Socialising and Expectation Debt

Call me an outlier, a social anomaly, or just someone who’d rather be chilling in a cave with Wi-Fi—but socialising has never really been my forte. Sure, I can hold a conversation for a bit. I know how to nod at the right moments, laugh politely, and even throw in a “how’s work been?” like a seasoned small talker. But if I could disappear for three months (minimum) without anyone batting an eyelid or sending a “you good?” text—I absolutely would. Bliss.

And let’s be clear: it’s not you. It’s me. It’s me not wanting to uphold conversations, not wanting to expend energy, not wanting to pretend I’m emotionally available when I’m really just trying to recharge like a phone stuck at 3%. People are lovely. I just don’t want to talk to them all the time. My social battery isn’t just low—it’s solar-powered, and we’ve been living under a cloud.

Now before someone jumps in with “but humans are social creatures!”—yes, Karen, I’ve read the textbook. But some of us are more like social salamanders: we pop out occasionally, blink at the sunlight, and then scurry back into our cozy solitude. The occasional hangout? Sure. A spontaneous coffee catch-up? Fine. But the expectation that I must constantly show up, engage, and be emotionally present because “it’s family” or “you haven’t seen your friends in ages” feels like emotional debt I never signed up for.

And I know—some of my friends or family might read this and think, “How could you?” But again, refer to paragraph two: it’s not about you. I just want to disappear for a while and have everyone be chill with it. My biggest fantasy? Doing my own thing for months, guilt-free, without anyone assuming I’ve joined a cult or been abducted by aliens. (Although, if the aliens are introverts, I might consider it.)

Sometimes I think maybe I should become a monk. Peace, quiet, no small talk. But even then, I’d probably be sitting in a temple somewhere, haunted by the thought that someone back home is mad at me for not replying to their “hey stranger” message. Honestly, I feel like I was set up for disaster from birth—expected to keep pouring water into a cup that has a hole in it, using water I don’t even have. And no one ever asks if the well is dry—they just hand you another cup.

So, if it feels like I’ve been absent from your life, or quiet, or avoiding you—refer to paragraph two and know that that’s exactly what I’ve been doing. Not because of you, but because I thrive in my own solitude. It’s not personal, it’s preservation. I’m not ghosting you—I’m just ghosting everyone, equally and with love.

If you’re reading this and nodding along, welcome to the club. We meet once a year. Quietly. And only if we feel like it. There’s no RSVP. Just vibes.