Living Between Two Versions of Me

I used to think people belonged to clear categories.

You were either outgoing or reserved. Social or quiet. Someone who needed people or someone who needed space.

I never fit neatly into either.

Some days I talk easily, respond quickly, laugh without thinking about it. Conversation feels effortless. I don’t rehearse words or search for exits in crowded rooms. For a while, I feel like the version of myself people expect me to be confident, expressive, present. Those are the days when I can spend hours with someone and leave feeling fulfilled, not drained.

Then other days arrive without warning.

The same interactions feel heavier. I start sentences in my mind but never release them. Words feel like they carry weight I don’t have the energy to lift. I listen more than I speak. Nothing is wrong, nothing has changed except the internal supply of social energy has run low. Even smiling feels like effort sometimes.

It’s confusing living between two versions of yourself.

People who meet me on expressive days assume I’m always like that. People who meet me on quiet days think I’m distant. Both are accurate, yet neither is complete. I’ve noticed some people get frustrated with this. They want consistency, predictability. They want me to always be one thing or the other. But my energy isn’t a fixed trait. It moves.

I enjoy connection, but in portions. I like conversations, but not endlessly. I can spend hours with people I care about and still need silence afterward, not because I disliked the time but because I used something internal that takes time to refill. It’s not exhaustion in the usual sense. It’s a subtle fatigue, a mental balancing act.

Some days, I crave space so deeply that even messages feel heavy. Other days, I seek interaction, even with strangers, because energy bubbles up faster than I expected. And sometimes, both desires exist in the same day. I want to be quiet, and at the same time, I want to connect.

Maybe that’s why the word “introvert” never fully captured me. Or “extrovert” either.

Maybe some of us aren’t meant to live on one side.

Maybe we exist in rotation — outward sometimes, inward other times — adjusting depending on what we have available to give that day. Some days, the world feels like it’s too loud; on others, it feels too quiet. And the tricky part is learning to accept both without guilt.

Being an ambivert doesn’t mean living halfway. It means learning the rhythm of your own energy, noticing when you can shine socially and when you need to recede. It means being honest with yourself about what you can give, even when others expect more.

Not introverted.

Not extroverted.

Just a person whose energy moves.

Just a person learning how to exist fully in both worlds without losing themselves.