I promise, I like you. I just like my alone time.

In middle school, I tried to be more social by sitting near people and hoping they would notice me.

I can’t help it—I’m awkward.

In fact, I’m so awkward that my high school P.E. teacher gave me a D in P.E.

I was an A student and a perfectionist, so my mom asked her why.

The teacher said, “Jamie mocks me during aerobics.”

I wasn’t mocking her. I am really just that awkward.

Once my teacher realized this, she decided to “help” me by making me walk laps around the gym while everyone else played dodgeball.

Turns out, part of why I looked like I was mocking her was because I genuinely didn’t know what to do with my arms. They always seem to be in the way, and I can never tell how fast or slow they’re supposed to swing. Eventually, I just stopped swinging them.

While my classmates laughed and ducked flying balls, I walked in circles as my teacher yelled, “Jamie, swing your arms!”

Which helped me to feel even more awkward.

Adulthood Awkwardness

I love being invited to events, even if I don't go.

But when I do attend, I’m perfectly happy at the edge of a small group, snacks in hand, people-watching. It's my hobby.

I love people; I just need a certain ratio of bodies to acres and a certain number of hours alone to hours being social.

It took me years to realize my silence wasn’t shyness. It’s just me.

And it’s as cozy as my Minky Couture blanket.

I love small circles where connection feels safe and spacious. Conversations feel more intimate there, and I feel like myself.

By the end of the workday, I crave quiet.

By the end of the week, my social battery is utterly dead. I start to glitch. You might even see an eye twitch or two.

So if I seem distant, I swear it’s not you. I just need to go plug myself into my bed with a book for a few hours.

Not everyone’s introversion looks like hiding under the bed. Some people just need to leave the concert early, drive separately so they can dip out, or take “a quick bathroom break” that lasts the rest of the night.

However it shows up, introversion isn’t avoidance—it’s recharging.

Five Behavioral Health Takeaways for Introverts (and the People Who Love Them)

1. Silence isn’t rejection.

Introverts often process internally before speaking. If we’re quiet, we’re probably thinking—not judging.

2. Social interaction has an energy cost.

Extroverts get charged up by people; introverts get charged down.
It’s not personal—it’s neurological, and forcing your introvert friend to “be more social” will just piss them off.

Example: When I was a senior in high school, my mom forced me to attend a school dance. I was drained. I didn’t want to go to a stupid Snowball dance. It’s not that I disliked my friends—I loved them very much. You know… in small clusters, for short periods of time, on my terms.

Not in a stupid dress. And dancing? I can’t even swing my arms and walk!

Here we are, twenty-five years later, and I’m still bitter.

3. Recharging is emotional hygiene.

Alone time isn’t selfish; it’s maintenance. Just like you plug in your phone, introverts need solitude to reboot their nervous system.

4. Preparation helps connection.

Give an introvert a heads-up, and they’ll thrive.

Case in point: in college, the guy I was dating once dropped in unannounced to bring me breakfast.

So what did I do? I hid under the bed and didn’t answer the door. Works every time.

5. Authenticity beats performance.

When introverts feel safe to show up as themselves, they can be some of the most loyal, observant, and empathic people you’ll ever meet.
We’re not quiet because we don’t care. We’re quiet because we’re listening.

Closing Thoughts

So if you ever meet someone like me at a party, sitting alone at the snack table, smiling politely, considering an Irish exit—don’t take it personally.

We probably like you.
It’s just very people-y in here.

Because everything is behavioral health...especially allowing yourself to recharge however is right for you!