I am an INTJ. (If you don’t know what that is, Google). This means that I live in my brain. I am comfortable in a world of ideas. Emotions are neither my primary language or concern. I have them. I feel them. I just don’t know exactly what it is I’m feeling until I’ve had adequate time to process the situation. Couple that with very real OCD issues and you’ve got a gal who’s super-fun at parties. (Disclaimer: I actually can be very fun at parties).
My personality type is easily misunderstood. I am in possession of “resting [w]itch face.” People often think I’m angry when really I’m just thinking about how best to arrange the tape dispensers on my desk. Or about how Marvel is so clearly superior to DC. Or about sleep.
Beautiful, glorious, elusive sleep.
There’s also the idea that I hate everyone because I’m an off-the-charts introvert who can go from work attire to sweatpants to blanket burrito in under five minutes. That’s simply not true. Yes, I find people, particularly crowds (translation: more than 10), draining. Yes, I can be a bit of a curmudgeon sometimes. Yes, I’ve been known to slip into the hermit lifestyle, minus the cave in the middle of nowhere. (#desertfathers)
Truth is, I love people. My heart’s desire is to be a Barnabas whenever I can. I want to be encouraging, to cheer others on. I want to be a good friend.
I’m just awkward about it.
My approach to relationships is haphazard and perhaps slightly cold to outsiders. I don’t need to be on the go every night of the week and I don’t need to talk to every single person I know on a regular basis. I have few qualms about telling someone they’re wrong (though I do try to be kind about it). I have to have a good supply of energy, both physical and mental, stored up in order to enjoy a get-together. I am not emotionally demonstrative and I don’t always understand when other people are, though I will offer Kleenex, a blanket and both of my dogs during crying sessions.
But neither my need for distance nor my seeming impassivity are good indicators of my loyalty to my friends, both online and in real life.
A couple of months ago I sat in my living room, surrounded by a group of girlfriends. The conversation and the chocolate flowed freely. We lounged in our comfies and solved all the problems of the world. On that night, I clearly understood the necessity of interacting with those I love on a regular basis. I need the extroverts to draw me out of my shell. I need to hear different views on varying issues. I need to have a group who accepts me in all my very real weirdness.
Friendship between women is a gorgeous thing. We have to stop fighting and comparing and belittling each other. We need to stand together. Embrace each other. Cheer when one does well and mourn when one fails. We need to stop the name-calling and the shaming and start pouring words like “strong,” “beautiful,” “capable,” “intelligent” and “warrior-princess who kicks serious butt” into each other’s hearts.
Every woman on this planet is fierce. A force to be reckoned with, whatever her MBTI results (again, Google). But no woman can stand alone. We must join hands. Must walk together. Must defend each other, love each other, support each other.
And always, always, let each other know when skirt hems are tucked into pantyhose.
For all entries in the 31 Days for the Ladies series, go here.