[MENTION=13973]Luv Deluxe[/MENTION]--Thanks for the insightful reply!
Yes, I've certainly put some thought into my possibly being an anxious Extravert rather than a true Introvert. I can't completely rule it out. Anyway, there's something odd going on in my case. I'll share some things about myself and my typing history, just in case it interests you or anyone (if it doesn't, prepare to start skimming--or just skip the rest of this post).
1. I've taken the official MBTI, along with the Majors PTI, both administered by a leader in the field. I came up decidedly INFP on both tests. The only other types I gave much consideration to were ISFJ and INFJ.
2. On all those 16-types tests and quizzes, my Introversion score is way high. But I believe that what I'm calling anxiety is a huge factor in that. Do I prefer to be alone most of the time? Yeah--because it's hard enough dealing with all my self-doubt and second-guessing and complex fears when I'm by myself; when I'm interacting with others, the amount of "inner processing" I have to do is multiplied.
3. A fellow online (EricB, I believe, in this group) pointed out to me that there are two sides to what people call introversion: (1) How much do you want affection and interaction with others? and (2) How much do you reach out to others for affection or interaction? I'm strong in the former, weak in the latter.
4. When I talk about anxiety--and some start calling it "social anxiety"--I believe it's unrelated to anything like HSP (highly sensitive persons). I'm not unduly bothered by environmental stimuli. Nor do I have agoraphobia or anything remotely like that. I'm fine in crowds of people; I even kinda like losing myself in a crowd. I've had a great time at rock concerts, standing up and swaying to the music like everybody else. I've taken charge of leading groups of volunteers in projects, and I've spoken before audiences. None of that makes me any more nervous than it would anyone (i.e., I experience a few "butterflies," but I'm mostly fine).
5. When I'm in a situation where I have to speak to anyone about anything, however--i.e., spend some time holding up my end of a conversation--my face turns a bit red, tension can always be heard in my voice, and I'm apt to either speak too quickly or too softly. I worry constantly about whether I'll say the right things or blunder, and it feels like the most important thing in the world to get it right.
6. Quite often, interaction begins with eye contact and an exchange of smiles--but once I've experienced that, I feel I've had it all; there's nothing to say. When I make contact with someone I like (or someone I think I might like), I'm just one big smile inside, and I'm full of happy feelings; and if I get a smile in return, it makes my day. I don't want to spoil the moment by speaking. Hence, when I'm around my wife I often just mutter nonsense phrases for fun rather than having a rational conversation. And I often do a lot better with pets, since communication is then wordless.
7. In early childhood I kept to myself a lot, but I also played with neighbor kids. My only sibling was four years younger, so we had to grow up before we could play together much; and we didn't even then, because she was a sister (and at that age boys tend to hang out with boys). I had trouble even in first grade, though, because I hadn't interacted with other kids much up till then. I was "mentally gifted" (reading on a seventh-grade level), but I was said to be emotionally behind my peers. On my report cards, I always got top marks in everything except "Plays well with others"; I needed improvement there. Yet, by third and fourth grade, I was merrily chasing flocks of girls around the playground at recess. But by seventh grade, I was at the bottom of the pecking order, beset by bullies and unable to deal with that situation.
* * *
Now I've lived practically a whole life. I'm sixty, and if it weren't for my wife and our three cats, I'd be living almost like a recluse. I work a full-time job, but I only occasionally interact with my coworkers. I can count my friends on one hand, with fingers to spare. I get along with almost everybody; people seem to like me. And I like people too, especially on a one-on-one basis. But I have some kind of "psychological lockjaw" that makes me extremely hesitant to project myself or speak with other people. And I've grown so used to this lifestyle that it's OK with me. When I have opportunities to get together with people, I often decline, as it seems like just too much bother. I'm always up for online interactions like this one, however! As long as there's some physical distance between me and others, I'm delighted to "pass notes back and forth" on the Internet. (Passing notes in class was also very enjoyable for me in my school days.)
Sometimes I have to attend a social gathering, and I just did that yesterday morning. I spent several hours at a large meeting, where there was a mix of old friends, acquaintances, coworkers, and strangers. We listened to lectures and creative-arts presentations, and then we had a small-group discussion at our table of six. How did I do there?
From an onlooker's perspective, I did just fine. I even took the initiative at times, making a point to approach an old friend for a hug or handshake, or asking the strangers across the table where they were from. But on the inside, I was a bundle of nerves the whole time. Others probably didn't notice much; I present a pretty cool, calm exterior and cover up my inner tension with generous doses of humor. I actually had to argue my INTJ wife into staying longer, because I had to help connect two people with each other in the early afternoon; my wife was feeling uncomfortable from early on, and by noon she wanted to go back home to her "cave." Meanwhile, though, she probably did a lot more talking than i did; however she didn't connect emotionally with people nearly as much as I did.
When we got home, she quickly retired to the bedroom with a good book and a hunk of summer sausage to munch on. I got online to catch up with discussions. But all the rest of the day, and again this morning, my mind kept flashing back to interactions at that meeting. I wished I hadn't said such-and-such; I regretted going on with a story I was telling when a friend obviously wanted to be done with our conversation and go sit with another friend; I wished we had been able to ask an out-of-town couple to stay overnight at our house, since we hardly ever get to see each other; and so on. I mentally kick myself over all the faux pas I feel I committed. I worry myself sick over what others might be thinking of me. (But my INTJ wife apparently almost never has any such worries; she's my opposite in that respect.)
The other thing, though, is that I was glad we didn't stay for the afternoon and evening sessions of the conference. The event took up too much of my personal time as it was, and I'm glad to be home doing my own thing now. Today my wife wants us to run some errands and do some yard work, and I'm dreading that too, just because it's an imposition on my being able to sit here in my recliner, doing as I please. I'm generally happiest when I'm lost in a computer game or book or asynchronous online discussions.
It's not for any lack of love for people, though--not by any means. Ideally I'd be hugging, kissing, or making love to somebody special most all the time; I've got those kinds of emotions in me. However, making conversation--thinking of things to say and responding to what others say--seems somehow awkward. I'm never confident about it; and no matter how well I do at it, I always end up feeling I blew it in some way or other: I either revealed too much or too little, or I couldn't manage to navigate to a place where the interaction was satisfying for both of us.
I think all of what I've said above fits well with enneagram 6w5 sx/sp. And I don't see that it conflicts with INFP. But it bothers me that the "I" in INFP means something other than what mainly drives me toward spending a lot more time alone than with others.