INFJ Brain Jumble and Scripting

Introverts are not necessarily shy. We do, however, wear out socially and need much less external stimulation than the average bear before we become grouchy and depleted. If our brains are already occupied with something or if we've already spend a good deal of time talking to others, words come at a high price for us. It's literally harder to force them out of our tired brains and out our mouths in an order that is kind and makes any sense at all to anyone else.

Being an introverted intuitive, this is especially true. I think in nuances, pictures, and ideas, all of which can be well married to words given enough time. When forced to deal with mundane external stimuli (and worse, direct my children through it successfully), this becomes a good deal harder, because my brain is bombarded information that my intuitive brain finds irrelevant to the task at hand and starts to shut down.

Aka, The Trip To The Grocery Store. {shudder}

Sometimes, shopping alone isn't an option. 

In this scenario, my poor introverted thinking process becomes so inundated with detail such rapid-fire information from List and children and Other People that it starts to short circuit. My usually carefully chosen words and directions start to sound like hilarious gibberish.  It becomes like an evil auto-correct that can't be tamed. Usually, my thinking reaches into bins of basically organized or related words and sifts through until it finds the right one to express exactly what I hope to convey, and my connection-driven feeling checks it over right before it exits my mouth for good measure. But when I'm short-circuiting, my mind blindly plunges it's hand frantically into whatever storage box of words is most handy and pulls out whatever it can get it's fingers firmly around, and it spits haltingly out of my mouth like a broken nail gun.

"Hey Lark, I need you to walk around the cart and walk beside me. We need to leave room for other customers to walk by" becomes, "Hey, Mirth, I really will you to run on top of the cart, no, beside me! Walk behind me. BESIDE me! You need to leave room for the potatoes to grab whatever is, erm, necessary." {dammit!} Hilarity ensues. "Mirth, we need Porcupines. Popsicle! Stop laughing and put the porcupines in the cart. POPSICLES! Sit down, Grace, sit on your nuts. Butt! Not you, ma'am, sorry."

It can be humiliating. 

And, so, today, I got caught in the trap of trying to reason with a crying 3yo in the grocery store, while using this garbled brain-talk, in effort to make it to the checkout line and home without a giant scene. It was a bad choice. The correct choice would have been to grab the cheapest source of protein off the shelf, open it and allow her to consume it while saying the only words I can eek out correctly under duress: "I love you". Instead, I growled, over-explained, insisted and lectured in garbled INFJ-tongue until she stared at me with complete slack-jawed puzzlement with about 14 other confused customers. It's possible they thought I'd become a stroke victim. 

(I comfort myself by forming this plan: next time, grab the granola bars. Or leave the kids at home. )

Therefore, since life with four children OFTEN requires me to be entirely overstimulated, I find well-rehearsed scripts really helpful. I learned the idea from some parent-friends who started parenting long before me and were kind enough to pass the wisdom along. The basic idea of scripting is this: if it's a recurring issue, formulate something that is A) kind/reasonable B) short and easy to understand C) consistent so that your reaction becomes consistent. 

Think fast!!

In my head, it's twofold: I plan out what I will say (based on what is best and kind for everyone in the situation, be it an instruction/comfort/reflection of feelings/boundary) and then what I will do to follow up what I said. And when the situation arises, I do The Plan. And I don't have to reach into brain-bins for words on the fly. I have the Frozen Dinner of parenting instructions all made-up and ready to nuke on demand. :OP Some moments of parenting are slow simmering and savory and beautiful and comforting, and other moments require us to dole instructions out like frozen burritos in the heat of the moment. The words aren't what they'll say at your effigy (hopefully), but they do have a place and purpose in day to day life. 



This is especially comforting to my kids, too, because they know what to expect and my parenting is more consistent. Obviously, they have to be re-vamped from time to time, for age, effectiveness or situation. But the basic gist is the same. 


Some of my frequent flyers are: 

"If you don't leave the park/your friend's house/the restaurant well, then you won't come back for a few weeks. (and we don't.) My time and energy is worthy of respect, too." 

When getting into the carseat: "First we sit and buckle, then we can talk about getting other things." 

"Hitting isn't kind/OK?productive. You may find another way to show your frustration, or you may go cool off somewhere." (I use "kind" "OK" or "productive" according to which child I'm speaking to, and what makes them tick) 


"Wiping isn't optional." 

"Alive things are not acceptable projectiles." 

"Here are your options: X and Y. Would you like to try that alone, or do you need some help?" (chosing neither mean I get to chose.) 

"Being harsh about the bravely shared thoughts of others is NOT cool. Disagree in a safe way or keep your mouth shut." 


And no matter how I'm reacting emotionally in that moment, my response to the situation is the same, because I have a plan in place. I don't need to lose my head over anything or fumble around for words like a drunk person in the dark looking for house keys. I have an appropriate response ready. This is a HUGE boon for the easily exhausted introvert (or any parent, for that matter). 

My early introversion.

When I was in college, I used to set personal goals for myself...not about grades or exercise or performance, as those things tended to fall into place naturally for me. Studying into the wee hours wasn't an enormous intrusion for me. No, my goals were more lofty than that. They revolved around...wait for it...spending time with other humans. ;oP

Don't laugh. It's not at all funny. (OK, maybe it's a little bit funny..) I literally had a quota that I forced myself to fill, a quota of time spent having "fun" with other people, usually in the form of eating or movie watching or get togethers or hikes or what have you. (Parties, the extrovert's code for being crammed into a room full of people who yell at one another over music, were simply beyond my realm of understanding, and totally out of the question.)

Being *social* and a relational being at my core, I had enough of a spark of wisdom to recognize that in order to maintain a certain degree of emotional health away from family, I had to make connections and talk and BE with people. Generally speaking, I enjoyed the interaction once I was there, especially after meaningful, warm relationships were formed. But that first year of test driving friends and forced interaction on principle? Pure HELL for this introvert. I'd often find myself in a house or room or outing looking at the people I had absolutely no common threads with, and think to myself, "How in the name of all that's good and sensible did I land here listening to this girl jabber on and on about how much she loves Breakfast Club at 1am?"

To be sure, out of these forced outings (6 hours a week outside of classes and rehearsals and study groups) sprung many a fond friendship that I carry with me this day, once they started to sport the comfortable sheen of familiarity and the joy of being known well. Remarkably, during this time, within my own little circle, I could have even been called popular, or at least well-known, although certainly not the hostess or social coordinator extraordinaire like some of my more extroverted friends. I could be silly, amusing, gregarious, funny and social in turns, and, for the most part, my "quietness",a trait I value as an asset, wasn't the defining feature of my personality.

But, oh, how I flopped on my bed in sheer bliss once I felt I'd been sufficiently "socialized" for the week! How I'd grin and whoop and waltz around in my pajamas to jazz once my roommates all left simultaneously for a long weekend! The *only* other person I felt equally fantastic around in those happy moments was my then-boyfriend, Nathan, and he was only allowed to be around because he happened to be more introverted than I was. (In fact, we never actually socially dated as much as we sized one another up, informed each other that we made a smashing

pair, and became a "couple") All my best thoughts and feelings and dreams happened (and still happen) when I'm not being yanked to and fro by the intrusive conversations, emotions, opinions and interactions of a group of people. I'm brilliant, creative and at peace. The world slows to a reasonable pace and makes much more sense.

Forcing interaction is no longer a problem for me. Because people are my passion, my own nature tends to demand exchange of thought and energy. I exhaust myself at the alter of human relationship. :P It tends to seek me out with a relentless insistence, and, for the most part, I welcome the interactions of a more thoughtfully constructed social life of my adulthood. Turns out, there are other people out there who share my sensibilities, who wear me out a tidge less than the general populous! My "family" base is bigger, and I have to expend less energy putting myself out there in order to maintain connection. (I have the deepest empathy for displaced introverts searching out new friendships and family, I assure you!)

Even so, I'm a little more prone to indulge my inner flights of fancy and appreciate my need for "alone" processing time much more than I did in my earliest adulthood. After all, it is where all my best thoughts occur. Thus far, investing in alone time (or as alone as a mother of 3 snuggly children can ever be) is never a decision I regret, and increasingly, one I don't feel the need to

apologize for. My deepest sense of whimsy, my inner philosopher and poet, my happy flower-picking inner child, is much, MUCH more at peace after several days to myself.

I am, and ever shall be, an incurable and unapologetic introvert. It's a lovely way to be, isn't it?