Guest Post with Lani: Being an INFJ/HSP Abroad

Today I’d like to share a post by my long-time blogger friend Lani of Life, the Universe and Lani. I’ve known her on the web for about five years now, and the more we talk, the more similarities we find.

Lani is also an INFJ/HSP, and she’s an expat living in Asia, as I once was. I asked her if she would share what her experiences were living overseas as an empath, and she graciously accepted.

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When did you first discover you were an INFJ/HSP?

I didn’t realize this until I was in my late twenties. I just thought I was prone to crying and therefore too sensitive for my own good. I was living in Portland, Oregon and walking with a freshly returned expat who had been living in Japan. A bus behind us made a noise, like the door opening or a screeching halt and we both jumped. Then we looked at each other and laughed. We were like, “hey, you, too, huh?” and that opened the door to a conversation I never had before about being a highly sensitive person.

Once you found out, how did you react?

Honestly, I felt relief that I wasn’t alone because people have a tendency to stare at you like you’re a freak when you seem to “overreact” to a situation. Of course, my friends always laughed, like the time I thought I was falling off the side of a mountain and screamed. OH, how it echoed.

What are the challenges living overseas as an empathic/sensitive person?

Good question. I don’t know if I can count the ways. I mean, being an HSP in another country looks like you’re simply adapting to another culture or a language barrier. And this is not to say that you aren’t, but I think it gets a little trickier to compartmentalize your overseas experience and being an HSP.

What is the best thing about being an INFJ/HSP?

For me, it’s not being who people expect. Folks have a tendency to think they get you, right? after a particular interaction or two. For example, as an INFJ, people think I’m super social and that I want to go out drinking with them after work. No. Instead, I desperately want to get home, read, and be alone.

Being an HSP doesn’t seem like a good thing at first. It’s taken me a while to appreciate it. If you are quickly moved to tears or “jumpy” folks think you’re weak or a wuss. Okay, I’m projecting. But being HS means that empathizing with people or situations can be done with greater ease. This is no small thing either.

I’ve had many people open up to me throughout my life. Maybe this has to do with trust and non-judgment. But I think it could also be due to the fact that I pay attention, when I ask how you are doing I’m not doing it as a passing greeting and when I see that you are distracted or out of sorts, I gauge the situation. In other words, I’m sensitive to other people and my surroundings, and it has created wonderful connections.

How does your partner respond to your needs?

He’s gotten used to me and how I am. For instance, whenever we’re at a movie theatre, I’ll be bawling my eyes out over the film, and these days he doesn’t even notice that I’m clutching and crumpling up a tissue or that I fished it out of my purse. It’s kind of nice actually. Sometimes you don’t want to be asked if you’re okay. I can’t help it, and yes, I’m fine, thank you.

How does it affect your life? (In writing, teaching, etc.)

Yeah, being an HSP is tough because of the way society perceives tears, sensitivity, and feeling things with great emotion. Non-HSPs assume that you’re a drama queen or that something is wrong with you.

When I’m particularly stressed out as a teacher, I cry in front of my students. I hate it because I don’t want them to think they have gotten to me, but they have, and well, what are you going to do? Sometimes, I walk out. I’m fond of walking away to compose myself. But I don’t even have to be upset to “get the vapors”. I’ll cry if there’s a beautiful video I’m showing them or if I read something touching.

There’s really nothing you can do. I mean, people have tried to give me medicine when I’ve complained about how prone I am to tears because they see it as a bad thing. You have to learn how to handle your feelings regardless if you are sensitive or not. A lot of it for me is accepting who I am, and knowing your self.

What advice do you have for INFJ/HSPs for travel or life abroad?

Regardless of whether you are at home or if you travel, you really do need to figure out what you need and what makes you happy. I like a full fridge, a clean apartment, and some peace and quiet.

I feel like the reason why encounter everyday resistance is to shape us and give us an opportunity to figure ourselves out. Trust me life can become a little bit easier when you do.

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It was amazing to read Lani’s answers, because so many of them echo my own. You can read about how I reacted to finding out I was an HSP here.

Thanks Lani!

Being an Extroverted Introvert; or INFJ Struggles

I’m a secret introvert. Actually, I’m not, since I tell everyone I’m an introvert within a few hours of knowing me so they don’t get offended when I cancel plans. Also so I have an excuse for the many hours I spend at home. Unapologetically.

But people who don’t know me well enough to get the speech are usually surprised when I do tell them. They’d guess I was an extrovert if they thought about it at all. They see me as the cheery person who always has a bright smile when she says good morning, and can small talk with ease, and loves to laugh and can’t get through a conversation without making everything funny. Oh, and the one who isn’t chuffed about speaking in front of people. MC the Spelling Bee? No problem. Give a presentation later about the Wax Museum? Sure. Lead Summer Camp and head up all the meetings? Of course!

The truth is, I’m a very serious introvert. I need a lot of downtime. I need a lot of heads-up if we’re going to go out and do something. Or if you’re going to call me on a phone. (Please text.) I need to psych myself up to go outside and take the trash out. I love lying in bed all day. All those introvert things.

I guess I can explain it by telling you I’m an INFJ, a social chameleon and adaptor. I take on the personality of the people I’m with. With reserved people, I’m self-controlled. With organized, business-like types, I’m efficient and logical. With upbeat, fun-loving people, I’m loud and silly. I used to feel weird, like I was losing myself in the process. But I consider this a strength. I can relate to people due to my empathy by mirroring them. It’s totally unconscious, but it does mean that I’m generally liked by most people. (This has been told to me by many other people I’ve worked with/known, so I trust this is true.)

But… (there’s always a but)

Sometimes it pulls me in different directions. Sometimes I really do want to go out but I’ve already been out so I can’t go out. I’m like the eternal cat, never knowing whether it wants to be in or out, meowing loudly in existential pain because the OTHER side is always better.

Oh well. The fact that I can speak in public without fear is something I’m not going to question or take for granted. Thank you, exhibitionist genes.

Now let me out. No, wait, I want to go back in. No, wait…

Excerpts from my journal; Spring 2017

April

Today is the kind of day that makes me thrilled. It’s the kind of feeling that Korea translates as heart-fluttering. Sure, the sky is overcast and a thick grey that puts me in mind of fog porridge, and the temperature dipped down twelve degrees, but apart from all that, today is a wonderful day.

We’ve been very busy lately, to put it mildly, and I haven’t had space in my head to breathe. Everything was pressing down, my pace was quickened, just enough to keep everything taught. Now I can relax, take a step back, and let it out for a bit.

I’m eating better, drawing again, writing more, going out with friends, and feel more inspired. My life is going well, and I realize how the bad things that happen are so transient and don’t last. Stuff doesn’t last. Yeah, I’m happy now.

That could also be because I saw cherry blossoms about to burst today. Hmm, maybe.

May

Plant our own mound. Start a little molehill and turn it into a mountain. Mmkay.

Of course all my characters are me. I’m still trying to figure myself out. So I keep inserting my mini-me into different situations and seeing what I’ll do. Maybe one day I’ll make sense of me.

May

Listen, little soft girl. I am not “was just like you as a kid.” I am just like you. I am soft and unsure and wide eyed scared of everything. Only I seem larger than life and bright and confident, leading you here. But it is armor I have crafted, and not even that well. At night it shatters so I have to remake it before morning. Sometimes the light shows through. My light. But that light means the darkness can get in. Anyway what you think of as admirable is only my shoddy imitation of other bright people I have seen. I am like you. I am not like me.

I feel like way too many people idolize kids. I mean, I’ve taught kids. Kids aren’t magical and sweet and wide eyed, breathless with innocence. Kids pick their noses and make fart jokes and think calling the rash on a kid’s hand a brain is clever. Kids are just little drunk people with terrible jokes. 

 

Excerpts from my journal; Early 2017

February

What matters? The story. It’s always in the back of my mind, or should be, the ever running, ever-evolving storyline. I hold my imagination most precious, most dear to me. It is my greatest asset and more dear to me than anything. My imagination keeps me warm, keeps me entertained, keeps me happy, keeps me thinking and feeling and buzzed on life. The only thing that matters is the story.

February 

This past Saturday I ran my brother through the D&D Death House, the intro to “Curse of Strahd.” I was amazing, even starting out the encounter wearing a raven mask and with an amazing greeting. It was wonderful. And I had great music and didn’t flub or forget much. It made my throat ache and my head pound, but it was so worth it.

So no matter what happens, I am amazing.

March

I was thinking today about the fact that I used to read a lot of military history books. I was quite the ridiculous nerd in high school, and at one point I was absolutely enamored with tales of wars, prisoners, daring escapes, battles, politics, and intrigue. I remember reading “Ghost Soldiers” and really loving it. Which is odd, as that book entails graphic descriptions of some of the worst things a human can do to another. It didn’t really bother me. I think I was genuinely less sensitive to it than I am now, and I don’t really understand that.

I think if I read that now, I would cry. I would feel so much more deeply the horror and cruelty and wonder so much more at the things that made those soldiers do those things, that it would affect me far more. Why, when I am more mature, wiser, and have more worldly knowledge, would I be LESS capable of hearing about the horrors of life? I don’t get it. It’s interesting to me how much more things affect me. As an HSP, of course things will, but why does it get more pronounced as I get older? Is that normal? 

Excerpts from my journal; 2016

April 

Zoom in and smoke is seeping between the windows and the wall. Someone is burning rubbish behind their house and it tickles our noses and turns my teaching voice raspy. It’s spring, a fit time to burn, since the smoke couldn’t possibly be worse than the drifts of pollution, yellow dust, from China. A sign of the change in me; I now have an app to tell me pollution levels, and check it obsessively. Will breathing kill me today?

October

I have decided to be like Ernest Hemingway, and write clear and hard about what hurts. Right now, my lower back hurts from doing the dishes. I had to do the dishes because in Korea dishwashers are only for the rich, and people wear rubber gloves because they have to do the dishes and don’t want to mess up their hands. So two more things that have changed since I came to Korea. I have started wearing rubber gloves when I wash dishes, and I care about what my hands look like.

Today I also had to scrub up some mold that had grown on the bottom of my utensil jar and had crept to the cutting board behind it. I wonder if the mold on the cutting board made me sick. I’m sick now, by the way. First time in a long time, and it’s the season. It’s also PTA week this week. I shall tell parents their children are progressing nicely through a clogged nose. That will add to my emotional appeal, if not my rational one.

I talked to two people today. I talked to the cashier at the bakery where I bought my dinner. I didn’t want to make tuna spaghetti, and that’s all I had, so I had to go out. The other person was my brother. I was supposed to play video games with him today but I got sick and had no energy. So I laid on my bed while he made pan-fried fish in America at 1am. We talked about getting old. We talked about life being boring. We talked about what we wanted for the future.

My lower back still hurts. Is that clear?

October 31

Happy Halloween! I work at a Christian school and wore ears for Halloween, and when the students asked me about it and I told them, one child told me that God hates Halloween. Okay, thank you, please let me wear my ears. Always a hard decision to make on how to address that.

Anyway, had my first D&D last night! It was amazing!!