One of my earliest memories is me sitting on a gym floor, a brightly colored parachute before me. I’m surrounded by many other children my age. My mom tells me this is preschool. In that moment, the other kids are squealing with delight as the parachute bubbles into what looks like a giant mushroom, then snaps down with a roar. But me, I’m paralyzed. Not with fear, but with something I’ve come to identify in my adult years as overstimulation . In my memory, the whole place is too loud, too frenetic for me to enjoy the activity that so easily thrills my peers. An adult encourages me to pick up a parachute handle, but I quietly refuse. There’s so much happening around me that it’s overwhelming. Neither my parents nor I knew it then, but I’m an introvert . As I grew older, I showed all the early signs of introversion . I was sensitive to my environment. I often withdrew from my family and friends for hours on end into the solitude of my bedroom. I easily lost myself playing alone, and
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