Still Dreaming: An INFP’s Guide to Not Giving Up (Even When Everything Sucks)

There’s this moment that happens to a lot of INFPs—usually around 7:12 a.m., just after the third snooze alarm, somewhere between existential dread and the crushing realization that you still have to fold laundry and answer that one email you’ve been ignoring since Thursday. You look around at your life—at the sink full of dishes, the blinking cursor on the dream novel you haven’t touched in six weeks, the “motivational” quote taped to your fridge that now feels like an inside joke between you and the void—and you wonder:

“Wasn’t I meant for more than this?”

Not in a narcissistic way. Not in a “I should be famous” way. More like… wasn’t I meant for something meaningful? Soulful? Revolutionary? Magical?

INFPs are wired to dream big. But the world often responds to those dreams the way a corporate manager responds to a handwritten poem submitted as a quarterly report—confused, unimpressed, and kind of irritated.

And let’s be honest: dreaming is hard when you’re tired. And you’re tired. So tired.

I’m an INTJ so I shouldn’t use my own experience to relate, but I can. It’s like you woke up and you looked at your day and you felt all the energy sap out of your body before you even got out of bed. It’s like those nights when you spent the whole night dreaming about going to work and working and then you wake up and realize you still have to go to work.

Let’s talk about that feeling and this struggle. Let’s talk about big dreams and little energy. And let’s start with why the dreams are so big in the first place.

Not sure what your personality type is? Take our personality questionnaire!

Why INFPs Have Big Dreams (and Why They’re Not Delusional for It)

The thing about INFPs is—they don’t just dream. They yearn with every molecule of their being for something that means something. Something that transcends all the paperwork and Wi-Fi outages and forced smiles at the dentist’s office.
They’re not dreaming because they’re flaky. They’re dreaming because their souls are basically tuning forks for transcendence.

As David Keirsey put it:

“Idealists talk little of what they observe — ‘of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings.’ They talk instead of what can only be seen with the mind’s eye: love and hate, heaven and hell, comedy and tragedy, heart and soul, tales and legends, eras and epochs, beliefs, fantasies, possibilities, symbols, selves…”

In other words: while the world is busy building spreadsheets and TikToks, the INFP is backstage, trying to write the script for a better world—one where art matters, people are kind, and nobody has to make small talk in the break room.

They’re not trying to climb a corporate ladder. They’re trying to reimagine the ladder entirely. Maybe turn it into a treehouse. With books. And fairy lights. And a dragon named Carl.

As Linda Berens wrote:

“They approach life first from the point of view of what is really important and of value… continually examining choices to see if they match their inner value system and intent…”

This is the INFP burden and gift: having an inner compass so sensitive that even the tiniest deviation from your values feels like a migraine in your soul. You were never going to settle. Not really. Not permanently.

But what happens when your dreams hit the molasses of reality? When you’re stuck in meetings while your muse screams into a pillow? When the world wants hustle, and all you want is a meaningful, slow, slightly melancholy life that smells like library books and lavender?

What happens when your energy doesn’t match your vision?

Why INFPs Are So Tired (and Why It’s Not Laziness, Thank You Very Much)

Here’s the thing nobody tells you about having a rich inner world: it weighs a lot.
It’s an entire alternate dimension inside your skull, constantly evaluating the meaning of life while you try to figure out how to afford groceries and not cry in front of the mailman.

INFPs don’t just want to do something with their lives—they want to become something. Something profound. Something transformational. Something that whispers to other people, “See? You’re not alone.”

But the world doesn’t exactly roll out the red carpet for idealists.
It hands you a clipboard, a login password, and a seat under fluorescent lights.
It gives you bills, burnout, and the suggestion to “just hustle harder.”

And that’s where the exhaustion sets in.

I know INFPs who used to create art and get commissions that helped them pay the bills. Now those same commissions are drying up because clients are plugging an AI prompt into MidJourney and getting all their art for free. I know bloggers—creative, passionate, truth-telling wordsmiths—whose traffic has tanked because algorithms are pushing generic AI mush to the top of search results instead. (I’m also a blogger and am experiencing the same thing…we’re all kind of just going down with the ship that is our decades of online writing).

And then there’s my friend Rachel. She’s an INFP friend of mine who worked in customer support for an insurance company. Every day, she logged in to answer complaints, navigate Kafkaesque claim systems, and get yelled at by strangers who thought she personally raised their premiums. Every day she checked job boards for something—anything—that didn’t feel like a betrayal of her nature. Nothing came up.

Her story isn’t unique. It’s just… what happens.
To dreamers in a system that rewards output over originality.
To feelers in a culture that values efficiency over empathy.
To artists in an economy that’s automating the human touch out of everything.

And all the while, the INFP’s heart is screaming:
“There’s more than this. There has to be more than this.”

But they’re also expected to do the dishes. And remember their login credentials. And maybe make a TikTok about productivity while their inner world quietly shrivels into something that looks suspiciously like depression but is actually just chronic meaning-deficiency.

It’s not laziness. It’s not lack of ambition.
It’s the cost of carrying a world inside you that the outside world won’t make room for.

But (and here’s where it starts to get hopeful—I promise), you don’t have to abandon your dreams or smother your soul to survive. You can’t rebuild the whole world overnight, but you can start by making a little more space for magic in your own life.

How to Find the Magic Again (Even If You’re Tired, Broke, and Folding Socks Right Now)

Let’s get one thing straight:
You don’t need to quit your job, move to Iceland, and write poetry on glacier fragments to be true to your INFP soul.
(Unless you can. In which case, do it. Send pictures. I’ll live vicariously through you.)

But for the rest of us—those who are scraping dried peanut butter off knives while wondering what happened to the kid who used to cry at sunsets and write epic fantasy sagas in notebooks from Walgreens—we need something smaller.
Something gentler.
Something doable.

Because here’s the quiet revolution:
You don’t need the world’s permission to live like your life matters.
You don’t need an audience, or a paycheck, or a platform.
You just need a spark.

So let’s talk about those sparks.

✴ Make One Thing Sacred Again

It can be small.
Lighting a candle before you write.
Putting on a certain song while you cook.
Carrying a notebook that no one ever sees.

Give one part of your day a ceremonial feel. This can be your reminder that the world doesn’t own you. That some parts of your life belong to your soul, not your schedule.

✴ Stop Waiting to Feel “Ready”

You won’t. Sorry. That’s the trap.

You’ll never feel rested enough, organized enough, healed enough, inspired enough to begin that thing your heart keeps whispering about.

Start messy. Start awkward. Start with a 15-minute window between dinner and doomscrolling.
That novel, that painting, that garden, that volunteer application, that letter to your past self—
it doesn’t need to be good. It just needs to exist.

✴ Find People Who Don’t Think You’re Too Much (Or Too Weird, Or Too Quiet)

This one’s huge.
INFPs can spend years trying to contort themselves into whatever shape will make them “easier to understand” or “less disappointing.”
But real magic happens when you find your people—the ones who get why you tear up over animated movie soundtracks or spiral into philosophical tangents over a cup of tea.

They don’t have to be many. Just real.

And if you haven’t found them yet? Start by being the kind of person you would’ve needed at 15. That version of you is still watching.

How to Find People Who Get You (Without Having to Fake a Single Thing)

• Join niche interest groups online.
  Reddit subs, Discord servers, Facebook groups, Patreon communities—look for small ones centered around what actually lights you up.
• Attend low-pressure, creative workshops.
  INFPs blossom in spaces with meaning, whimsy, and just enough social interaction to feel connected without being emotionally drained. Try a writing group, art class, or even a local library event where people gather to make zines or talk about banned books.
• Be weird on purpose.
  Post the poem. Share the doodle. Wear the thing that feels like your soul. The people who resonate will notice—and maybe message you later at 2 a.m. with “Hey, I saw that. Me too.”
• Ask thoughtful questions instead of making small talk.
  Try “What story has shaped you the most?” instead of “So what do you do?”
  You’ll filter out the surface-level crowd real fast—and attract kindred spirits.
• Volunteer for things that align with your values.
  Mutual aid groups, climate advocacy teams, book drives, mental health awareness campaigns—any cause that makes you feel alive is probably full of people who feel things deeply too.
• Host something small and soulful.
  A poetry night. A journaling circle. A “Bring Your Favorite Book and Eat Ice Cream” party. It doesn’t have to be big. It just has to be honest. The people who show up? They’re probably your kind of weird.
• Say yes to the people who see you.
  Even if it’s just one person. Even if they don’t fully understand you but they try. Pay attention to who notices when your light dims. That’s your constellation.

✴ Remember Why You Cared in the First Place

Your dreams didn’t show up because you were bored. They showed up because something in you is called to change things—to write the story that hasn’t been written yet, to draw the thing that reveals a hidden truth, to create beauty where there was only blankness before.

Your dreams aren’t extra.
They’re not the whipped cream on life’s beige bowl of oatmeal.
They are the soul of the meal. The part that nourishes.

You don’t owe the world conformity.
You owe yourself the chance to live in a way that makes your heart feel like it’s home.

14 More Small Ways INFPs Can Re-Enchant the Day

• Write a poem on a receipt. Tuck it in a library book for a stranger to find. Instant legacy.

• Light a candle for no reason other than the scent makes your heart feel 3% more alive.

• Rewatch a childhood favorite. Bonus points if it makes you cry in a good way.

• Buy the weird fruit at the grocery store and pretend you’re on an epic quest in a fantasy market.

• Invent a secret holiday just for yourself. “National Pajama Philosophy Day” is valid.

• Take a five-minute walk like you’re the main character in a melancholy indie film. Slow motion optional.

• Write a letter to your future self. Or your 10-year-old self. Or your reincarnated alien self. Trust the process.

• Create a playlist called “Songs That Make Me Feel Like a Forest Witch.” Use it liberally.

• Start a “Wonder Notebook.” Write down the weird things, the beautiful things, the serendipities.

• Hide affirmations in random places. For yourself. For others. For the universe to discover.

• Leave an anonymous compliment on someone’s art, blog, or weird YouTube video.

• Do something kind that no one will ever know about. Magic that asks for no applause.

• Make a “meaning jar.” Each day, add a scrap of paper with something that meant something—however small.

• Remember that your existence is already a protest against a world that wants you to be a machine.
  Live with soul. That’s the rebellion.

My Story (Or: This Wasn’t the Plan, But Here We Are)

I’m not an INFP but I think being authentic and sharing my own personal story of trying to hold onto magic might be relatable. You can skip past this part too and I won’t be offended. Promise.

I didn’t think I’d be here at 40.

I thought by now I’d have stability. Savings for retirement. A window with soft light slanting in while I wrote something that mattered. Or, you know, enough security that I didn’t have to worry about whether or not I could afford enough produce and eggs for my giant family of seven.

Instead, I’m watching my career—this blog, this thing I’ve spent years building—slowly get swallowed up by AI-generated content that steals my messaging without credit. This blog used to support my family; and, best of all, I loved writing here. It gave me so much meaning and purpose (and still does). But I’m looking at a future where I probably won’t be able to afford hosting for this web site for much longer. And now we have to sell our house because…well…frankly, I lost 80% of my income when AI overviews and ChatGPT came on the scene.

I don’t even know where we’re going yet. I’m trying to put two kids through college while explaining to my youngest why I can’t go outside and play right now because I’m trying to figure out how to keep us afloat.

And this morning, I woke up thinking about the novel I want to write.

It’s a dystopian story about a young girl fighting against a corrupt government that uses “dream machines” to scan people’s dreams and arrest people for potential crimes they haven’t even committed yet.

I think I want to write that because I feel like that girl sometimes. Like I’m being punished for wanting more than what the system deems acceptable.

But I didn’t write anything for my novel this morning.
Because I had to think about cleaning the house.
Because someone needed emotional support.
Because I have a presentation due.
Because when I stood up, my knees cracked and my back screamed, “You sure about this?”
And I thought: why does existing hurt so much sometimes?

But here’s the thing.
I know all the great authors, inventors, and world-changers I’ve loved faced hardships…many hardships that make mine look trivial in comparison.

Take George Washington Carver.
Born into slavery, kidnapped as a child, orphaned, sickly, and denied education for most of his youth—he still somehow became one of the most respected scientists of his time. He didn’t do it with prestige or generational wealth or a trust fund named after his great-great-uncle the Duke of Mayonnaise. He did it with curiosity, soul-deep gratitude, and a weirdly magical love of peanuts. The man found over 300 uses for peanuts.
Three. Hundred.
Meanwhile, I stare at a bag of baby carrots and can’t even find the will to eat them.

But Carver said, “When you do the common things in life in an uncommon way, you will command the attention of the world.”
And maybe that’s the point. It’s not about grandeur. It’s about integrity. Intention. Quiet revolution.

And then there’s Emily Dickinson—our OG introverted rebel queen.
She barely left her house. She was dismissed in her time. Only a handful of her poems were published while she was alive, and even those were butchered by editors who thought her punctuation was “a little too much.”

But she kept writing.
Nearly 1,800 poems, tucked away in drawers, bound in little homemade booklets.
Work she never got praised for. Work she didn’t even know would be seen.
But she wrote anyway. Because the truth demanded it.

And now? Now she’s studied in universities and tattooed on forearms and quoted by teenagers in the throes of existential longing.

I’m still trying to find the magic in the day.

Yes it’s been a tough year. No, I don’t know where I’m going or what I’m going to do as the world dramatically changes. But I know I’m not giving up on the magic, and I know the INFPs in my life aren’t either. They’re the ones who bring the magic, the meaning, the depth, the imagination. You all are the ones who inspire us to think beyond the ordinary and the day-to-day to something bigger and more profound.

For me, finding magic can look like writing a few words of a dystopian novel that might never see a publisher.
Sometimes it’s listening to my 19-year-old laugh at a meme while I fold towels.
Sometimes it’s just remembering that even if I’m overwhelmed and falling apart, I’m still someone who believes in something better. And I refuse to stop believing in it.

Let’s Create Something Together

If you’re reading this and you relate—even if you’re not an INFP—I want to hear from you.
What’s your way of holding on to magic when the world feels like it’s chewing you up?
What’s one small thing you do that keeps your inner world alive?

Leave a comment.
Let’s inspire each other.
Let’s build a little constellation of souls who haven’t given up on meaning—even if we have to find it between dentist appointments, bills, and reheated coffee.

Because the world might be burning, but we’re still here. And we still dream.
And that’s no small thing.

If you’d like to read more about INFPs you can see the suggested articles below or you can check out my eBook: The INFP: Understanding the Dreamer. You can also join me on YouTube to watch videos I make about the personality types!

Oh, and if you’re not sure about your type and want some help clarifying it you can book a type clarification session with me here! I also have options for cognitive function deep dive sessions, partner sessions, and more.

Other Articles You Might Enjoy: