I knew from an early age that I wasn’t a people person.
Birthday parties drained me. Group projects annoyed me. Random small talk in the grocery store aisle? Instant regret for not choosing self-checkout. I used to think something was wrong with me—like maybe I was broken for not needing or craving constant social interaction the way everyone else seemed to.
Then I discovered there was actually a word for people like me: introvert.
It’s not that we don’t like people. We just hate having to be “on” all the time. We hate pretending to be okay with surface-level conversations. We hate the pressure to perform, to smile, to nod, to ask how someone’s cousin’s dog is doing when we honestly just wanted to sit in silence and recharge.
We’re not antisocial. We’re selectively social. There’s a big difference.
I like people—in theory. But I like them even more when they go home. Or better yet, when they text instead of call. My peace lives in quiet corners, not in loud rooms or crowded tables. And that’s not something I feel the need to apologize for anymore.
Because let me be clear: introversion isn’t a flaw. It’s not something to “fix.” It’s not something we need to grow out of. If anything, I grew into it. I stopped feeling bad for ghosting group chats. I stopped forcing myself to go to events that made my soul itch. I stopped trying to be who I wasn’t just to make other people comfortable.
I’m not rude. I’m not shy. I’m just done with the constant need to explain why I value my space.
People say things like, “You’re always home,” as if that’s a bad thing. Baby, this is the party. I’ve got candles, snacks, books, music, and zero small talk. What more could a girl want?
The world is loud. People are exhausting. And if choosing solitude over chaos makes me weird, then I’m good with weird. I’m proud of the quiet I’ve created. I don’t need to be the loudest in the room to feel seen. I don’t need attention—I need peace.
So no, I’m not antisocial.
I’m just tired of everyone. And honestly? That’s perfectly okay.
