, and learned that I probably am an ambivert - which means I have both introvertish (is so a word) and extrovertish tendencies.I think this tends to be situationally dependent, but it most definitely also is mood dependent...and sometimes unpredictable - even to myself.
True, there are times when I am among the loudest at the party...and other times when I'd rather skip it altogether, preferring the company of a dependably silent and non-demanding book.As with most personality extremes, the best way to cope and/or succeed is to know thyself. In modern therapy vernacular, this also is called a "Sensory Diet" (which can be confusing because it has nothing to do with food). We implement a sensory diet to help our children learn self-regulation and channel their sensory cravings and defenses safely and "appropriately."
Instinctively, we all do this to a degree. Aren't you fulfilling your own personal sensory needs each time you use light dimmers, volume controls, a certain pillow type or coffee? Think about how you feel when you can't alter the level of light, sound, or caffeine you seek? I relate my daughter's sensory experience to that ... to the zillionth power.
Now, what happens when our sensory needs are in direct conflict? I suppose I sacrificed my right to control my own sensory environment when I had children, but still sometimes I just need some quiet, you know?
My daughter is largely nonverbal (or a new term I recently heard: non-speaking) but superbly communicative. This is a wonderful blessing...albeit an exhausting one. Let me tell you something about nonverbal. It has absolutely no correlation with quiet. Nada!
Oh, I do love hearing her voice. Love! Sometimes, however, I'd like to give mine a rest. But you see, I am always always always talking to my daughter. I have gotten hoarse after a day alone with her. When I try to ease up on the talking, she fills the void with screams.
I suppose it's because my voice serves as her gateway; her routine; her affirmation; her guidepost. Let me explain.
It starts with the kind of happy toddler chat you are advised to do to expose your child to the world. It's the constant stream of chatter many parents use to narrate the day to a baby. "Oh look out the window it's a beautiful day and the sun is shining I hope it doesn't rain because we have a play date in the park with your friend from school did you know I knew his mommy when I was your age and oh let's stop at Starbucks since mommy's very very tired and craving a venti skinny caramel macchiato."
We've graduated. She's the conversation boss now (despite my compelling narratives). With her iPad (proloquo2go, safari, google maps or youtube, usually), ASL (American Sign Language), word approximations, or her own sophisticated game of Charades when we're too stupid to understand all of these other methods.
One more piece of background, she's relentlessly persistent. So it goes like this:
She: Pool. Swimming. Bathing suit.
Me: Yes, we will go to the pool. (All smiles).
Later.
Aaaaaaaaaaaa
Mommy. Pool. Swim. Bathing suit. Ready.
First we have to eat lunch then we'll go to the pool.
Aaaaaaaaa
Pool. Ready.
I know you're ready and understand. Thank you for telling me. First lunch.
Aaaaaaaaaa
(Lots of tears).
First lunch. Then pool.
Yes. First lunch then pool.
Lunch. Pool. Lunch. Pool. Lunch. Pool. Lunch. Pool. Lunch. Pool. Lunch. Pool. Lunch. Pool.
(Louder and louder until I reassure and verify. Over and over again.)
Then there's booboos. Cause for hours discussion. (By discussion I mean a loop of around 4 sentences that must be repeated until the end of time. See Obsession Safety Checklist.)
And schedules. She loves when I talk her through schedules.
And social stories. Constant social story telling.
And the do's and dont's (preemptively AND as-needed): "No touching people's hair." "Hands, feet, and nose to yourself." "We keep our clothes on in public." "Stay next to me." "Not the whole bottle of ketchup, please."
She's not too much of a sit still kind of gal (see Mommy on the Run) but she occasionally will immerse herself in a game of Temple Run or Subway Surfer (you know, virtual running around...that's her savant skill right there - she's amazing at it). Even then, my voice is required to follow her pre-packaged script. And if I don't know my "lines," it's all the worse.
Why must she hear the same few words over and over? Either they echo hers or they follow her self-prescribed expectations for what must be said at that moment in time (See Things Aren't Always What They Seem: A Lesson in Generalization.) Life cannot move on until Mom says those precise words.
We might label her demands bossy; autistic; OCD; or processing related. We also might laud her observation skills, curiosity, order, and persistence - all fantastic, somewhat hard-learned qualities.
I think it's her way of engaging in our complicated social web, and I adore engaging with her.
Still, whatever the motive or explanation, my constant talking - or the alternative, her constant screaming - can be hell on my own "sensory diet."
In Quiet, Susan Cain offers this advice to those of us who might be introvertish in an extrovertish environment.
“The best way to act out of character is to stay as true to yourself as you possibly can – starting by creating as many ‘restorative niches’ as possible in your daily life.
Restorative niche is Professor [Brian] Little’s term for the place you go when you want to return to your true self. It can be a physical place, like the path beside the Richelieu River, or a temporal one, like the quiet breaks you plan between sales calls.
It can mean canceling your social plans on the weekend before a big meeting at work, practicing yoga or meditation, or choosing email over an in-person meeting.
You choose a restorative niche when you close the door to your private office (if you’re lucky enough to have one) in between meetings. You can even create a restorative niche during a meeting, by carefully selecting where you sit, and when and how you participate.”
I'm trying to find my restorative niche in her smile: my reward for talking myself silly.
