The Gifts of an Introvert

Several weeks ago, my friend, Jill, was diagnosed with Stage IV breast cancer.  She's fit, she's 36, and she has three little kids.  Cancer is no respecter of persons, which is one of the many reasons why I hate it so much.

Shortly after her diagnosis, one of our mutual friends set up a time for women who know Jill to come and pray for her.  Nichole's living room was full.

Jill and her family moved to Norman less than two years ago, and it seems like she already knows more people here than I do after a decade.  She's bubbly and outgoing, the kind of person who makes you feel at ease with being yourself, and she could probably have a better conversation with a wall than I can with an actual human.  Hence, the ladies who gathered on her behalf were from a variety of Jill's many walks of life, including her running group, church, kids' school, neighbors, and random acquaintances.

Jill and one of the aforementioned random acquaintances, Laura, met at the public library one day...the first week that Jill moved to Norman...because Jill and Laura are both the kind of people who meet people.  You've probably figured out by now that I am not.  If you were to Google the definition of "introvert", you would likely find my head shot next to the word.

Sometimes, I get down on myself because I am not a Jill Perry or a Laura Piersall.  I love people, but I am awkward and slow to get to know them.

Some of you reading this may have been to a church where there is a "meet and greet", usually before the sermon begins.  I hate that part of the service.  During the "meet and greet" at our church, Jill is inevitably hugging someone and flashing her huge, inviting smile at a complete stranger.  I'm in the bathroom, or refilling my coffee...or hiding behind the stage curtains.

I've learned to come out of my shell somewhat, and I'm fairly adept (now) at having one-on-one conversations with people who I've recently met, but these skills still do not come naturally for me.  It often feels like our society was created for extroverts, so after forcing myself out of my comfort zone for even a few hours, I am ready for a nap.

It is easy to convince myself that the way I was constructed is inferior to the way others were.  I know in my mind that I am "fearfully and wonderfully made", but there's this voice that sometimes tries to tell me that I'm not as fearfully and wonderfully made as people with personalities like Jill's,

If you were a body part, which one would you choose to be?  The heart?  Eyes?  Mouth?  Brain?  Hands?  Those are all great choices, and obviously very important.  I bet I can tell you which body part didn't come to mind.  The bladder.  Right?  Nobody picks that guy.  But guess what.  You would die without your bladder.  Also, have you ever met anyone with two hearts, two brains, or an extra set of eyes?  No, you haven't, because that would be excessive and impossible.

I need to learn to be okay with exactly the gifts that I have.  They're not inferior or unimportant.  Most likely, I won't make friends with you the first time I see you at the public library.  But I might after another time or two, and then I'll be your friend forever.  If you climb up in my dental chair in a few years, I'll ask you about yourself and listen to your answers.  (I really like listening.)  I am not the life of the party, but I can sure organize a good one.  And if you come to our house for dinner, my husband will carry the conversation, but I'll cook my mom's amazing spaghetti recipe, play with your kids, and make you feel welcome.

Perhaps the world does not need another Jill or Laura, as wonderful as they are.  The world definitely does not need Jill or Laura imposters.  Maybe today is a really good day to just be Mary Rachel, in all of my introverted glory, and to trust that the genuine version of myself is far better than a pretend version of my friends.

An introvert and an introvert-in-training

           

Parenting in Isolation

There was a point in my life when I thought I could totally rock being a single parent.

Y'all.  Who was I kidding?

My husband and I have a running joke in our house that if he was the only parent, nothing would ever get done, and if I was the only parent, nobody would ever have any fun.  (I say that this is a running joke, but it's actually kind of true.)

In January, Andrew left for Hong Kong for ten days.  I get that military families and traveling business people do this kind of thing all the time, and for much greater stretches.  However, in our 3.5 years as parents, this was the longest that one of us has ever been gone.

When Andrew left, I had more offers for support from my friends than I even knew how to handle.  My girls and I weren't in crisis mode without my husband, but having experienced similar absences of spouses themselves, my friends knew that a normal day could turn into a crisis at any given moment and wanted to help.

Would it be helpful if I brought you a meal one night?

Why don't I watch your girls for an hour so you can ______?

I'm running to the grocery store.  Do you need me to pick up anything for you while I'm out?

Why is it so hard to say yes?

Being a young mother can be incredibly lonely (despite the fact that some little person is ALWAYS present and/or talking), but it seems that we are determined to seclude ourselves even further because of our pride, unwillingness to accept genuine offers of help, and fear of appearing incapable.

We're so exhausted, but we've made ourselves believe that we need to do it all and do it all well.  If our life isn't exactly together, let's at least pretend like we've got this.

Accepting help, in my mind, is not a sign of weakness but of courage.  In self-sufficient America, bravery is required to admit that you cannot function in solitary confinement.  It feels embarrassing to say, "Friend, I'm completely falling apart over here," but we've all been there.  When I've had another momma call me and admit those same words, I haven't felt embarrassed for her.  Truthfully, I have been relieved.  {Thank goodness I'm not to only one who lives in a zoo!}  Even that gorgeous, super-talented mom with five beautiful, perfectly behaved model children loses her mind, too.  Even her.

Also, breathe this in for a minute: People offer to help you because they want to help you.  Simple as that.  Nobody is twisting anybody's arm here.

If you're blessed enough to have family in town, take them up on their proposals to play with their grandkids.  They seriously eat this stuff up.  Just ask my mom, who offered to drive up to do that very thing during the Hong Kong trip and, you guessed it, I said it wasn't necessary.  (I'm a work in progress.)

Parenting isn't meant to be done in isolation.  This life isn't a contest to see who is the most independent.  We need people.

It is freeing, not embarrassing or weak or inadequate, to say yes to assistance.  If you try it next time, I will, too.