I walked home a lot from school during my middle school years. I had the quickest route figured out—through all the right backyards and across all the right streets. I needed to get home by 4 p.m. Pokémon was on at that time, and I couldn’t miss it. It was all I had to look forward to.

I walked the two miles home when my working parents couldn’t find me a ride. It saved me from the embarrassment and stress of asking for a ride. I would see classmates getting rides from their friends’ parents and wanted my classmates to look at me walking and offer a ride.

Watching Pokémon for an hour every day after school was a way I came to pass the time in middle school. I had no friends, no comrades, no buddies, and a lot of time to kill.

I wanted so badly to be popular, but I didn’t know how to make friends and didn’t know what I was doing wrong. I had friends in grade school, but they branched off into their own cliques in middle school when 150 other students came into their lives.

I would spend Friday nights watching TGIF on ABC. Sabrina the Teenage Witch and Boy Meets World were staples of my adolescence.

My mom was my only friend during those friendless years. Hours of Lifetime and movies-of-the-week created a special bond between us. And every year we would watch the Miss America Pageant and give our own little critique.

When I needed to ask to borrow a pencil in class, it took about 10 minutes of rehearsing in my head all the ways the conversation could go wrong. I would eventually search the room for someone else’s forgotten pencil on the floor.

Once, in my “Pokémon as friends” phase, one of the popular girls randomly exclaimed that one of her favorite Pokémon was Digglet (one of the ground types, FYI). She was joking, but I came close to exclaiming that I liked Pokémon, too.

My parents did worry and had me see a few therapists. The therapists said I was shy, but not withdrawn enough to have a social disorder and not depressed. My parents came to accept it in time. They still tried to get me involved. They persuaded me to do track in middle school. I quit after three days.

My parents also volunteered me to work for a week-long charity camp through my church. My assignment for the week was to watch dozens of kids at a day camp. One of the kids asked another volunteer if I could talk. Everyone laughed. I said nothing.

I began rationalizing that I was more secure with myself than others because I didn’t need friends. I was getting good grades and making my parents happy. What did I need friends for? To bring me down with their problems? I had watched enough Boy Meets World to see how messy life could get with friends.

In early high school, I read a newspaper article about extroverts versus introverts. I knew I was on the shy side, but I didn’t know what exactly an introvert was. One part of the article was a revelation: Introverts are worn out by other people.

People really do exhaust me, I thought. And conversing with a lot people makes me want to take a nap. I was on the cusp of understanding my introverted nature.

By high school, I had made a few great friends—people I could rely on and talk to without hesitation. I know now that being liked by a few outweighs being liked by many.

Occasionally, I check out some of my more popular high school classmates’ Facebook pages—the people everyone in every grade knew because of their social nature. The classmates I was jealous of. Some got pregnant, some dropped out, and some are working at Hooters.

Today, though, I still desperately hope instructors don’t call on me in class. When they do, I sometimes break out in a sweat and uncomfortably squirm. I answer, and the world doesn’t crumble beneath my feet.

I usually have to force myself to speak up when conversation is unavoidable, especially during small talk. I tell myself the times that would be a good time to speak up or make a joke. I’ve mastered this art with an act that I think deserves an Oscar.

Most weekends, I’d rather stay in a watch a movie than go out to a bar or a party. I wish socializing wasn’t a skill I had to master to make friends, but that’s how it turned out.

I can now appreciate being comfortable with solitude and being an introvert. One doesn’t always go with the other, but it does for me.

I’ve been on both sides of the social tracks and happy with the balance I’ve struck. I can comfortably spend a Friday night alone or go to a party with friends without any more hesitations. I’ll always be an introvert, but I can’t imagine I’d be happy with who I am today without those friendless years in middle school and without the friends I have today.