Tag: solitude

Beyond Isolation: How Introverts Can Truly Recharge

A look at creating healing solitude.

If introverts had a battle flag, it would probably have The Hermit card printed on it.  We absolutely love to withdraw into our own cozy little shells and let the world turn without us participating in it.

So, we’ve finally canceled our plans, turned off our phone, and settled into solitude. But after hours of scrolling or zoning out, we still feel drained. What gives?

THE MYTH OF THE INTROVERT RECHARGE

Introverts often mistake social withdrawal for true recharging but miss the neurological component (acetylcholine release) that actually restores their energy.  Just sitting at home is not going to refresh or restore us, although that’s where we need to begin the process.

DOPAMINE VERSUS ACETYLCHOLINE

There are, of course, about a kazillion different chemicals and hormones doing a tango in our busy brains at any given time.  For purposes of this discussion, though, let’s focus in on just two of them, the neurotransmitters called dopamine and acetylcholine.  And let’s just call them, “happy juices,” because they make different people happy in different ways.

Our brains discharge dopamine when we’re exposed to a lot of social stimuli like loud music, parties, crowded shopping malls and lots of other people.  Extroverts actually have many more, “receptors,” for dopamine in their brains than introverts do, so they can soak up an ocean of it and it makes them really happy campers. They feel jazzed, excited, and alive.

Since introverts can’t absorb a lot of dopamine, it basically kicks our asses.  For us, it’s like drinking six cups of really strong Espresso – it makes us jittery, nervous, and quickly worn out.  It’s introvert poison.

Acetylcholine, on the other hand, gives our brains a mellow, quiet buzz.  It’s less like ecstatic dancing at a concert and more like snuggling into a warm bed with nice clean sheets.  It’s quiet and peaceful.  Introverts love it and it drives extroverts crazy with boredom.  It’s our happy juice.

THE ISOLATION TRAP

Now,  since too much dopamine makes us feel like crap, it’s perfectly natural to think that just getting away from situations that cause dopamine will make us feel ever so much better.  After all, if too much, “peopling,” is wearing us out, then non-peopling should recharge us.

So, we fill the moat around our introvert castles with alligators, pull up the drawbridges, and put up a big sign that says, “GO AWAY!”  Free at last!

Unfortunately, by that point, we’re frequently so worn out that we just sit there staring out the window, doom-scrolling on our computers for hours, or binge-watching NetFlix.  Those are what therapists call low-nourishment activities because they don’t do anything to feed our emotions or bodies.  And, specifically with introverts, they don’t feed us any acetylcholine to make our brains happy.

PLANNING FOR A BRAIN BOOST

A good question for introverts to ask when we’re planning for our recharge time is, “Will this activity leave me feeling nourished or merely distracted?” We know that there are specific, fairly low energy activities that refresh and recreate us by increasing acetylcholine production.

– Reading and Deep Learning: Encourages relaxed but engaged attention.

– Mindfulness Meditation or Breathwork: Activates the parasympathetic nervous system, reducing cortisol and boosting calm focus.

– Creative Flow States: Writing, drawing, or music allow for contemplative immersion.

– Nature Walks or Gentle Movement: Combines physical and sensory stimulation with mental quiet.

MINDFUL INTENTIONS

Another way of putting that is that we need to be intentional with our solitude.  We need to design an Acetylcholine-Rich Hermit Phase.  We can learn to structure our alone time for maximum benefit.

– Conscious solitude planning: Schedule blocks for purposeful recharging activities instead of just avoiding people.

– Minimize mindless distraction: Replace passive screen time with meaningful, immersive solo activities.

– Create mini rituals: Tea-making, journaling, or slow stretching to ease into relaxation.

And, hell, if we’re not quite ready to jump into being Zen Master Introverts, we can combine some of those activities.  Maybe do some Tai Chi while we’re bing-watching Netflix.

REDEFINING OUR SOLITUDE

We’re all different, of course, and introverts tend to be really different.  For me, painting, writing, or meditating brings on that acetylcholine recharge.  For you, it may be gentle dance motions, working in your garden or reading a good book. For others it might be sitting in the sunshine sipping a cup of tea.

The point is that we all know what makes us feel good.  For an introvert it’s like a lover gently kissing the back of your neck or touching your cheek with her finger tips.  It’s sweet, it’s calm, it’s gentle, and it makes us feel better almost instantly.  Those are the activities that we want to build into our solitude.

Yes, we need to get away from other people on a regular basis, but simply being alone isn’t the answer.  Living in intentional, mindful, loving solitude is what makes us whole again.

The Hermit Card and Ho Ho Ho-ing Your Way Through the Holidays

I had one of those shocking moments recently where I suddenly realized that it’s almost Thanksgiving and I’m living alone.  And I had the requisite reaction to that for a few hours.

Oh, my god!

It’s almost Thanksgiving!

And I’m living alone!

Which means . . . I’m going to be alone on Thanksgiving!

Oh, NO . . .

The thought sat there in my gut for a few hours like some super-sized greasy hamburger and fries, making me mildly nauseated and regretful for having it.  And then I started tip toeing around the feelings and thinking, “Hmmm . . . that’s interesting.  Why is being alone on Thanksgiving such a terrible, terrible thing?”

In my original definition of The Hermit, I wrote:

This is a card of solitude and the individual is very much withdrawn from others around him.  This isn’t a bad sort of solitude, however, this is a solitude that involves spiritual growth and contemplation.

The point being that there are times in our lives when it’s totally appropriate and healthy to be alone.  In my case, my partner of 19 years died last year and this is a period of self-imposed solitude, meditation, and thought for me.  The silence really is golden and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I’d say that there are a bunch of us in the same boat, but we’re not in the same boat.  We’re in our separate little boats drifting along on our own currents, but hopefully you take my meaning.  Perhaps, like me, they’ve had a partner die or maybe they’ve gone through a divorce or they have a job that requires them to work on the holidays.

For many of them, they are alone the majority of the time and THAT’S ALL RIGHT the majority of the time.  

So what is it about the holidays that makes us feel like it’s somehow NOT alright to be alone?

I think one of the keys lies in the word itself:  alone. We assign a lot of negative connotations to that word.  Alone is sad, pitiful, lost, desolate and, of course, lonely. We have to learn how to draw the venom out of the word and out of the concept.

Scott Cunningham wrote a lovely little light-weight book called, “Wicca For the Solitary Practitioner,” and I really dig that concept.  I am not alone; I am a solitary practitioner.  I make my own magic now.

Solitude does not equal loneliness.  Solitude many times equals healing and immense spiritual and emotional growth.  It’s something to be treasured, not dreaded. People who are, “alone,” are many times very, very happy, evolved beings.

Another key, of course, is societal expectations.  Thanksgiving is a time to sit down with members of your family – no matter how much you may loathe some of them – and eat very large quantities of dead birds.  We all know that and we’re programmed with that from the time we’re kids. You never saw a Norman Rockwell painting of Thanksgiving that featured one guy sitting by himself eating lasagna, right?


Just LOOK at those happy campers!  It’s Thanksgiving and they’re not alone.  And, boy, that dead bird looks just perfect!  No lasagna on THAT table.

And that’s the point:  it’s not being alone on the holidays that makes us feel bad, it’s the expectation that somehow we’re not supposed to be alone on the holidays and that if we are alone something is dreadfully wrong.  In other words, if you’re okay with living alone 363 days of the year but it makes you feel terrible on Thanksgiving and Christmas, it ain’t being alone that’s bumming you out – it’s Christmas and Thanksgiving.

So what do we do about that?  One solution that I see with some of my friends is to get very, very hostile toward Christmas and Thanksgiving.  “They’re artificial holidays. They’re so commercialized and materialistic. They’ve lost the original meanings. Etc., etc. etc.”

You know – sort of the modern day, “Bah, humbug,” solution.  If you don’t have at least one friend who’s a Bah Humbugger you must not spend much time on FaceBook.

But . . . somehow . . . that doesn’t feel quite right, either.  With all of their glitz, tinsel, and artificiality, I’ve had some really wonderful holidays with family and friends in the past.  I’m happy for my friends who are still in that groove and I don’t want to rain on anyone’s Macy’s Parade.

It’s just not me anymore. 

It seems to me that there are really only a couple of rational responses to the holidays when you’re a Solitary Practitioner.

  1. You can pretend that they just aren’t happening and that it’s just like any other day of the year.  That requires some Deeply Disciplined Denial, but you can pull it off if you live by yourself and insert ear plugs before you walk into a store.
  2. You can invent new rituals and traditions and OWN those days instead of letting them own you.

I’m not sure, yet, but I think I’m leaning toward the second solution.

Christian fundamentalists get in a royal snit when you say, “Happy Holidays,” instead of, “Merry Christmas.”  They forget – or ignore – that the original pronunciation of the term was, “Happy Holy Days.”

The celebrations of the harvest and abundance – what we call Thanksgiving – and lighting bright lights and candles on the darkest day of the year – what we call Christmas – have been Holy Days from time immemorial.  They’re built into our Souls and have nothing to do with Jesus, Pilgrims, America, or eating large,dead birds.

I can celebrate that as The Hermit as easily as I can in a crowd.  I just need some good lasagna recipes.