Selectively Social

For years, I called myself anti-social. It was a self-deprecating joke I threw out to explain why I’d opt out of gatherings or duck out early, why I’d crave quiet when the world seemed too loud. But “anti-social” was never the truth. I’m not anti-connection. I’m just selectively social.

I’ve spent a lifetime being perceived as extroverted—expressive, animated, comfortable in front of people. I know how to hold space, how to lead a room, how to connect.  (Some of you are probably shaking your heads right now at the idea that I’m not extroverted.)

But what most people don’t see is the deep need to retreat afterward. The part of me that folds inward once the storm of a busy week has passed. The part that needs stillness to find center again.

It’s taken me years to understand this about myself—years to stop trying to be who I thought I was supposed to be and start honoring who I actually am. Now, with more flexibility in my life, I give myself permission to protect that quiet part of me. I don't apologize for choosing rest over noise, solitude over stimulation, depth over surface.   I've learned how to find a better balance: a full, meeting-packed day followed by quiet evenings and weekends.

Being single, for quite a while now, has carved out unexpected space. Sometimes that space feels like loneliness. Sometimes it aches with not being chosen. But more often, it feels like an open field I’ve been given to heal. To do the work. To sit with my current self, my younger self, my wounded self, and say: We’re not running from this anymore. We’re staying. We’re listening. We’re softening.

I know I’m not alone in this, even though the path can feel isolating. So many of us are performing versions of ourselves we barely recognize. So many of us are tired from the constant swirl of sound—inside and out. But if we could turn down the volume, even just a little, we might hear a deeper truth:  There’s nothing wrong with needing quiet. With needing space. With just being instead of doing.

Maybe being “selectively social” isn’t a flaw.
Maybe it’s wisdom—hard-won, and finally honored.

---

The next time you find yourself stepping back instead of leaning in, don’t rush to label it as withdrawal. Maybe it’s alignment.   Maybe it’s you choosing yourself, wisely.

And if you thrive in the crowd, in the swirl of voices and shared energy—that’s beautiful, too.

We all connect in our own way.   The key is knowing what truly feeds you.