I hate meetings. Yes, everyone says that, but I am on the extreme end of the relevant bell curve here: I am introverted to such a degree that some people have confessed that they were unsure I had the ability to speak until months after we met. Therefore, in late March 2020, when stay-at-home orders began to go into force, schools began closing, and my workplace switched to telecommuting, my reaction was more sanguine than most. After all, introverts draw strength from within! Forced social interaction is what tires us most! With fewer meetings scheduled, surely my unpublished novel, a new personal best for pushups, and that foreign language I’d been meaning to learn would all be within my grasp.

Or so I thought.

There was one thing I had not factored into my calculations: depression. While these spells have been with me for much of my life, they increased in frequency after the pandemic began. After just a few weeks of staying at home, I began to notice that I was having more extreme reactions to even mild criticisms from my wife, from my colleagues, even from strangers on the internet. With fewer social interactions to distract me, I heard “I think you misunderstood the nature of this assignment,” “You didn’t use enough soap when you washed the dishes,” and “You might want to rethink your evaluation of this polling data” and understood “Your failure to accomplish small tasks means you are a failure in life and that you should stare at the ceiling.”

Those unaccustomed to spells of depression may not understand what this means. For my part, I tend not to appreciate the need for friendly social interaction until an unexpected triggering event takes place. And they’re almost always unexpected: unanticipated criticism, unpredictable monetary shortfalls, or an unexpected bout with fatigue. When something like that happens, suddenly I lose the ability to take care of everything I want or need to do. Work, entertainment, or even matters of basic sustenance and hygiene become more than I can handle.

Thankfully, over the years I’ve come to see these spells as temporary. After a career setback in my early thirties, I remember lying in bed for a whole day and watching documentaries about former professional athletes struggling with addictions to painkillers. (Never underestimate the morbid curiosity of a depressed person.) Eventually, the depression lifted, but I realized then that it would keep coming, and when it did that I would have to feel it—until I didn’t. In the time since then, I have gone to great lengths to manage my depression—going to therapy, steeling myself for rejection after job interviews, scheduling potentially disappointing events so that they don’t happen before other important engagements like speeches or deadlines.

Under the pandemic, however, I’ve come to realize just how much a lack of human contact contributes to these spells of depression. Not only do the triggering events seem to be coming more frequently, but being stuck at home has complicated my efforts to reach out for help. And I don’t think I’ve been alone in this feeling. While the country has been under lockdown over the past year, conspiracy theories have grown more popular. Experts have warned of the increasing risks of suicide, mental health issues, and domestic violence. And political polarization in our country seems to have worsened. Not only are we reacting to things more stridently, we’re having even greater trouble relating to those who disagree with us. Perhaps not being able to see other people in person—including those we don’t agree with—is contributing to these problems.

I’ve tried a few things to cope with these new conditions of life. I’ve taken part in work socials and joined clubs that meet online. However, if it’s a challenge for introverts to mingle in person, doing so when you’re on Zoom is an even higher hurdle. In these meetings usually only one person can talk, so it’s not as though you can approach one other quiet guy who is also left out and bond over your mutual distrust of the talkative. It took years for my excessively introverted self to learn to function like a regular person in social settings, and now I feel I’m learning anew.

I’m sure that the isolation of the pandemic has been even harder on the extroverted, and yet I’d like to think that under lockdown they’ve come to appreciate some of the subtler joys of introversion. After all, the pandemic has been a fine time to hold detailed and vigorous conversations in one’s own head, a favorite pastime of us uber-introverts—not just because no one wants to talk to us, but also because no conversation in real life can measure up to the ones we have with ourselves. More importantly, there are advantages to a more introspective—and, for that matter, less cheery—attitude. The easily depressed tend to think more analytically and with greater focus, research finds. In general, introverts are less preoccupied with the whirligig of current events and more able to take a long view.

Personally, while I’m prone to occasional bouts of brutal self-evaluation, my assessments of others are much kinder, and I tend to be optimistic about overall trends. That’s why I’m not so anxious about our country’s current political unrest and the uncertain prospects for its post-pandemic economy. Indeed, there may be long-term benefits to the crises we’re going through, as traditionally ignored segments of our electorate have their voices heard, and as employers start to realize how much time and energy can be saved by cutting down on commuting, unnecessary meetings, and the micromanaging of employees.

The rapid rollout of vaccinations in recent months offers hope that we will soon be back to some semblance of normal socializing again. When that happens, introverts like myself will have a greater appreciation for face-to-face interactions. Yes, soon enough we’ll be back to hating meetings, interruptions, and the unjustifiable gregariousness of extroverts, but those first few days should be glorious.

Rob York Rob York works for a think tank in Honolulu and still prefers communication by Post-it Notes.