The Loneliness of Extroverts

You might think of extroverts as the life of the party, the center of every gathering. Maybe you picture them laughing with every friend and mingling with ease, or walking up to new people to introduce themselves without a trace of nervous sweat.

Maybe the extroverts you know are overly huggy or maybe they’re full of over-the-top jokes. They’re no coward in a crowd; they’re confident in conversation.

Maybe you can relate.

Or maybe you’re an introvert. Maybe you’ve experienced sheer horror as your extrovert friends stick you in uncomfortable situations. Maybe the center of the crowd makes your head spin, and you prefer to operate in stealth mode along the perimeter of the room.

Maybe you’ve been told that extroverts have all the fun and there’s something wrong with you for needing your personal space and small circle of people. (Whoever told you that was wrong, btw.)

But you probably don’t associate “extrovert” with the word “lonely.”

Here’s a window into my world:

I love people. People people people. If I could get a job where I got PAID to talk to, encourage, and connect with people, I would be living the dream. (If you hear of an opening, let me know!)

One of my favorite things to do is to grab coffee with people and have deep conversations, discussions about writing, back-and-forth about faith questions, and a chance to swap stories. And yes, plenty of awkward too much information.

I get my kicks from connecting people to other people and organizations that fit them like a glove. It gives me joy to gently pull at someone’s story until they speak it out and hold it in their hands long enough to realize the powerful potential of their own life.

It fills my soul and makes me feel like I’m walking in my purpose.

But sometimes when I sit in the quiet with myself at the end of a long week of loving my people, I feel oddly disconnected from the world. I retreat inside and find myself face to face with loneliness.

God designed me to be with a variety of people and reflect His heart to engage with others. But unlike God, I don’t have the capacity to deeply know and be with every person I encounter for the long haul. (Although I try to argue with that obvious truth far too often.)

And sometimes in my eagerness to connect with people, I look around to see that there are good friendships I’ve neglected, relationships once vibrant that drifted. I feel the pain of gaps I helped create.

Other times I hyperventilate at the mountain of extroverted shenanigans that my calendar has become, and I scan to see if there’s any time in there to breathe or be with the people who know me best.

YOu know…those safe place people who can read my facial expressions and know when I’m faking- who can anticipate my reactions and wade through my heart ramblings. Sometimes I need someone to pull me out of my relational whirlwind and call me back into the present over a horribly cheesy movie, a close-knit girls night, an overdue coffee visit where nothing is expected of me other than being.

In these moments, I’m reminded of my overwhelming dependence on my introvert friends, my small circle people, and those that are willing to make a long-term investment in me. It’s then that I’m grateful for people that don’t assume that my busyness this week means I don’t need them anymore, and who embrace the deep moments even in seasons where those moments are sparse.

I’ve seen memes like this one that suggests that introverts are waiting for an extrovert to adopt them:

but I’ve find the opposite to be true as well.

No matter who we are we need each other. I hope this moment of extrovert introspection helps the outgoing feel less alone, and the introverts feel the weight and beauty of their gift.

Which personality do you most relate to? What do you wish people would know about who you are? What have you come to appreciate about people are the opposite of you?