Eleven WhatsApp Groups. One Introvert. Zero Consent.

Let me set the scene.

Got added to a new WhatsApp group today. Did not ask. Will not leave. Will simply mute it and pretend that counts as a boundary.

Here's the thing about being an introvert with a phone full of group chats. It's not a contradiction, even though everyone seems to think it is. It's a daily war between who I actually am and who eleven different group chats expect me to be.

Nobody asks if you want to be added by the way. You are simply added.

To a group for a wedding you're attending. A group for the building you live in.

A group for a project that ended four months ago but the group remains, eternal, undying, somehow still active.

You did not consent. You are now obligated to oblige.

 The Family Group. God Help Us All.

And when I say family group I mean family. All of them. Siblings. Cousins. Second cousins. The cousin's husband. A distant relative from your father's side whose name you have to quietly google before responding. All present. All active. All with very strong opinions about group participation.

Silence in the family group is not silence. It is a statement. A concerning one apparently.

The good morning text arrives at 7am sharp. Every day. Without fail. Featuring flowers that don't exist in nature and a sunrise that looks suspiciously like a screensaver from 2009. It requires a reaction. Not optional. A thumbs up minimum. A heart if you're feeling generous. Silence reads as either disrespect or a medical emergency.

Then Jumma Mubarak. Every Friday. Forwarded. From at least three different family members. In case you missed the first one. Or the second one.

Then the voice note. Oh no. That is the trickiest. 4 min:37sec long. You have not opened it. You will not open it today. It is marked as listened to anyway because the alternative is someone calling to ask if you heard the voice note.

I did not choose this level of engagement. The family group chose it for me.

The Work Colleagues Group. A Minefield With Emojis.

This is not a WhatsApp group. This is a minefield with emojis attached.

Every message requires calculation. Reply too fast, overeager. Reply too slow, disengaged. Reply with just "noted", professional but slightly cold apparently. Add an exclamation mark and suddenly you're enthusiastic about something you have zero actual feelings about.

Someone sends a "well done team" message after a meeting that could have been an email. Does this require a response? Does a thumbs up imply I agree it was a good meeting? It was not a good meeting. It was forty five minutes of my life I will never get back. But I add the thumbs up anyway.

Because that is the work colleagues’ group and we do not express real feelings here

The Muting. A False Sense of Freedom.

I have muted more group chats than I have actively read at this point.

Muting feels like rebellion. Like protecting your peace. Like finally drawing a line.

It is not.

It is just delayed obligation. The messages are still there waiting, multiplying, and eventually I open the group and there are four hundred and twelve unread messages and somewhere in there is a question I was supposed to answer three days ago.

The Part Nobody Talks About.

Here's what nobody tells you about being an introvert in group chats. It's not the talking that's exhausting. It's the constant low level performance of being present. A like here. A thumbs up there. A "haha so true" to a message that was not, in fact, particularly true.

Every reaction is a tiny transaction. A tiny proof of life. A tiny.

“I am still here, still engaged, still a functioning member of this group I never asked to join.”

Multiply that by eleven groups. Multiply that by every single day.

I am not antisocial. I am just tired of performing social in spaces I never chose to be social in.

There's a version of me that shows up fully for the people I actually chose. Present, warm, engaged, no calculation involved. And then there's the rest of it. Eleven groups. Constant low grade obligation. A performance of presence that has nothing to do with how present I actually feel.

I didn't ask to be added. I am still, somehow, expected to perform belonging.

And some days I just don't have it in me.

As I conclude this, I have 11 groups. 47 unread messages. 3 unopened voice notes. And absolutely no plans to deal with any of it tonight.

Reluctantly yours,

Em 🖤