Being the daughter of an extreme introvert can’t be easy
Especially when I’m consumed by my own struggles and don’t see hers.
Let me start by saying that being extremely introverted isn’t a diagnosis. It’s not a dysfunction, but it can result in very dysfunctional relationships.
I didn’t have an immediate connection with my daughter, she was another human after all and when she arrived, suddenly I wasn’t alone. It wasn’t the only thing, but it definitely contributed to my post-natal depression. We eventually found our flow when her au pair took over mothering and I could just teach her things. Teaching felt easy to me, even when her tantrums made it impossible to everyone else. I saw myself in her when she screamed at not being able to get a silly educational toy right and kicked the toy across the room.
I didn’t see myself in her when she came home from school and told me about all her best friends. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had my share of best friends over the years and the ones I’ve kept are now my family. It was the way she related to them that was interesting to me. And the discussions we had about being yourself versus modelling yourself on others. The first debate she won was on that topic. She made a case for her approach to socialising that left me gobsmacked. She was five at the time.
Also around that time, I was escaping all social engagements via my job in corporate and studying. I found the two very effective at justifying a lot of time alone. She was so understanding when we came home in the evening and I asked her to occupy herself in the lounge because “mommy was around a lot of people today and just needs to be alone for a bit”. After all, we had spent time together on the drive home!
A poignant moment for us came one Mother’s Day when her school had a picnic for the moms. She was overjoyed that I was attending. I usually outsourced all parenting social engagements to her dad (my ex), her au pair or my mother. Listening to the other kids recite why they loved their moms, I remember wondering how long this was going to go on for because the moms were chatting with each other, and therefore me, throughout and cooing over the cute things their children said about them. Finally it was my turn. My heart stopped as I heard her say “I love my mom because she plays with me… sometimes”.
In the awkard silence that followed the only one-liner of the day, she looked over at me and her proud smile instantly turned to pain. She ran to me in tears and I felt angry with my face for giving away a pain that should have been mine alone. I wore the necklace she’d made for me, that came with the card, to the office all year. Luckily it was right on the line between strange and trendy.
Through all our ups and downs, and there have been many downs especially in the teen years, she has always given me a complete sense of being accepted. Whether it was overcoming her own fears to help me in a socially fearful moment or her answer to my question about why she was upset with her dad for doing something similar to what I do (“Yes, but you’re different”), she just got me.
Who knew having a sidekick could end up feeling this good?
This poem is one of several that I’ve written to try to convey how I feel, something extreme introverts often struggle to do. We tend to think we’re being expressive, through a look or mumbled word perhaps, while being received as cold.
You still have my heart, you know.
My heart was stolen bit by bit
With each new frown and stare.
Seeing you doggedly refuse to quit
And your resistance to despair
No matter what, you took it on,
My little teacher from the start.
Our adventures go far beyond
The bounds of space, or heart
In fact, as your’s breaks free,
And two are no longer one,
Your gifts and wisdom show me,
You teach me how it’s done
How it’s possible to see and know
Another from afar, or near.
The way you deftly rise and grow
Shows how you really hear.
But best of all is how you hold
All of me so close to you,
Side by side on paths of old
And those we walk anew.
