I woke up this morning with that quiet urge to write, the kind of restlessness that begins with a question and ends in reflection. My mind hovered over a dozen possibilities: the heated arguments about Tinubu’s sense of fairness in appointments, the shockwaves from Professor Joash’s emergence as INEC Chairman, or the latest drama of political clemency and pardons. Yet, none felt right. Nigeria’s political air has grown too predictable, its conversations split between the eternally “pro” and the forever “anti”—two camps so rooted in conviction that neutrality itself has become an offence. The last time I dared to sound moderate, I was accused of deceit. So, I turned away from politics and found my muse elsewhere in a voice that whispered from the digital world.
It came from novelist and poet Hadiza Bagudu, whose recent essay, “Why People Get Angry When Introverts Go Offline,” caught my attention with the magnetism of a truth too long ignored. Her words were both tender and defiant, as if she had peeled open the quiet soul of introversion and dared the world to understand it.
Hadiza wrote with the introspection of someone who has seen both solitude and the weight of others’ expectations. She argues that introverts possess a sacred ability to self-soothe—a psychological form of self-rescue where silence becomes sanctuary. They withdraw, not out of arrogance, but self-preservation. “I didn’t come to this world to be someone’s therapist,” she insists, a line that lands like an anthem for every person who has ever been guilted into emotional caregiving.
Her argument, though deeply personal, reflects a timeless truth. As Carl Jung, who first popularized the terms introvert and extrovert, explained, “Every individual is an exception to the rule.” Introversion and extraversion are not prisons of personality; they are dynamic energies that coexist within us. Jung believed these traits were complementary forces—like night and day—each necessary for the wholeness of the human psyche.
Hadiza’s essay glows with emotional honesty, but also carries a quiet tension—the subtle pride of “we” versus “them.” It exalts the introvert’s retreat as a mark of wisdom while portraying the extrovert’s need for company as dependency. This, perhaps, is where her lyrical defense tips into romanticism. To glorify solitude is to risk misunderstanding the social self. After all, Aristotle once called humans “political animals,” built for connection and community. Even the quietest soul needs a witness.
Psychologists have long tried to map this intricate spectrum of human temperament. Research on the Introversion–Extraversion spectrum, rooted in Jung’s work and expanded by Hans Eysenck, reveals that introverts recharge by turning inward, while extroverts draw energy from social engagement. Yet, contemporary psychology now acknowledges a fascinating middle ground, the ambivert—those adaptable individuals who embody both traits and shift between them with situational grace.
Modern studies support this complexity. In a 2013 study published in the Psychological Science journal, organizational psychologist Adam Grant found that ambiverts often outperform both introverts and extroverts in leadership and sales because they balance assertiveness with empathy. They listen deeply yet communicate confidently. In an age of constant noise and digital performance, ambiverts may be the quiet revolutionaries of social intelligence—proving that flexibility, not fixed identity, is the true strength.
This is where Hadiza’s reflection both shines and falters. Her voice is refreshing, a reminder that emotional labor is real and draining. The introvert’s silence is not emptiness but a form of maintenance—an internal resetting of emotional equilibrium. Yet, the essay at times brims with a quiet defensiveness. When she declares that “people who can’t self-soothe need paid therapists,” she risks alienating those whose pain manifests differently. Daniel Goleman, the father of emotional intelligence, reminds us that “Self-awareness and empathy are twin pillars of emotional maturity.” Boundaries must coexist with compassion.
True, Hadiza’s words are a clarion call for respect toward solitude—a commodity so rare in the hyperconnected age of notifications and performative vulnerability. But in defending the introvert’s right to retreat, she paints the extrovert’s longing for connection as a kind of emotional dependence. In reality, both personalities can suffer from burnout, both can crave validation, and both can fail at emotional self-regulation. As the social psychologist Susan Cain, author of Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking, puts it: “The key to maximizing our talents is to put ourselves in the zone of stimulation that is right for us.”
That zone, I believe, is neither purely solitary nor excessively social. it is fluid. It shifts with time, mood, and context. A so-called “introvert” may turn eloquent on social media, where expression requires no eye contact, while a “talkative extrovert” may suddenly grow silent in moments of real vulnerability. These contradictions reveal what personality theorists now term situational introversion—our capacity to toggle between quiet and connection, expression and restraint, depending on emotional safety.
Indeed, social media has blurred the lines. It has given many self-proclaimed introverts a platform for expression without the friction of face-to-face interaction. The keyboard has become the extrovert’s stage and the introvert’s refuge. We tweet, post, and comment not because we are one or the other, but because we seek resonance. The once-clear wall between introversion and extroversion now flickers like a dim light in an age of digital performativity.
Hadiza’s prose, poetic and earnest, succeeds most where it demands empathy for those who need to unplug. But solitude is not superiority. Emotional sovereignty should never harden into emotional isolation. The healthiest balance, perhaps, lies in ambiversion—the art of bending without breaking, of being both the speaker and the listener, the one who gives and the one who withdraws.
In truth, we are all ambiverts navigating shifting tides of connection and retreat. The challenge is not whether to go offline, but how to remain human in both silence and speech. The ultimate measure of emotional intelligence is not how often we disappear, but how gracefully we return—refreshed, renewed, and ready to understand others without losing ourselves.
Bagudu can be reached at bagudumohammed15197@gmail.com or on 0703 494 3575.
