Updated: August 6, 2023
As I type these thoughts from my home office, my 11-year-old son, Alex, is nestled on the couch, absorbed in a book. He recently expressed a desire for some alone time, and I couldn’t be more relieved. We previously lived in a spacious, open layout house, which often felt overwhelming for our introverted family. Now, with separate rooms, we all have our own spaces to retreat to when needed.
I recall a faded snapshot of my younger self, around the age of ten, washing dishes in the kitchen. At the time, I had no idea what “alone time” meant, but I instinctively gravitated toward solitude, avoiding the chatter in the living room filled with relatives. As a child, I didn’t even know the term introvert existed, but as I grew older, it became a label that finally made sense of my experiences. Understanding this concept relieved me of the internal conflict I had felt regarding my social exhaustion and need for recharging through solitude.
A few years back, I received a call from a babysitter who said, “I can’t find your son.” My heart raced as I asked, “He’s lost?” After a brief search, they found him curled up inside a closet. While the sitter was understandably alarmed, I wondered if this was simply Alex’s way of seeking the solitude he craved.
As Alex started participating in more activities like school events and sports, it became clear that he needed downtime after these social interactions. My partner, David, and I made a conscious effort to build moments of solitude into his routine. Just like us, our introverted child requires his own space.
When I was Alex’s age, I would often wander down the street to my grandparents’ house, bringing along a blanket and a jar of peanuts. I found comfort in hiding behind trees in their yard, a place where I could recharge without anyone noticing my absence. This instinct to seek solitude was natural for me, and it remains so even today; at gatherings, I often find myself gravitating toward the kitchen to escape the social buzz.
Once in middle school, I stayed behind in class while my peers went to lunch. Hiding under a table, I aimed to remain unnoticed. When my teacher discovered me, he scolded me for my behavior, but he never asked why I felt the need to hide. Perhaps if he had, I would have shared that I was simply seeking stillness.
The other day, I asked David when he first learned about the term “introvert.” He shared that it wasn’t until college. I echoed his sentiment, mentioning how discussions about feelings and personal needs were less common during our childhoods. Unlike Alex, I never communicated my need for solitude to my parents, as our days were structured differently, with more opportunity for unstructured play and quiet time.
For me, finding moments for solitude is an innate response. Even now, I sometimes slip away from social events to do small tasks in the kitchen, which I find therapeutic. When I’m told, “You don’t have to do that,” I often think, “Actually, I do, for my own peace of mind.” I understand this need in Alex when he expresses a desire for alone time.
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In summary, recognizing and respecting my introverted child’s need for alone time has been a transformative experience for our family. By creating space for solitude, we foster an environment where our introverted natures can thrive.