stories because that’s how I’ve always learned best. If it ever sounds like I love to talk about myself, know that like many introverts, I’m a private person. I aim to share vulnerably, though, with permission from my loved ones, so that you’ll know you aren’t alone. If I ever come across like I know what I’m doing in these stories, rest assured that this is a figment of your imagination. If I come across like a mess held together by mercy, you’re nearer the right track. And at the end of the chapters coming up, I offer “Reflections for Introverted Moms” for you—short sections of poetry, encouragement, or humor—because, let’s face it, when it comes to motherhood, practical suggestions only take us so far. We need laughter, tears, and inspiration, just as much (if not more) than we need helpful advice. But these aren’t solely my own thoughts scribbled on these pages. I offer yours, too, given here and there in bite-sized snippets of wisdom from the places you’ve shared them: blog comments, social media, emails. Not on the phone, though, because, hello: We’re introverts, remember?

  I’ve also invited some of my dearest friends to travel this introverted journey with us. In the interest of full disclosure, I don’t actually know them and they all happen to be dead, but if they were still alive—I know they would love me. We’d be besties, sitting quietly together drinking hot tea, eating cookies, and reading books. Four of my favorite writers, all introverted women themselves, will walk beside us: Louisa May Alcott, Jane Austen, L. M. Montgomery, and Laura Ingalls Wilder. Their words have inspired me since I first met each one of them, long before I knew we all shared the gift of introversion. I’ve pulled all the chapter titles in this book from their writings, and throughout these pages we’ll touch base with them to glean insights from their lives that still apply to us today.

  “Why does any of this even matter?” you might ask. Well, if you’re an introverted mother, it matters because it’s part of the woman you are. Part of the girl you once were. A part that maybe you didn’t understand, that maybe no one understood. A part that perhaps you still haven’t come to terms with. An introverted renaissance has ignited our society in recent years. Word has gotten out, finally, that introversion isn’t a mistake or a weakness. That this personality trait allows those who possess it to thrive and find purpose. That someone’s desire for quiet isn’t wrong, but instead what they truly need in order to be able to offer their gifts to others.

  And yet I’ve continued to wonder: How does this apply to motherhood? I don’t know about you, but my kids didn’t get the memo that they should try to accommodate my personality type. The common advice to “just take care of yourself” as an introvert doesn’t come easily to those of us in this 24/7 role. We have a challenge on our hands, which is why we need this book. Together we’re going to pioneer an introverted motherhood revolution, helping our families, touching the world, and if we’re lucky, maybe even scoring fifteen minutes alone here and there along the way.

  Reflections from Introverted Moms

  HOW DID YOU FIRST DISCOVER YOU WERE AN INTROVERTED MOM?

  I think it became blatant when we got home from an extended family event and I was utterly overwhelmed. These were people I dearly loved and enjoyed, but I sat down and cried afterward because it was too much. I started saying no to big gatherings, getting together with my extended family in smaller visits instead. That has actually worked . . . because I’ve been blessed to get to know them better.

  TALIA, ILLINOIS

  It probably wasn’t until my daughter was three, when I started to get drained by all the talking, questioning, and noise that came with motherhood.

  TIFFANY, CANADA

  I first started seeing my introversion affect my parenting when my extroverted daughter wanted to invite neighbor kids over to our house all the time. I could feel my anxiety levels rising! We had to come up with some boundaries about when friends were allowed over, for how long, and how many at a time.

  BRENDA, MINNESOTA

  I never knew I was an introvert until I became a mother. At the end of every day, during which my two young children had been with me every waking second, all I could think about was handing them off to my husband and taking a book and a glass of wine up to the bathtub.

  MICHELLE, INDIANA

  I knew [I was an introvert] before the kids, but having them attached to me all the time gets overwhelming. Nap time is Me Time.

  BROOKE, COLORADO

  CHAPTER 2

  learning how to sail

  ON BELIEVING THAT YOU’RE ENOUGH

  I’m not afraid of storms, for I’m learning how to sail my ship.

  LOUISA MAY ALCOTT, LITTLE WOMEN

  Mommy, sometimes do you not want to be with me? Because sometimes I feel like you don’t want me with you.”

  The little voice rose up beside me on the brown leather sofa, at the end of a looooonnnng day that still wasn’t over. I looked down into the wide eyes of my son Jonathan, feeling like I’d been punched in the stomach. All my failures rushed over me—all the things I wished I could be but wasn’t. All the energy and patience I wanted but didn’t have. With childlike wisdom and bluntness, he saw the truth and spoke it.

  And it was the truth: I didn’t want him with me.

  What kind of mother admits that? The desperate, introverted kind, whose husband left several days ago on a work trip. The kind who’s settled countless sibling squabbles, made countless meals, read countless books, and counted down countless hours until bedtime’s arrival. The kind who’s just been completely called out by a nine-year-old as she’s nearing that glorious home stretch.

  I knew all about an introvert’s strengths and weaknesses, knew the theoretical reasons why I felt exhausted and drained, but none of that mattered. My little boy felt unwanted, and it crushed me. I blundered for a few minutes, reminded him about the difference between introverts and extroverts, prayed with him, then watched as he scampered upstairs—looking for all intents and purposes like he hadn’t been scarred for life. I thought I might be, though. While the kids drifted off to a full night’s sleep, I tossed and turned for hours, wrestling my inner demons and my own nature, which once again seemed inadequate.

  ON PLENTY IN WEAKNESS

  Not enough: this fearful refrain tormented me that night. I had given the kids my best during the challenging day prior to Jonathan’s bedtime declaration. Yet he still felt it was lacking. When the stress of real life comes our way, it won’t be perfection we offer our kids, but it’s our best all the same. What more can we do?

  My friend Lisa Grace Byrne, an inspiring writer, teacher, and mama-encourager, describes it like this: In certain seasons of our mothering life, it’s as though we walk through a flat, grassy field. The terrain is smooth and comfortable; the scenery lovely. We cover a lot of ground that way, making measurable progress one step at a time. But then we reach the edge of the meadow and find a steep rock wall towering in front of us. Turning around and going back isn’t an option, and the only way to continue moving forward is to climb—one slow, shaky grip and foothold after another. It’s still progress, of course, but it looks nothing like t
he open countryside. The best we can offer our families in the meadows of life differs wildly from the best we bring when we’re scaling walls—when Daddy gets deployed, when the doctor delivers a scary diagnosis, or when we’ve once again reached the end of our reserves.

  I finally understood this on a deeper level with a life coach’s help, when I mentioned to her that my mind rang with “not enough” loudly and on repeat. She sent me on a hunt for a Scripture I could use to combat this lie. I landed on Paul’s words in 2 Corinthians 12:7–9: “I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger from Satan to torment me and keep me from becoming proud. Three different times I begged the Lord to take it away. Each time he said, ‘My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.’ So now I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ can work through me” (NLT).

  I had read this Scripture dozens of times, but now a new meaning jumped out. If God’s power works best in weakness, it’s better to have weaknesses! Better to be “not enough,” because then he can work without me getting in the way. Suddenly I saw this verse as an equation that literally adds up to enough for those in my home:

  God’s Grace + My Weakness = ENOUGH

  It’s my new life mantra; the one I repeat to myself when, again, my best isn’t the best. When I’m drained, overwhelmed, and “don’t want them with me.” Can you get a hold on the freedom found here, fellow introverted mom? It means that even your biggest failures and shortcomings can be used by God, transformed via his miraculous alchemy into gold that enriches your family. It means you are free.

  FREE TO BE WHO? ON WHAT MAKES AN INTROVERT

  The kids ran down the porch steps, eager to get to a much-anticipated summer camp. As they climbed into the van, I reminded one of my sons that when he returned, he’d need to have some “introvert time”—a phrase we use to denote playing or reading alone. We’ve learned the hard way that when he tries to continue being around people nonstop after a morning of extroverting, it doesn’t end well. He needs me to step in and make sure he gets that quiet. If only we introverted mothers had someone to do the same for us!

  “I don’t need that; I like people,” my extroverted daughter said as she buckled her seat belt.

  “Yeah, me too,” Jonathan, another extrovert, chimed in.

  “Guys, I also like people and so does Elijah,” I reminded them. “That’s not what being an introvert means.”

  Where do they pick up these stereotypes? I asked myself. Then I did my best to once again describe introversion in language we could all understand. The difference between extroverts and introverts boils down mainly to one thing: ENERGY, both where and how we get it. Think of an electrical device, like your mobile phone. When it needs recharging, you plug it in. Simple! Now let’s imagine that the current running through the outlet represents time spent with people, and you are the device. Extroverts plug themselves in, heading to their events, meetings, groups, or even just a regular day after a good night’s sleep. Of course they’ll have challenges and face difficult moments like anyone, but if they can stay plugged in to situations, people, and conversations they love, they’ll thrive, all thanks to that highly-charged energy.

  But not all electrical currents are the same. I learned this the hard way when I went to London during spring break as a college freshman. I may have been in pursuit of a cute British boy who became my husband a few years later, and as such, I had all my glamorous accessories with me. That first day I sported bright white tights beneath a denim miniskirt. A long-sleeved red shirt made of felt completed my well-chosen ensemble. I was rocking it, and any young man would have been nuts not to fall for me!

  As a seasoned global traveler, I knew I couldn’t plug my 110-volt hair dryer straight into the 220-volt outlet in my hotel. I needed an adapter to do so, and I had come prepared. After settling in with my university group, I took a shower, plugged in my hair dryer, and started to style my hair. The dryer turned on with a strong hum, but soon the noise changed to something more akin to the sound of a loud, injured cow. A burning smell filled the bathroom, and suddenly the dryer died completely. What? Why? Then I remembered: although I technically could plug it into the wall, thanks to my adapter, I had neglected to bring a converter to change the electricity into a current that would not damage my equipment. That strong current was simply too much for my tool and IT BURNED OUT. Spoiler alert: Steve still married me, despite what my hair looked like and despite the white tights, decidedly uncool even back then.

  See where I’m going with this, introverted mums (that’s a nod to my British readers, who are always so patient with my Americanisms)? Plugging ourselves into a highly charged current drains us rather than restores us. We love people: our families, friends, neighbors, coworkers, as well as those we meet at churches, groups, and activities—so much so that at times we may even be mistaken for extroverts. And if we’ve started our day with a fully charged battery, we will be good to go—for a while. But eventually we will run down. We have to disconnect ourselves and unplug, metaphorically but likely literally as well, to regain our energy. Time alone is our converter. And that’s no small challenge for mothers because pulling the plug, so to speak, is not simple when we’re constantly surrounded by little people.

  Dictionary.com defines an introvert as “a person concerned primarily with (and therefore recharged by) his or her own thoughts and feelings rather than with the external environment.” By contrast, an extrovert is “a person concerned primarily with (and therefore recharged by) the physical and social environment.” (My additions in italics.) Does the idea of being “concerned primarily with your own thoughts and feelings” sound selfish? Think of it this way instead: As introverted moms, we spend much of our time meeting the needs of others. Because we’re internal rather than external processors, it makes perfect sense that we need quiet with our inner selves to process and sort through our day, in order to gear up for the next one.

  Of course, definitions of introversion abound and include many characteristics. Author Susan Cain mentions traits like needing less stimulation to function well, working slowly and deliberately on one task at a time, and preferring to give our social energies to close friends and family. In her words, introverts also tend to “listen more than they talk, think before they speak, and often feel as if they express themselves better in writing than in conversation.”1 Hand raised here! Thank God that the world is populated not only with people who constantly fill its airwaves, but also with those who find meaning in it all. We introverts take our thoughtful insights and offer them back to our families and others as gifts that would never exist otherwise. Let’s take a look at one introverted woman who did just that and see what we can learn from her.

  SAILING YOUR SHIP: LESSONS FROM LOUISA MAY ALCOTT

  Niles, partner of Roberts, asked me to write a girls’ book. Said I’d try. F. asked me to be the editor of “Merry’s Museum.” Said I’d try. Began at once on both new jobs; but didn’t like either.

  SEPTEMBER 1867 (AGE 35)

  Louisa May Alcott’s ship came in after a publisher suggested she write a novel for girls. The resulting Little Women took the world by storm in 1868, as her story of the four March sisters and their family captivated the hearts of young and old, completely reversing the Alcotts’ financial fortune in the process. Just as her book’s character Josephine imagines, Louisa (1832–88) used her earnings to fix up the family home, making their large brown house in Concord, Massachusetts, more comfortable for real-life sisters Anna, Beth, and May, as well as for Father and their mother, Marmee.

  The brown house still stands in Concord, surrounded by literary greatness on every side: Nathaniel Hawthorne’s family next door, Ralph Waldo Emerson down the street, Henry David Thoreau’s Walden Pond within walking distance. When you stroll up to Orchard House, so named for the forty apple trees out back, you can’t help but reflect on the insights that came together in this one town. Was it something in the water? Purely divine inspiration? Doesn’t it soun
d dreamy to move from poverty and obscurity to riches and fame within the course of one year? Ah, but we know there’s more to it. Because once your ship comes in, you have to learn to sail it, through both smooth and stormy seas.

  Growing up, introverted Louisa found herself in an atmosphere of deep thoughts and strong ideals. As a philosopher and educator, her father’s beliefs about engaging children through learning put him far ahead of his time. Most people weren’t ready to embrace his concepts. Bronson Alcott started schools nearly everywhere the family moved, and all of them failed, leaving the family in dire financial straits. His thoughts about educating girls were seen as equally radical, and the neighborhood couldn’t believe it when he built Louisa her own desk to support her writing efforts. That white desk remains in the second story of the house today, centered between the two front windows of Louisa’s room, perfect for looking down over the street below.

  We had lessons each morning in the study. And very happy hours they were to us, for my father taught in the wise way which unfolds what lies in the child’s nature, as a flower blooms, rather than crammed it, like a Strasburg goose, with more than it could digest.2

  Though the neighbors knew Louisa as a gifted storyteller—it’s said that people would sometimes stop by just to hear her describe an ordinary day—as an introvert she found ways to let those she loved know what she needed and when. Close friends and family members knew to check the position of her “mood pillow” on the sofa to see what to expect. If she had it propped vertically, leaning up against the sofa’s arm, it meant you could engage her in a chat. But if you saw it placed horizontally, it meant she needed quiet. Amazing! I think introverted mothers everywhere need a mood pillow of their own, some way to let our family and friends know what we need in any given moment. The tricky part would be getting our littles to notice and follow its signals, right?