A Truth, about myself

I learned when C and I went through pre-marital counseling that I am an introvert. I would’ve never guessed that about myself, considering how generally well I get along with others and how “bubbly” I seem to seem to others a lot of the time. But, lo, the personality test spoke, and the more I read about introvert-ism, the more I realized that I AM, indeed, introverted.

The thing about being introverted is that it can turn me into kind of a bad friend. I hole up inside myself, and my house, and can just exist for days. I don’t call. I don’t write. I DO care about what’s happening in your life, but unless you call me and tell me about it, I don’t generally reach out. Generally speaking, the “holing up” occurs around the times when I am having some kind of internal strife, or internal reflection. Lately, there’s been a lot of that strife business going on internally. Not so much about the infertility issues so much as just general emotional breakdowns about various things ranging from feelings of inadequacy as a wife and friend to missing my husband to missing Texas to … well… the unidentifiable crying bout. So I’ve been holed up. For a couple weeks now.



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