I’ve become more closed off.

Not overnight, not suddenly – but slowly, over months, maybe even years. At first, I thought it started with teaching diving: working six days a week, ten hours a day, constantly speaking, guiding, explaining, briefing. I’ve also loved adding bits of history or local colour to make things meaningful. But somewhere along the way, I noticed a shift.

In the Dominican Republic, it became obvious. Every day, I’d have the same conversation:
“So, where are you from?”
“I’m from Hungary.”
“No way! What’s a Hungarian doing here in the DR?”
And then I’d launch into the same condensed version of my life – 35 years summarized.

Those who know me know I struggle to tell stories without diving into details: because everything matters. Still, I did my best to make it digestible, to guide people through the whys and hows. I wanted people to understand. I believed context mattered. But even so, I started getting bored of my own answer. The repetition felt hollow.

I thought about recording a video explaining everything, just to press play when asked. Then I realized how rude that would seem. So, for my own amusement, I started making up stories like: “I fled my country,” or “I’m terminally ill and living out my dream.” And the funniest thing was, no one ever really questioned it. But behind the humor, I was exhausted.

On top of that, so many people told me I was living the dream. And sometimes I was. But often, I wasn’t.

I dealt with huge cultural differences and gaps, being a woman in a male-dominated field, brutal physical strain, harsh conditions – burning sun, cold water. In some places, the hardest part was in the water. In others, it was the boss.

And on top of that, working in tourism: you have to smile, even when all you want is to cry because your family is far, your friends are asleep when you finish work, and you’re stuck between two worlds. Too foreign to belong where you are, while too distant to connect back home.

Add to that a perfectionist mindset, a constant urge to meet expectations and always give your best. That’s burnout in the making.

Every place I worked in diving had its unique difficulties. Sometimes I clashed with the company’s values (“Forget teaching, bring in profit”), other times I worked under unsafe conditions – like being the sole instructor at a volcanic freshwater lake plunging 350 meters deep. Freelancing meant constantly selling myself to dive centers and clients. Or daily battles with clients on basic safety, like not drinking beer between dives.

Here in Gozo, the only thing that raises my pulse is driving: people overtake on blind curves, weekend drivers arrive from Malta like they’re in a race, and all of this happens on the left side of the road, through streets originally built for horse carriages.

So it wasn’t always easy. In fact, it was mostly hard. But I pushed through and fought for where I am now: a place where I’m valued, supported, trusted and given the freedom I need. I carved out something meaningful, something mine.

Did the process harden my heart? Yes, absolutely. I’m not as open nor as naive as I once was. I still believe most people are good. But I don’t open up as easily anymore. Disappointments and pain stack up. And when you’ve been hurt enough, your instinct is to close off.

So the question is: do we close off to protect ourselves or that’s how we heal?

For me, it started as a defense mechanism. I wanted to protect myself from the bullshit, the lies, the pain. But now it’s become something deeper: a conscious choice. Prioritizing my peace of mind and my growth instead.

And I’ve realized I might not have been an extrovert after all. Most of my closest friends are introverts anyway, that’s where I’ve always found deep connection. Loud, spotlight-hungry, impatient extroverts often drain me.

I’ve always scored as the “yellow-blue” type on the DISC personality test, a combination that tends to confuse professionals. Typically, yellow pairs with red (both extroverted), and blue with green (both introverted). Yellow and green are people-oriented types, while blue and red are task-oriented. So shifting from an extroverted, people-focused persona to an introverted, task-oriented one felt like flipping a switch—from one extreme to the other. Story of my life: always black or white. Still surprised by the color scheme of my website? Or my dive gear, for that matter?

Even my Myers-Briggs profile has shifted from ENFJ to INFJ. I went from the “Protagonist,” known for leading with charisma, thriving in social settings, and drawing energy from connection, to the “Advocate,” someone who is still deeply idealistic but more inward-focused, guided by quiet conviction rather than outward enthusiasm. For the first time, I tested as introverted. And strangely enough, it feels like a better fit, like I’ve grown into a version of myself that’s less about being seen, and more about seeing clearly.

Maybe the extroversion was just a mask – a distraction to avoid looking inward, facing old wounds and traumas and doing the real work.

For the first time in a very long time, I feel balanced and calm. In this space, I’m redefining myself. I enjoy solitude. I treasure one-on-one connections. I guard my time because it’s mine and far too many have taken it for granted before (because I let them). The truth is: time is precious, and I only have one life. So I won’t let anyone waste my time anymore. Now, I crave depth. Clarity. Quiet.

For a while, I wondered: is this growth, or just another way to hide? Am I protecting my peace or simply keeping people out?

My answer is clear now: this isn’t hiding. This is healing.