It’s the first day of my vacation. I’m sitting in my apartment here in Uppsala, and it’s a sweltering 30 degrees Celsius. The air is thick and still. I’m waiting for the registration plate for my car to arrive in the mail. As soon as it’s here, we’re off on a road trip, chasing the wind and the open road. But even in this state of expectant stillness, I feel a pull to write.

For a long time, I identified as an INFJ. The description felt like a mirror. The deep desire for meaning, the rich inner world of ideas and possibilities, the drive to understand humanity—it all resonated. Perhaps you feel the same way. Maybe you’ve taken a personality test, read the descriptions, and thought, “Yes, that’s me.”

But over time, I started to feel that the label, as comforting as it was, had also become a box. It gave me a language to understand myself, but it also gave me a set of perceived limitations. I told myself there were things I simply couldn’t do because I was an INFJ. I was supposedly an introvert who would find socializing draining, someone who lived in their head, not in the real world of concrete experiences. Skills like programming seemed out of reach for a “feeler,” and being spontaneous and playful felt unnatural for a “judger.”

I found myself caught in a loop of self-fulfilling prophecies. But what if these weren’t fixed traits? What if they were simply underdeveloped parts of myself, needs that I had been taught to ignore? In my book, I write about eight fundamental human needs: Connection, Autonomy, Play, Goals, Experience, Learning, Meaning, and Creativity. While I was strong in my need for Meaning (Feeling) and Creativity (Intuition), I realized I was neglecting others. And letting go of the INFJ label was the first step to reclaiming them. It has enriched my life in ways I couldn’t have imagined, like finding a missing piece of myself I didn’t even realize was gone.

The Quest for Real Connection

I remember a time when I desperately wanted to connect with people, but I was terrified of it. As a teenager, I became heavily involved in politics, attending conventions and meeting people from all over the country. I was outgoing, I talked to everyone, I organized debates. On the surface, I was the opposite of a stereotypical introvert. But inside, it was a different story. My self-worth became entirely dependent on how much people liked me, how popular I was. I was seeking approval, not genuine connection. It was like drinking diet coke; it tasted sweet for a moment but left me feeling empty and even more hungry.

I treated relationships as transactional, a way to gain validation. I was afraid that if I wasn’t the smartest or most interesting person in the room, my friends would leave me for someone better. This is a fear that many who identify as INFJ might recognize—the fear of being misunderstood, of not being able to form the deep, meaningful connections we crave in a world that can feel superficial.

But what if the problem wasn’t the world, but the way I was approaching it? I had to learn to stop performing and just be human. To listen without planning my response. To treat the person in front of me, whether a barista or a political opponent, as a person with their own story, not as a means to an end.

I learned that true connection isn’t a skill you master; it’s a state of being present with another person. It’s about being brave enough to be vulnerable, to show up as you are, without the armor of perfection.

Do you ever feel a deep longing for connection, but hold yourself back for fear of rejection or misunderstanding? What if you decided that every person you meet is an opportunity for a real, human interaction, not a performance? How would that change the way you move through your day?

From Intuition to Experiencing

INFJs are often described as living in their heads, in a world of ideas and possibilities. I certainly did. I could spend hours, days, lost in thought, exploring theories, and imagining different futures. I built a safe, comfortable world for myself where I could explore anything without risk. I once turned down a free, three-week trip to India, telling myself it was for noble reasons like avoiding air travel’s climate impact. The truth was, I was afraid. Afraid of the unknown, the discomfort, the unpredictability of real life.

My desire for comfort was creating an ever-shrinking bubble. Life was becoming dull. It’s the paradox of survival mode: in our attempt to avoid pain, we also avoid the very experiences that make us feel alive. We choose the safety of being entertained over the messy, unpredictable joy of real play.

The shift for me came with the realization that I am not fragile; I am antifragile. Just as a tree that grows in a windy place develops stronger roots, we need challenges to grow. Embracing experience is about stepping out of the theoretical and into the practical. It’s feeling the rain on your skin instead of just watching it from a window. It’s about learning to cook a meal, getting your hands dirty in the garden, or feeling the burn in your muscles during a workout.

This doesn’t mean you have to stop being a thinker. It means learning to ground your thoughts in reality. A brilliant idea is just an idea until you take the first practical step to make it real.

What is an experience you’ve been dreaming about but telling yourself you can’t have? What is the fear that’s holding you back? What if you took one small, practical step today towards making that experience a reality?

Learning to Learn (Even Programming)

For a long time, I believed my strengths were in the humanities, in philosophy and psychology. I thought that skills like programming were for a different type of mind, a “thinking” type. It felt like a limitation I had to accept.

This is a common trap of personality labels. They can create a fixed mindset, a belief that our abilities are innate and unchangeable. But the joy of learning comes from the process of improving, of pushing past discomfort. I found an immense, giddy joy in learning to code. Figuring out a new way to build something, solving a problem that seemed impossible just hours before—it was a deep, satisfying pleasure that had nothing to do with being a “natural.” It was about the struggle and the satisfaction of growth.

Our society often praises the result—the grade, the certificate—over the effort. We get degrees in subjects we barely remember because we wanted the paper, not the knowledge. But what if we reclaimed learning for its own sake? The brain loves to be challenged; it has fun testing its own limits.

Is there a skill you’ve always wanted to learn but told yourself you “can’t”? Whether it’s a new language, a musical instrument, or yes, even coding, what if you allowed yourself to be a beginner? What if you focused on the pleasure of the process, the small moments of progress, rather than the pressure of perfection?

The Forgotten Art of Play

I was a serious child. I saw my older sister push boundaries and face consequences, so I learned to be the obedient, responsible one. I lost my sense of humor and my love for mischief. Play became something risky, something that could lead to conflict or disapproval. So I retreated into the safe entertainment of books and video games.

Many of us confuse play with entertainment. Entertainment is passive. We watch, we scroll, we consume. Play is active. It is spontaneous, open-minded, and participatory. It’s about dancing with life, not just observing it. It’s the antidote to the stress and seriousness that can weigh us down.

I had to relearn how to play. It meant allowing myself to be silly, to look goofy, to try things without a goal in mind. It meant going to an adventure park and being humbled by the fearless agility of nine-year-olds. It meant realizing that falling is part of the fun, not a failure to be avoided.

Play requires us to let go of our need to be perfect and in control. It’s about embracing the journey, not just the destination. When was the last time you did something just for the fun of it, with no thought of the outcome? What could you do this week to invite a little more playfulness into your life?

Beyond the Label, Into Your Life

The INFJ label can be a helpful starting point, a guidepost on the journey of self-awareness. But it’s not the destination. You are not a four-letter code. You are a living, breathing, changing human being with a universe of potential inside you.

My life is richer now, not because I stopped being me, but because I expanded my definition of who “me” is. I learned that I can be both deeply reflective and actively engaged in the world. I can value meaning and still find joy in the simple, tangible experiences of life. I can have a rich inner world and build real, lasting connections with the people around me.

You have a choice in every moment about who you get to be. You can choose to step outside the box you’ve put yourself in. You can choose to nourish the parts of you that have been neglected. You might be surprised by the enthusiasm and joy you find waiting there.

What are your thoughts? If you identify as an INFJ, does any of this resonate? What needs have you perhaps been overlooking in your own life? I’d love to hear your story in the comments below. Let’s explore this together.