Raspberry Iced M

INFJ.

Introverted. Intuitive. Feeling. Judging.

And after reading the description, my first thought, was, “Well, that explains some things.”

My second thought was, “I feel personally attacked.”

I don’t believe a personality test can reduce an entire human being to four letters. I’m complicated. You’re complicated. We’re all walking combinations of personality, experience, upbringing, faith, trauma, choices, habits, and approximately seven things we should be discussing with a therapist.

But I do love anything that helps me understand myself a little better. And INFJ gave me something to think on.

I – Introverted

This one surprised absolutely no one.

I like people. I just tend to like them individually. Give me one person, a cup of coffee, and a conversation about life, God, childhood, relationships, regret, dreams, or why we are the way we are, and I’m in.

Put me in a room with 40 people making small talk? I suddenly remember an urgent appointment I have with my couch.

Being introverted doesn’t mean I don’t like people. It means that solitude restores me. I need quiet. I need to time to think. And after enough social interaction, my internal battery starts flashing: 5%. Low Power Mode. Find pajamas immediately.

N – Intuitive.

This might explain why absolutely nothing is allowed to simply be something in my brain.

A raspberry isn’t a raspberry. It’s a metaphor for fragility, protection, sweetness, suffering, identity, and somehow God’s redemption.

A watering can isn’t a watering can. It’s a symbol for stewardship.

A routine isn’t a routine. It’s a blog post about discipline.

I am constantly looking underneath things. What does this mean? Why did it happen? What is this teaching me? What pattern am I seeing? Sometimes that’s insightful. And sometimes I imagine God looking down at me, like, “Girl…it’s literally just a raspberry.”

F – Feeling

This doesn’t mean I am incapable of logic. It means values and human impact matter tremendously when making decisions.

I care about how people feel. I care about why people behave the way they do. I can spend an embarrassing amount of time trying to understand someone’s perspective – even when I disagree with it.

I have historically treated certain emotions like subpoenas requiring my immediate appearance.

I’m learning not to do that anymore. Because feelings contain information, but they don’t always contain instructions.

J – Judging

This one sounds meaner than it actually is. “Judging” doesn’t mean I sit around passing judgement on everyone. It refers more to preferring structure, decisions, planning, and closure.

I mean…have you met my bullet journal?

I like plans. Lists. Calendars. Routines. Goals. Categories. I can take an ordinary notebook and turn it into a small corporate headquarters for my entire existence.

Does everything go according to plan? Nope.

But there will be a plan if it doesn’t go to plan.

What fascinated me the most, though, wasn’t any individual letter.

It was the contradictions.

I love people…but need emormous amounts of time alone.
I feel deeply…but I’m increasingly learning not to react immediately.
I crave meaningful relationships…but superficial socializing exhausts me.
I love structure…but my brain can simultaneously contain seventeen unrelated thoughts.
I want to understand people…but sometimes I desperately want people to understand me too.
I can be compassionate toward someone else’s flaws while being incredibly hard on my own.

In other words…apparently my personality is “Come sit beside me and tell me everything about your soul – but please don’t stay too long because I need to finish my task list in my bullet journal.”

Accurate.

There are things about this personality that I genuinely appreciate. I care deeply. I notice things. I love meaningful conversations. I naturally search for patterns and meaning. I want my life to matter. I want people to feel heard. I think deeply about my values and whether I am actually living in accordance with them.

There are qualities I don’t want to lose, but every strength can become unhealthy when it isn’t stewarded well.

And then there’s the other side.

Empathy can become taking responsibility for emotions that aren’t mine. Introspection can become overthinking. Wanting harmony can become avoiding unnecessary conflict. Understanding someone’s perspective can become excusing behavior I shouldn’t excuse. Wanting to be understood can become overexplaining. Idealism can become disappointment when actual human being stubbornly insist on being human beings. And caring deeply can become exhausting when I forget that I am not personally responsible for fixing everything I care about.

That’s where a personality test becomes useful to me. Not as an excuse. As information.

My personality explains me. But it doesn’t excuse me. Saying, “Sorry, I’m an INFJ,” doesn’t excuse unhealthy behavior any more than saying, “That’s just how I am.” If anything, knowing my tendencies gives me greater responsibility for managing them.

If I know I overthink, I can learn when to stop. If I know I avoid conflict, I can practice speaking honestly. If I know I absorb other people’s emotions, I can learn where they end and I begin. If I know I need solitude, I can intentionally make room for it instead of becoming exhausted and resentful.

Self-awareness isn’t permission to remain exactly as we are. It’s information we can use to grow.

At the end of the day, God made a person, not a personality.

Four letters don’t tell me who I am. He does. INFJ may describe some of my tendencies, and it may help to explain why I process things the way I do. It may even help me laugh at myself.

But it isn’t my identity. I’m still responsible for my character, my choices, my habits, my relationships, my obedience, my growth.

A personality test can tell me something about how I’m wired, but it cannot tell me who I’m becoming. That is determined by what I repeatedly choose to do with the personality I’ve been given.

INFJs are the most rare personality type, only making up 1-2% of the testing population.

I’m a deeply feeling introvert who loves people but would also appreciate it if everyone left by 7 p.m. A planner who knows life cannot be controlled. An idealist learning to make peace with reality. An overthinker learning when thinking has stopped being useful. A person who looks for meaning in almost everything.

And you know what? I kind of like her.

Not every part of me needs to be corrected. Some parts need discipline, healing, maturity. Some might even need a nap.

But some parts just need to be appreciated.

And maybe that’s one of the best things self-awareness can teach us: Growth isn’t about rejecting who we are. It’s about learning to steward well what we’ve been given.