I have always liked small dark places where I could hide: closets mainly, but when I was little I didn’t mind under the bed or in a cardboard box with the lid slightly shut. I even had a secret hiding place behind a long drawer in my bathroom when I was nine or ten where I would take a flashlight and sit to get away from all the ruckus of growing up in a family with six kids, four of whom were pesky brothers. I also had a penchant for playing far back in the bushes all by myself. Right back by the fence so I could lean against it while I sat and played with doodlebugs. You might say all of my life I have had a need to spend some part of every day completely alone.

I didn’t actually recognize that need of mine when I married a man who preferred having people around all day and night long. Someone who loved to laugh and talk louder and louder as he got excited and who enjoyed nothing better than a roomful of people who were doing the same. No wonder we had so many arguments. Add three kids to the mix and I don’t think I had one moment of solitude for about fifteen years. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy many of the people who were our friends, or many of the non-stop activities that my energetic and extroverted husband thought we needed to engage in, it was just there was no downtime, no silence, no time to think.

Around that time, I realized what was wrong and asked for time to go into a room and write for a while every day. My husband, much to his credit, helped me set up a guest bedroom so that I had a desk and chair and a door that closed. Our marriage tension began to ease after that, and over the years has gotten less and less since I have remembered my need for a little space apart every day.

A friend told me about a finding related to introverts and extroverts. Apparently, there is a chemical that is generated in the brain when extroverts are around other people; that same chemical is depleted when introverts are around people. Now, the truth is that I love people – I have a genuine interest in hearing their stories – and most people who know me would automatically categorize me as an extrovert. But there is a moment when all that talking and laughing shifts and I feel as if someone has pulled the plug on my energy source. That’s when I need to excuse myself and head upstairs to be alone.

Over these forty-plus years together, my husband and I have moved from our personal extremes to a life closer to the center, and the amount of time we spend with other people is reflected in that shift. Now we both agree that while company is great, alone time can be equally pleasant. This makes me happy.