Surviving as an Introvert at SMU
- Ignatius Tan
- Mar 22
- 5 min read
Thriving as an introvert at SMU: Embracing growth, setting boundaries, and finding connection—on our own terms.
Although not scientifically proven (90% introverted on the MBTI test >_<), as a self-professed introvert, I was understandably terrified of SMU’s extroverted culture.
Prior to entering SMU, I hadn’t given it much thought. After all, how different could university be from all my other schooling years?
However, as the start of university loomed, interactions with current students and staff revealed the need for speaking up both within and outside class. My apprehension rose but fear had not yet set in. I was still under delusions that I would do just fine in university.
“Everyone’s proficient in the art of yappanese.” - a senior
“Even introverts come out of their shell at the end of four years.” - a well-meaning staff member
My first hurdle: SMU Orientations
My first reckoning came in the form of student orientations. Before the camp even started, I was already extremely anxious. What if I had no one to talk to? What do we even talk about? It’s going to be so awkward!
The only comfort I had was that there were bound to be other introverts as terrified as I was.
The words that struck fear in my heart were, “Name one fun fact about yourself!” In that moment, anything vaguely interesting about myself evaporated and I could not recall a single fact.
Stumbling through the initial introductions, finding common things to talk about was the next obstacle. At times, I was at a loss for words and just hovered around awkwardly, having no desire to say anything further.
The silver lining came when I found myself in the enviable position of being adopted by an extrovert. But when they disappeared or were busy being a social butterfly, I had to fend for myself.
Making the first move to speak was scary but, most of the time, my fears were unfounded, and the other party was equally happy to respond. The camps were enjoyable but socially tiring - the sheer amount of interaction that took place left me exhausted. After each orientation, it took me an entire week to recharge my social batteries, only to go for the next one.
From camp to class
Once the onslaught of socialisation during orientation had passed, the next challenge awaiting me was the first week of classes.
I had thought I was quite at peace with being an introvert, but just the first few weeks alone made me grapple once again with a multitude of insecurities in relation to my introversion.
To survive here, one needed confidence in bucketloads and a god-like ability to talk about anything and everything at any given moment - none of which I possessed.
On top of that, class participation posed an entirely different challenge. Making up 10% to 20% of every module, there was a strong incentive to speak up and ask questions in class. This system rewards those who are naturally inclined towards expressing themselves – namely the extroverts. While I recognise the benefits of clear communication and confidence, gaining these skills are harrowing for those of us who are more introverted.
The process of class participation is truly crippling, and I can personally attest to that. Here's how a typical lesson for me goes:
Before class, I mentally hype myself up to participate. ‘Just speak once’, I bargain with myself.
But as the minutes tick by, my fellow classmates’ hands keep flying up and down. The words just flow so effortlessly from their mouths.
It isn’t that I do not know the answer. It simply takes me quite a while to muster up the courage to raise my hand.
Some lessons go by without me participating at all. If I do raise my hand, someone else has said the same answer and I put my hand down, shrinking in my seat. With my grade dependent on this, I vow to do better the next lesson.
Repeat the cycle.
During the second week, something truly horrifying happened. My professor called me out in front of the entire class for not speaking.
I was the only one singled out that entire lesson. While I managed to cobble together a few sentences, in my mind, I felt my entire face burn hot red and I was ready to bury myself in the ground.
Looking back, it does not seem as major an incident as it was in that moment. An extrovert probably would not even give it a second thought. It was, however, a crucial moment that gave me confidence to participate in class, regardless of whether I was right or wrong.
It did get better after that. Raising my hand is still terrifying but less so, so thank you for calling me out professor!
Extroverts, introverts and the world
SMU (and, by extension, the world) is fundamentally extrovert friendly.
Constant social obligations like eating together or networking can get overwhelming at times. Meetings and events often extend into meals before or after, or even between classes. Putting on a facade that is friendly and sociable to fit in with everyone else does take its toll.
When my social battery depletes, further interaction would just render me a literal potato. However, it has been heartening that the seniors and peers I have met thus far have been quite understanding about everyone’s social battery and the need for downtime. There has been no overt pressure to stay on or to go for additional social obligations.
As a self-declared member of the go-home club, I enjoy the comfort of eating at home. However, there are times when eating in school is unavoidable.
Thus, the dilemma - whether to eat out with friends or to eat alone.
As an introvert, both options are untenable. Eating with friends would drain my social battery and capacity, especially after a gruelling class (which was already too social). Eating alone outside can also be somewhat mortifying if someone recognises you.
Navigating this has forced me to be more self-respecting. If I’m feeling too tired or overwhelmed, I would just politely decline to go out. With regards to eating alone, I suppose the fear is irrational, but finding a quiet spot with no one around has allowed me to recharge happily.
Through all of this, finding others in similar predicaments as myself have made school less scary.
Whether it be bonding over how draining it is to be around so many people during orientation or lamenting our lack of participation in class yet again. It feels a little less lonely when the experiences I have had in SMU as an introvert are not exclusive to just me.
It is after all, a quiet struggle often overlooked in favour of the louder majority. Introverts in SMU do exist, just quietly and separately.
As one of my peers remarked, “I need to respect my own boundaries more.”
This whole transition to university thus far has reinforced the autonomy I have in deciding my own boundaries and respecting them. Recognising and communicating my need for alone time or just some quiet has been highly beneficial.
In a world that values extroversion, it is important to recognise that introverts can thrive, too – on our own terms.
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