INFJ Seeks Catholic Partner

Hello there. I'm an INFJ. What socially crafted code are you?

I'm referring to Katharine Cook Briggs and her daughter, Isabel Briggs Myers. As students of Carl Jung they coined 16 categories during World War II by which to divide the world's personalities. Each of the 4 letters corresponds to one of two possible dominant expressions of a person: Introvert/ Extrovert; Intuition/Sensing; Feeling/Thinking; Judging/Perceiving.

Of course, it's absurd to believe that these 16 codes can adequately dismiss cultural differences and lifestyle boundaries long enough to find a commonality between the world's population. And yet, I dare you to read your "code" and deny anything more than 25% accuracy.

I first discovered Myers Briggs in high school as a peer counselor. My classmates and I took this extensive test home, filled it out thoughtfully, and returned it for a public scoring akin to J.K. Rowling's "sorting hat." As a Freshman in college, I was asked to take the test again and my particular worldview measuring a scant 1% of the population was re-confirmed. Yet again, as a resident assistant for an all-girls dorm, I distributed these tests and sat down to scour such questions as, "Do large social gatherings excite you?" Absolutely Not. "Do you prefer to work with deadlines?" Only when employed by a second party. We met as a small community, and the interrogation commenced. Relieved, I announced, "I am an INFJ,” and while the Perceivers skipped details and the Extroverts blurted comments without thought, I sat quiet with My Code clenched for life… proof that I was: unique and extraordinary.

What do I find so particularly seductive about this alphabet mixture? In pathetic honesty I cannot deny the comfort of its Exclusivity. "Difficult to get to know" stands as the forefront descriptor of my clan... and how I relish it. It fits with my instinctual privacy and misplaced sensitivity. It feeds my imagination and offers excuse for moodiness. It articulates my experiences with indescribable accuracy and educates my emotions.

And yet, while I find immense satisfaction in being able to intuit babies' needs and commune with the wind, I'm learning this exclusivity also stands as a false crutch, festered with termites and ready to give way without warning.

You see, lofty independence and a rich inner life are quite fulfilling to experience by oneself but as I move into year two of dating my wonderful beau, these walls of pride and protection are suddenly much more impenetrable than I realized. Combined with his immense respect for honoring privacy the resulting effect is a stubborn loneliness with fruitless judgment. High expectations of myself gradually project onto his persona like chocolate ganache on the famed sachertorte. Hyper-sensitivity to beauty and order quickly stress, morphing into the need for environment control amongst my roommates. And over-achieving good deeds unreturned give way to crippling doubts about professional goals.

It is in these moments of near-despair that I remember I'm Catholic. Of course, I never consciously deny my faith or formation, but the marveling at man’s scientific data collected with painstaking attention to accuracy and spiced with a little "gut feeling," leaves me underbalanced.

While I may have every right to recluse at the first sign of conflict according to my personality, I am also condemning myself to a stagnant spiritual future. God cannot use a disappointed actress “destined” for more greatness than He has offered, or at least not very well.

And so, in this New Year let us resolve to partner with our Catholic identity.