grumpy cat

on introversion, deep connection, and the risk of only letting one person in

You know those permanently grumpy cats.

The ones that don’t flinch at affection, hate being picked up, and treat you like an inconvenience? Well, that is the persona that is living inside of me rent‑free. I lean heavily toward the introverted end of the spectrum. I don't enjoy small talk. I struggle to make friends and when I do, it's usually a slow burn. And, the deeper issue is, I feel uncomfortable getting too close to people. Letting them in. I don't warm to people easily as they don't to me.

I'm the kind of person that forms one really deep and solid relationship with one person. And I feel perfectly content with that. Like my childhood bestfriend, they move overseas and the relationship disintegrated into thin air. It makes me slightly anxious that I'm putting all of my eggs in this one basket. So, do the prickly edges of this grumpy cat need to be softened? Or is it fine that I’m content being this grumpy cat?

Signed Grumpy Cat

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Hi Grumpy Cat,

Let’s get something straight, first and foremost: we both know the grumpy cat who doesn’t flinch, treats everyone like an inconvenience, and doesn’t cave easily to treats is the most beloved cat in the room. I’ll wager that statistics on this claim (if it exists) will back me on this.

Now, I have an inkling that underneath such charming framing, the real questions aren’t, “do the prickly edges of this grumpy cat need to be softened? Or is it fine that I’m content being this grumpy cat?”

But rather: what happens if the one person I let in leaves?

And underneath that, an even quieter but perhaps, more painful question:

is there something wrong with the way I love?

Let me first appease your worries: there isn’t.

The reality is that there exists a spectrum. On one end, you have people who tend towards expansive networks—lots of friends, lots of surface area, warmth distributed evenly across many relationships. And on the other end, people who far prefer depth over breadth, one or two connections so solid they function like load-bearing walls. Furthermore, some will sit in the middle, able to have a wide network, while simultaneously maintaining particularly deep connections with a subset of friends.

None of these are a disorder. And in truth, one can, with enough persistence or a force of circumstance, move away from their original tendency. But the most crucial truth is that all these architectures answer to the same human need: to be known.

The core issue with your architecture—of which you’ve already alluded awareness of—is that it’s load-bearing. If one wall cracks, everything shakes. Your childhood best friend moves overseas, the relationship slowly dissolves into sporadic voice notes and a birthday message every year, and suddenly the whole structure feels precarious. I understand why that's frightening. If I were you, I’d be scared too.

But here’s my gentle push back: the issue isn’t that you’ve put all your eggs in one basket. It’s that’s you’ve decided that one basket is your max capacity. I’m not sure that’s true. I fear that it might’ve been a story you’ve been telling yourself for a while now, and it has somehow seeped into your bones and turned into something not unlike biology.

You say that you don’t warm to others easily, and they don’t to you. But you also go on to say that you’re someone capable of a deep, solid, and singular bond. Which means, that somewhere, at some point, you let someone in far enough that they became your person. You did that. Which is to say that the prickly exterior? It ain’t permanent; it was a slow burn, and then bam! Warmth.

I’d argue that the question isn’t whether to sand down your edges, but whether you’re willing to let another slow burn happen once more.

Look, I love grumpy cats.

(some cheeky people have even said I too can be a grumpy cat **am frowning right now writing this)

You don’t need to become a golden retriever. You don’t need to somehow find joy in small talk or collect friends like loyalty points. But you might need to let yourself be surprised by a second person. And then, maybe a third; perhaps, not even close in the same way, but present enough that when one friendship shifts, you’re not standing alone in a structure with no walls.

Consider your bestfriend that moved overseas. Going forward, wouldn’t you want that friend of yours to have more than just one good friend in the new place they moved to? What if they only had one and then that friend moved? No, right?

You extend that grace to the people you love without a second thought. The question is whether you're willing to do so to yourself as well.

The grumpy cat doesn’t need to change. It just needs to stop pretending it has room for only one person on the couch.

Sometimes a grumpy cat meowing from the void,

it’s michelle d.

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Hiii, in case you stumbled upon this serendipitously,

A quick intro:

I’m an intersectional human trying to figure out life, love, business, and help others a long the way. I used to write a lot, literally had an entire IG account on it. But life got in the way, so here I am: battling life back & getting back into writing.

One thing I learned from writing essays is how much I love the interaction and community around it. Hence the core concept of this newsletter: unsent letters.

Send me a Letter

Send me a quiet confession. Dilemmas that keep you awake, unspoken feelings, the truths that live only in your head. I don’t advise severely; I’m not qualified for that. But I can read, reflect, and remind you (& me) — it’s not just you. It’s us.

Unsent letters: 1, 2, 3, 4