Some people may not know this about me, but I am an introvert. Shocking, I know.

If you’re surprised by this, it’s probably because I can be seen from the platform at church helping to lead worship, or working with children’s choir, or tutoring an English class, or attending a Bible study, or enthusiastically talking all things farming.

Those things are true; I do those things. I have my areas of comfort, that I feel are an extension of my own home. Places of peace away from the farm.

And I love spending time with my friends and family. I can sit in a small group and talk for hours. I love talking with people and getting to know them better. I love to have people over to the farm. I love sitting in the living room or at the dining table of friends’ houses while the kids play. Sitting in a quiet coffee shop is not out of the realm of possibility.

But I recharge in the peace and quiet of my home, walking the pasture, petting my goats, feeding the chickens.

I wasn’t always this way.

The world outside is noisy and chaotic, where everything screams to be heard and seeks to gain attention. I used to be part of that world. It was often, years ago, that I could be found walking the mall, shopping, driving around town, seeing movies, going to dinners out, traveling to Birmingham or Nashville for day trips, doing anything to keep up with the Joneses and maintain a facade of a life – that happiness dwelled within the walls of my childhood/teenage/young adult home. Even after I was married, I was often discontented to stay at home. I wasn’t unhappy in my marriage or in motherhood, but I didn’t want to sit alone with my thoughts for too long. I needed distractions from the pain inside my heart and mind, even though I didn’t know what I was attempting to escape. Anything to be away from my anxieties, insecurities, and deeply rooted trauma responses learned in my earlier years. It was all a distraction.

Up until a few years ago, being out of the house and on the town would have been completely normal to me. And then everything shut down in 2020, and I was forced to stay home, alone (except for the kids and the dogs), in the quiet, for months. I had almost no other adults to talk to – not in the house with me, anyway. It was pretty lonely at times. My husband was in school for the Army and stationed in Florida, so it was just the kids and me. So we started a garden.

That garden was the spark I needed. It gave me something to do with my hands while I was forced to sit in the quiet and face all the things I’d been running from for over 30 years. Something was changing inside of me. A seed had been planted, and the more I watered it, the more I came to love what was growing.

By the time my husband got home June 2020, I wanted chickens, goats, a farm, and was ready to sell the house and move to the country. So we took the leap.

I got into therapy and learned a lot about my family situation growing up, about codependency, about abuse and trauma responses, anxiety, depression, and myself. And most importantly God. And I found healing.

And since then I’ve been on this different path. A slower pace. I’m not the same girl I once was. The extrovert that I was when I was younger was a finely crafted facade under which to hide everything I didn’t want to face. It was an outward performance of an inward desire – to be liked, to be accepted, to be loved. If I did all the things that others wanted me to do, then I could earn their affection. My extroversion was a cry for someone to see me. To know me. All of this is known only in hindsight, of course, because in the middle of this, I had no idea that’s what I was doing. Even though I was exhausted, worn out, and not yet possessing that thing I sought.

If I put on my best face and pretended everything was okay, then maybe it would really be okay. If I said I was fine long enough, I’d be fine, right? Turns out, no; it doesn’t really work that way.

Turns out, running at a breakneck pace, denial, and wearing a mask to keep others comfortable (including yourself) are futile endeavors long term.

At some point, I had to stop running, admit the truth, and remove the mask.

I’m thankful for healing and for freedom in Jesus. I still have miles to go, yes, but I won’t go back to the shadowself that I once was. I won’t force myself to jump into a faster pace of life again. So when I decline to go to a loud trampoline park, a concert, a water park, the mall, or a retreat far from home, it’s not because I don’t want to spend time with people or that I’m being antisocial.

I love people deeply, fiercely, and passionately. If you need me, I’m there. Text, email, call me, beep me if you wanna reach me. I love to serve (acts of service and giving/receiving gifts are my two primary love languages, with quality time being a very close third). I will bring you soup if you’re sick, pick up your kids and transport them where they need to go, bring you a gift just because I was thinking of you, pray for you, and sit with you just to listen if you need a shoulder to cry on.

I love serving and ministering to the needs of others.

But I am very selective about the places I go in the “outside world,” and I am intentional about my time and my peace. And about my family’s peace. We love our farm life. We are not burdened by it. We enjoy being together on our little piece of land.

I used to spend so much of my time and my peace chasing affection from others I wished would love me. I thought if I attended every school field trip, every group event and conference, and if I said yes to every request that anyone asked of me, I would be accepted. If I were willing to always give and never need, then I could be loved. It didn’t matter how tired I was, how emotionally drained I was, or how much I wanted to say no. It didn’t matter that I was so overstimulated, I was on the verge of tears, or if I were on the brink of burnout. I felt I had to say yes. Jumping through hoops of obligation even at the expense of all my margins was “worth it” if it meant being loved.

But I’ve finally gotten to a place where I know I don’t have to be at every event or field trip, and sometimes it’s okay to say no. It’s okay for me to know what I can offer physically, emotionally, and to respectfully turn down requests if they’re not right for me. It is fine if I am honest with others and say, “I would really rather stay home this time.” It is more than okay for me to prayerfully consider a field before I buy it (or not buy it). There are seasons for everything.

That’s not to say I will always say no, that I’ll never go anywhere, or that I don’t sometimes like to go shopping or attend a field trip or event. I’m not a hermit.

But if I have a choice between the noise of the outside world and the peace of my farm, where I can hear birds sing, goats meh, and my kids running through the pasture… where I can work alongside my very best friend building something with our hands, growing something in the dirt, or drinking a cup of coffee while swinging on our blue porch swing, I’m going to choose the latter nearly every time. Helping or spending quality time with a friend is a worthy reason to leave the farm, but I’d much rather do it somewhere I can hear your heart and I can escape the noisy world.

I’m not antisocial. I’m not agoraphobic, though I’ve made the joke. I’m not holed up in my house, under a blanket, depressed and feeling sorry for myself. I am content, and I love my life. I love people. I love my family. I love my friends. Y’all are welcome to the farm anytime. I’ll even leave my farm to visit people at their houses or get coffee somewhere in town.

I’d rather sit beside you, listening to your heart, truly getting to know you, than sitting in a crowded, loud public place, screaming to be heard and straining to hear, all the while becoming overstimulated by the bright overhead lights, blaring music, screaming voices, and distractions.

I’m not suffering living a quiet life on my farm. On the contrary, I have found a place where my heart and soul come alive, where I can see the hand of God move and work daily, where I can hear Him whisper in the wind in the trees. It’s a little slice of heaven on earth, and I pray everyone can find that, as well.

If you’re looking for peace, answers, healing, or just someone to see you, I’m here. And the best part of all, Jesus is, too. I’d love for you to meet Him. I promise, He can meet your deepest soul longings, heal your heart, make you new, and fill your life with peace and purpose. He did that for me, and He can do the same for you.

Peace and blessings, friends. I love you.