Maybe you’re wondering how I ended up here, in the woods.

I think a great way to illustrate my own experience with entering the woods is with the story of Lambert the Sheepish Lion. Maybe you watched this short 1950s Disney cartoon growing up. It’s an interesting tale of a lion who is raised by sheep. (Coincidentally, the sheep even live near a forest.)

The story begins with a stork mistakenly delivering a lion cub to a flock of sheep. The mother sheep who adopts the cub names him Lambert.

Of course, because there are no other lions around, as Lambert is growing up, he starts learning how to be a sheep. He tries and he tries to be the very best sheep he can be, learning to butt heads and baa like the rest of them (though he sometimes accidentally lets out a growl every now and then instead). However, despite his best efforts, he just can’t quite fit in. The other sheep make fun of him for being different, and his sheep mother feels sad.

A few years later, when Lambert is full-grown, a wolf comes to attack the sheep. The sheep are terrified, and so is Lambert, at first. Then, amidst all the chaos, Lambert finally realizes that he is not a sheep. He is a lion, and lions roar! So he roars, which terrifies the wolf, and then, like the sheepish lion he is, Lambert headbutts the wolf right off a cliff.

The sheep (and his sheep mother) are safe, and are very glad that Lambert is a lion, and not a sheep. The cartoon concludes with Lambert being carried triumphantly by the sheep as they celebrate him.

The moral of this story is that it is okay to be different, and to be yourself. It’s a story of coming to know who you truly are, and how you can use your unique abilities and strengths to help others.

We are lions. And lions roar. Ultimately, Lambert loves his sheep family, and they him, but if he is going to live the life that a lion must live, he must embrace who he is. He must stop trying to be a sheep.

Becoming Sheepish

I was raised among introverts, by introverts. Everyone in my immediate family is an introvert. Some of my extended family are extroverts, but by my teen years, I had little friends or family living close by that were extroverts. Similar to Lambert, I grew up a lion among sheep.

Part 1: Phoenix

I didn’t turn sheepish all at once, it wasn’t until my teenage years that I became much more quiet. When my family and I lived in Phoenix, Arizona, I was at my loudest and most vibrant. Adults around me sometimes said I talked too much, while others complimented my friendliness and ability to get all the other kids to follow me. I was actually pretty popular and well-like, though I didn’t realize it at the time.

My mom called me the Pied Piper because I could get five or more random kids together and lead them in a game of pretend, an adventurous romp, or what I call “a project” (some sort of fun, casual goal such as making a river in the sand at the park or building a fort underneath some trees. These things feel like a big deal when you're a kid).

Life was fun and uncomplicated then. I was simply a lion cub who didn’t know that I was any different from a sheep.

True to the trope, I also loved being around people. When people were coming over to our house, it didn’t matter to me whether they were friends my age (though I was more excited about that), my cousins (I loved seeing my cousins), my adult relatives, or some adult friends of my parents. Even if it was just a babysitter, I was usually excited. I would look at the clock and out the window, impatient for whoever was going to arrive. I really just loved people. If it had been up to me, I probably would have had people coming over to hang out all the time, like a constant party. I had no idea why my parents tired of that type of thing so quickly, but I didn’t think about it too much.

For a while, my mom humored my desire to have elaborate birthday parties with lots of friends (and usually elaborate decorations), but after a few years she got burnt out. I can’t say I blame her, but if I had been old enough to continue throwing my own wild, extravagant parties, I would have! I have never lost my love for colorful streamers, glitter, lights, and celebration. (Perhaps part of that is because I was born around Christmastime.)

For most of my early childhood I was pretty happy and outgoing. This continued into my time living in Phoenix. However, sadly, I started getting bullied. At church, the boys would make fun of me and tease me, though I liked them better than the girls, who were extremely catty and generally excluded and ignored me.

Teachers in Sunday School also sometimes got irritated with my bright, cheerful, loud self. I didn’t mean to cause any trouble, I was just so excited about all the people around me, and I loved being there for the lessons and singing. One teacher told me I was annoying and talked too much, in front of everyone in my class.

That really hurt. The teachers didn’t help with the bullying either, and since they had moved the only friend I had in our group to another class, I felt alone. I would come home from Sunday School and other church activities heartbroken, and my parents had no idea what to do. Finally, we moved.

Part 2: The White Mountains

Part of me is glad that we moved, because if we had stayed I likely would have only gotten bullied more. Still, I was very sad to leave Phoenix behind. It was pretty up in the mountains, but it felt unfamiliar and lonely. I had, quite literally, come to live in (or at least near) the woods. We were surrounded by pine trees (which are beautiful, by the way, they are my favorite kind of tree), and loads of log cabins.

Unfortunately for me, there were also not very many people.

There was very little going on in general, which made living there feel kind of stagnant. It was a good place for a vacation, but not a great place to for an extrovert, or even an introvert, in my opinion, to live in for very long. Every person, regardless of whether they are an introvert or an extrovert, needs connection, and unless you were a very specific kind of person, there honestly wasn’t much opportunity for that there.

My parents, especially my dad, preferred the White Mountains to Phoenix in lots of ways. It was quiet, it was beautiful, and the temperatures were much nicer than the cruel, merciless heat of the valley. And, obviously, there was also way more elbow room.

Eventually, my aunt and uncle and three cousins even came to join us up there. They moved into a house that was about 30 minutes away from where we lived. Not too far, but far enough that it was always a fun, scenic drive to go visit them. My cousins are the only thing I miss about living in the White Mountains (other than the brisk air,  the dusty and rocky terrain, and the mountain ranges, fast winds, and pine trees).

I didn’t make very many friends while we were living in the White Mountains, and the friendships I did have went sour. Soon, I had only one friend that I could hang out with regularly, and she verbally attacked and abused me constantly.

I was beginning to wither. I got quieter and quieter. (It didn’t help that I was now a teenager who was dealing with all the confusing and conflicting emotions that come with growing up). My parents were frequently reminded me to turn down my volume when I talked, and would ask me to calm down constantly because I would get my brothers in on the excitement and it would disrupt my dad, who worked at home. Because of this, I started to think that being loud really was inconsiderate and that I needed to rein myself in.

Other than that, I felt that I fit in fine with my family, but I had this feeling that I didn’t quite belong in any of the social groups I was part of. I would zone out in my imagination during church youth activities because I didn’t like the adults or really any of the other youth my age. Most of the girls would talk endlessly about social media and makeup and other things I disliked or disagreed with.

The youth leaders weren’t much better. I felt they didn’t care about me at all. When they asked why I didn’t come to activities, it seemed like it was all about their duty as youth leaders, not about their actual concern for me. I got bullied again, this time by a girl who I was originally friends with. She got other girls to join in. The boys were pretty awful again too. The youth leaders did absolutely nothing about it, nor did they ever talk to me about how I was feeling. To this day, I still don’t know if they even knew what was happening.

Not long before we moved again, I actually opened up to another girl in an older class one Sunday because she noticed I was crying, and I told her how lonely I felt. She said she had no idea I felt like that. I seemed like a very happy person on the outside. That made me feel really invisible. I was very good, too good, at hiding my tears. Part of me wished I wasn’t, but I didn’t want to make myself even more vulnerable than I already felt to people I had no faith or trust in.

Not only was I withering, but I was also closing up.

Part 3: Missouri

After about five years of hoping for better friends and having things go south, my parents felt inspired that we needed to move to Missouri. I had never felt so excited to move in my life. I told my one friend that I was sad to go (because she was sad I was leaving and I was honestly sad to be leaving her behind in Arizona, despite the fact that we fought all the time and our friendship was somewhat toxic), but secretly I was glad to leave. Goodbye, lonely, stupid mountains! Good riddance!

Our drive to Missouri was a lovely, exciting one. I felt like the withered flower coming back to life and beginning to bloom again all the way there. The landscape turned beautiful and green over time as we got closer, and I felt a shining hope about this fresh, new start.

For a while, it really was a hopeful and fresh new start. I joined a choir, made lots of friends, and our homeschool groups that we were a part of were much more active than the previous ones in the White Mountains (yes, I was also homeschooled).

I was starting to feel like my happy, bubbly, outgoing self again.

Then, over the course of a few years, people moved, things changed, and more friendships just ended up fading or falling apart. That’s when I came to the point that I am at now. I didn’t quite feel like myself anymore. “What about who I used to be? Can I be that girl again?” I wondered. I started noticing other extroverts around me who seemed to know how to get their needs met. They were lions that knew how to roar. They didn’t have any problem with being bold and vibrant, while I felt like an ever-changing chameleon who was afraid to stand out too much.

I didn’t really feel like a lion anymore, I felt like a scared, rainbow parrot.

A Sheepish, Parrotish Lion

I’m an extrovert, no doubt. My friends (most of which are currently introverts) and my family can see that, they know that I am not quite like them. I’m different. No matter how quiet a lion or a parrot tries to be, they will never be an introvert. I can’t change that.

I think I often try to roar like a lion through my attire. My clothing style is pretty loud, and I am very much into costumes. It doesn’t matter the occasion, you can be certain that I will probably come up with a fun and exciting outfit for it. I don’t mind walking through a room and having everyone’s eyes on me. In fact, I secretly love the attention (provided it's positive of course). What I don’t like as much as how quiet I get and how nervous I often feel despite wanting to stand out!

Which is exactly like a parrot. They’re loud and colorful, yet they scare easily. Not what I want. Phooey.

How Does a Lion Get out of the Woods?

Now it all comes down to the question of how to be a lion, or an extrovert, again, and how to get out of the woods. I am grateful for what the woods and the sheep have taught me, but I am ready to join my lion buddies and take a trip to the savanna.

Perhaps the way to overcome the scared parrot inside of me is to spend more time with some extroverts. The people who get what it’s like to be me. I’m not sure how I can find these extrovert friends, but I know that somehow, eventually, I will. I would say the answer to all problems is God. That might sound oversimplified, but I’ve seen it happen too many times in my life to count. God is the very best problem-solver there is. He knows exactly how to heal and fix things. So I’ve been praying to him about being able to find good friends who will accept me for me.

Maybe now I can also add to my prayers that I would like to meet some more extroverts.

I have felt very affirmed and at home with other extroverts. With them, I can be a lion again. When I’m with them and they encourage me to be myself, I feel like I’m slowly lifting my head up to meet a fellow lion’s gaze. It’s a wonderful feeling. They understand me. They know what it’s like to be a lion, and that it’s a great thing!

The world needs extroverts. It’s not wrong to be a lion, or to roar. You just need to find the people out there who appreciate it.

Tags: AllExtroverts, IntroductionPosts