Social Exhaustion: Understanding the Mind of an Introvert

Anxiety is something that was familiar to me since the early pre-teen stages, but at that time in my life I could not put my finger on what it meant. The symptoms of anxiety that I had been experiencing (biting around my cuticles, shaking my leg, fidgeting, waking up in cold sweat, not able to catch my breath in stressful situations, saying ‘sorry’ all the time, and racing thoughts) were a natural response to my given circumstances; lots of traveling between the midwest and west coast, countless surgeries, post-surgery recovery, and physical therapy sessions can be, suffice to say, exhausting.

So, when I encountered similar symptoms about a week ago at an alternative rock concert, I thought it was just another anxious spell...but this time around, it was different.

There was a constant phrase that echoed through my head: I am exhausted, I want to go to bed, I really want to be alone right now.

Yet here I was at a sold out show about to see one of the coolest UK alternative bands, Nothing But Thieves. Live music shows and festivals are my weakness and more often than not I have a ton of fun, meet a ton of new people, and make a ton of great memories. This time around, it was different.

Some people thrive on socializing. That is how they reboot. They are the Oh my god, Ronnie! hugging-screaming-spilling-vodka-tonics-everywhere-crew... also coined as extroverts. Quite frankly, an extrovert’s ability to make small talk and scream at the top of their lungs to announce their presence does not phase me. It annoys me.

This is how I know I am an introvert. An introvert does not thrive on socializing, solidarity is what reboots their functionality.

A bubble bath with some rose petals and some Rose is my idea of an amazing evening, away from all the chaos and in tune with myself, my books, and my music. I do not care for banter or first impressions.

When I’m around people--particularly peppy people—my energy level gets depleted. When I say that it’s not with exaggeration. I mean, I get to a point where I do not want to talk at all, my entire body craves to be in bed but cannot fall asleep, and my mind feels a million miles away.

Concerts and festivals are my comfort zones. I know I’ll be surrounded by like-minded people who share a mutual love for music, there isn’t much talking involved as we’re all engrossed in song, and there is always someone who wants to buy you a drink. At the show, I was approached by two really sweet girls who were feeling particularly social and wanted to engage in conversation.

We chatted a bit before the first opener and midway I realized that I physically and emotionally drained, overwhelmed with the thought of how much I have left to do, and so unbelievably tired. I didn’t want to try or pretend that I was interested in what echoed like a conversation, but also didn’t want to be rude after having a friendly exchange. It didn’t help that I didn’t listen to what my body needed, what my mind needed. I excused myself and went to a desolate spot before the floor filled up.

Introverts’ energy flows inward. I didn’t pay close attention to that phenomenon until everything felt heavy, gravity was tugging at me hard and my mind went blank. This wasn’t an anxiety spell, it was my energy shutting down. I had finally come to terms with the fact that I was socially exhausted.

The crowd filled up so quickly and people kept pushing, shoving, screaming... spilling beer everywhere. It deviated from the usual, comforting experience of a concert where everything flows in unison. I went from feeling annoyed, to miserable, to guilty because I had bought this ticket weeks ago and here I was... dreading it.

When I finally made up my mind to leave and walk back to my place, it was way too late. Every inch of the venue was filled with fans and I had no choice but deal with my current surroundings. Since this was my first encounter with social exhaustion, I wasn’t prepped on the coping mechanisms, so I developed my own. I needed to snap out of it before my band came on. Of all things in the world, I leaned against the wall, closed my eyes and just allowed music to soothe me as it usually does. I just pretended there was no one there and concentrated on my breathing.

grandson was the opener for the show and he did this thing where he made everybody crouch down to the floor before he made everybody jump up and down. At that point, I had opened my eyes and finally got a glimpse of the stage in its full, bountiful glory. There he was, staring right at me, mic in hand and smiling. He felt closer than he was and for some odd reason it eased my mind a bit.

Snap.

That’s when the exhaustion spell broke. Everybody jumped up and down to the beat of “Best Friends” and suddenly I was moderately charged up, just enough to enjoy the last bits of grandson, awaiting Nothing But Thieves. The lead singer of the band, Conor Mason, has battled both depression and anxiety as well during his days on tour, pre-production, and live shows.

That same night he came up on stage and admitted that he wasn’t feeling great this morning and contemplated cutting the show short, but he was happy that he didn’t because we were giving him so much energy and Chicago was “oh, so lovely”.

I felt that energy as he sang nearly all of the bands’ tracks from the Broken Machine record. I walked back home reflecting on how different social exhaustion feels in relation to a typical anxiety attack. It’s not anymore fun, but certainly a lot more subtle. The moral of the story... an introvert can partake in social situations, but recharging and refueling before is an essential component.