Welcome back to Stories from Tina. Today, we need to talk about a fundamental truth of my existence. It’s something that has caused confusion, mild panic in group chats, and probably a few whispered conversations among my acquaintances.
If I had to put it on a bumper sticker, a t-shirt, or maybe just tattooed across my forehead, it would say this:
“I’m just naturally a distant person, it’s never personal or intentional.”
If you just nodded your head so hard your neck cracked, grab a coffee, get comfortable, and let’s talk. Because I know I’m not the only one navigating the world with the social battery of a five-year-old iPhone in the freezing cold.
Let’s get one thing straight: I love my friends. I love my family. I generally like humanity (in small, strictly timed doses). But I have what you might call the emotional equivalent of Resting Bitch Face. I have a Resting Aloof Soul.
People often mistake my distance for disapproval. They think, “Oh no, Tina hasn’t reached out in two weeks, she must be furious about that thing I said about her shoes in 2019.” I promise you, I am not thinking about your shoes. I am probably in my living room, staring blankly at a wall, entirely at peace, mentally organizing my pantry, or wondering if penguins have knees. My silence isn’t a weapon; it’s just my default operating system.
We need to discuss the phenomenon of the “Mental Reply.”
Here is how communication works in my brain:
1. My phone buzzes.
2. I look at the text. I am genuinely happy to hear from you!
3. I craft a witty, thoughtful, and engaging response in my head.
4. I am so satisfied with this mental response that my brain checks the “Task Completed” box.
5. I put my phone down.
6. Four business days later, I realize I never actually used my thumbs to type the words and hit send.
At this point, the guilt sets in. Do I reply now and admit my negligence? Do I fake a digital emergency? Usually, I just send a meme and hope we can all move past it. If you are on the receiving end of this, please refer back to the golden rule: It is never intentional. The Grocery Store Dodge and Other Extreme Sports
Being naturally distant means you operate on a strict energy budget. When I leave the house, I have exactly enough social currency to interact with the cashier and maybe hold the door for someone. That is it.
So, what happens when I’m in Aisle 4 looking at pasta sauce and I spot an old coworker?
I execute a tactical retreat. I will abandon my cart. I will army-crawl behind the display of canned beans. I will suddenly become incredibly fascinated by the nutritional information on a box of stale crackers until the threat has passed.
It’s not because I dislike them! They are a lovely person. But the mental gymnastics required to summon the enthusiastic “Oh my gosh, how ARE you?!” small-talk routine completely drains my reserves. I’m protecting my peace, one avoided eye-contact moment at a time.
To all the extroverts, the planners, the frequent-texters, and the people who love a naturally distant person: thank you.
Thank you for not taking our quietness as an insult. Thank you for continuing to invite us to things, even when you know there’s a 50% chance we will cancel at the last minute because our couch suddenly looked too inviting to leave. Thank you for understanding that when we do show up, and when we do engage, we are giving you our absolute best energy.
Our love isn’t loud. It doesn’t always show up with a megaphone and a string of double-texts. Our love is quiet, it needs a lot of naps, and it requires a fair amount of personal space.
But it’s real. And it’s definitely never personal when we need to step back and just exist in our own little bubble for a while.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a text from last Tuesday I need to go mentally reply to again.