I received some e-mails about the tone of my post on Monday. It was described as “severe,” “combative and aggressive” and “WTF?” But I’m not apologizing. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a hundred times: once a writer starts apologizing for her writing, she has lost her integrity. I stand by my Monday post. Besides, no writer can please every reader. Someone will ALWAYS be pissed off. If I stuck only to bland subjects, I’d end up writing about the water composition of cucumbers, and even then some jack-off would call me an idiot for not knowing that cucumbers are less water-soluble than watermelon. Or some shit.

So the post will stand as is. Besides, I got a lot of positive email from introverts who said I nailed it. We are vastly misunderstood, and need to stick together.

I remember vividly the first time in my adult life that I knew I was an introvert. When it hit me between the eyes that I was not cut out for that overly active social life replete with lots of people and vapid chatting.

I was a young teacher in my first teaching job, and my department supervisor had invited me to her Greek Goddess party. Everything in my body told me not to go. That it was corny, that there would be no men there so What Was-the-Dang-Point, that it was a waste of time, that my cozy apartment and my boyfriend were a better choice, that her friends were bound to be as flighty as she was. But she was my supervisor, and my professional idol- she had her Ph.D., something I wanted more than anything in the world, something that I’m still working towards. Truth be told, I was flattered that she asked me to attend. I pictured a sophisticated gathering of accomplished women, and I hoped to have the chance to pick her brain about doctoral programs.

It was nothing like that at all.

It was a disaster. Just a bunch of women wearing flowing dresses, gladiator sandals, and flowers in their hair, and carrying books about Isis and Diana. It was like a dress rehearsal for the Swedish Midsommar. Even then I was aware of pretension, and I just couldn’t summon the energy or the forced vivacity needed for such ridiculousness. This was thirty years ago, before mindfulness and positive affirmations became things of normalcy, so their chanting and dancing unnerved me. I was just waiting for these women to get out a Ouija board, trace a pentagraph on the ground and conjure Hecate. I didn’t know what was going on, so I just sat there balancing my paper plate on my lap while they talked about self-care. We went around the circle while women talked about poetry, baking, and yoga, and suddenly, it was my turn.

“Huh?” I said, when Meg said my name.

“It’s your turn, Mary, to share your favorite tool for self-love.”

Everyone was smiling and staring at me warmly, so I felt comfortable saying the first thing that came to my mind.

“Well, I use my vibrator a lot.”

Silence. I looked around the circle, seeing only blank faces. What was wrong? Why wasn’t anyone saying anything? What says self-love more than sexual health? Was this a goddess party or a dried-up frigid nun party? Didn’t they know that sexual gratification is a basic fundamental need? I looked down at my half-eaten wedge of quiche Lorraine, wondering if I curled up into a really tiny ball, if I could fit right into the indentation of the crust.

(Side note: Why is the subject of female masturbation such a taboo subject? What’s the big deal?  I’ve never understood it. Male masturbation is parodied in books, movies and in cartoons. I was pleased to log onto my favorite blog recently to see the post “Top Ten Vibrators Our Readers Recommend.” Now, this blog is about as white bread as it can get. It’s a mom blog. But she was evolved enough to broach this subject with her readers. It was a wildly popular post, and the moms appreciated it. She has further established herself as a badass blogger in my book).

The rest of the night I talked politely with the other goddesses, listening to them drone on about passion fruit, goddess dressings, Vera Bradley prints and healing crystals. But I was impatient for escape, pacing like Wonder Woman on the banks of Themyscira. And after that social disgrace, I realized that perhaps it is unwise to wield the Lasso of Truth with too much abandon. And needless to say, my relationship with my supervisor, while always professional, was never quite the same.

(Shocker. I guess once you picture a woman using a vibrator, it’s hard to imagine anything else. Stop).

So Monday’s post wasn’t meant as a “fuck you” to extroverts. Quite the opposite. The point of the post was simply that extroverts, while often annoying AF, are lucky. Society is formed around social interaction, so when extroverts do what comes naturally to them, i.e. attending New Years’ Eve parties and Jimmy Buffett concerts, eating Buffalo Blasts at Cheesecake Factory and pretending cookie swaps are fun, they are celebrated.

But when introverts do what comes naturally to them, i.e. solitary mountain hikes, book mobiles, cave burrowing, and cauldron-stirring, they are vilified. And very often, our routines are highly suspect. What are they doing, people wonder? Binge-watching “Malcolm in the Middle”? Assembling bombs? Masturbating?

I’ll tell you what we are doing when we go off alone. We are re-charging. If you’ve never heard anything about the social batteries of introverts, then the following should prove to be revelatory.

Did you know that the more introverts are alone, the more charged we get? That silence, solitude, solitary pursuits, all charge up our batteries? Think of that feeling of satisfaction you get when your phone is fully charged or when you have a full tank of gas- that is how we feel when we get time alone (conversely, for extroverts, it is people and activity that fills their batteries. But I’m not here to talk about those psychopaths).

Personally, nature does it for me. Solitary travel does it for me, independent study and exercise does it for me. Reading, writing, cooking, quiet art museums, all do it for me. Quiet time with my dog used to do it for me. But social interactions drain me, like being at a concert and watching that little battery icon on your phone slowly deplete. I began this past weekend with 100% power, and various social interactions drained my battery:

Paid my bill at a restaurant and thanked the friendly hostess for a wonderful meal: 1% drainage.

Checked into the inn and chatted warmly with the perky desk clerk: 2% drainage.

Discussed my travel purpose with the bartender while I sipped my martini: 5% drainage.

Waited for my turn to enter a trailhead and engaged in casual banter with a family of four: 10% drainage.

Asked for directions from a nice couple on a hiking trail and pet their dog while telling them I just lost mine: 15% drainage.

Got into an in-depth discussion with the souvenir shop owner about the heritage of the elephant figurines I liked: 20% drainage.

Talked on the phone with my dad about the election: 30% drainage.

That’s some serious drainage.

But luckily my battery goes back up as soon as I go back into solitude. Even getting back into my car between hikes and listening to music pumps it back up. But I can’t hide at remote mountain inns forever. I eventually have to return to my life and deal with phone calls, electricians, neighbors (I’ve been avoiding them because they want to offer me dog condolences, and I’m not confident I won’t burst into tears), that follow-up interview, my oil change, banking people, cleaning people, blah blah blah.

By 5:00 p.m. on most days you can find me cowering on my couch, with a charger sticking out of my butt.

When I was first married and a young mother, socializing was far more necessary than it is now. And even though I did it better back then, it still didn’t come naturally. I would attend parties with my pathologically-social extroverted husband, and since he liked to stay out late, we would drive separately, or I would arrange to leave with a friend. If the party was close enough I’d walk home, sometimes in the dead of winter. I would pay the babysitter, check on my babies, put on my comfy clothes, and sink into the couch with relief that it was over.

Although for introverts, it’s never really over. We will always have events to attend that we don’t want to attend, people to deal with that we don’t want to deal with. And we will do so, as pleasantly as possible and to the best of our ability. We might do it so well that you would never guess we were introverts. There are people in my life that think I am an extrovert, because they have only seen me in full 100% charged mode.

So have patience with us and just remember: if you really loved us, you wouldn’t invite us. Anywhere.