I’m an Enneagram 6W7

Here’s what I think that means.

My sister, Jill, introduced me to the enneagram. She’s a 5. When she read to me what that means, I was stunned. She might as well have been reading a description of herself.

At first, I was positive I was a four. I have a strong desire to be different. I feel like everyone else has their shit together, except me.

But then I learned more. Fours love their melancholy and I have almost no tolerance for negative feelings. Like sadness. I power through them as fast as humanly possible and then promptly forget them.

There were a few other things that made me decide—yeah, not a four.

I kept taking tests and they were all over the place. Every test said something different. You’re a 7. You’re a 9. No, you’re a 2!

What the heck? Why was my sister’s type so very, very clear, and mine wasn’t?

Oh. Right. Because one of the core tenants of being a six is that sixes are notoriously difficult to test. We’re overthinkers. So our answers vary, depending on the situation and what’s going on in our lives and how we think we’re supposed to answer.

I took a test that said basically, no matter what this test typed you as, you’re probably a six based on the pattern of your answers. It wasn’t until I watched Beatrice Chestnuts Youtube video where she interviews a panel of sixes that I was like—oh. Yes. Look, there I am.

One of the things that stood out to me was the man who said that he has always considered himself laid back. It took him a long time to realize that he really isn’t. That no one else would ever consider him laid back.

That resonated with me. I feel like I’m laid back, but I know that most people consider me fairly intense.

Enneagram six is a head type (decisions come from the head vs. the gut or the heart.) We’re also a fear type (vs an anger or shame type.) Makes sense.

I’m almost never mad. When I am, it’s extremely short lived. I don’t hold grudges (although I will protect myself from you forever if you do manage to make me distrust you.)

I honestly can’t even think of anything that I’m ashamed of. I overthink things way to much to do things that I might be ashamed of later. And shame just isn’t where I shoot from, you know?

But fear?

At first, I was like—I’m not afraid. But then I remembered.

• My word of the year in 2021 was prepare.

• I have a regular order at every restaurant I’ve been to more than once or twice. Not because I love that thing so much, but because I’m worried if I order something else, I might not like it as much and then I’ll be sad that I didn’t get to eat the thing I know I like.

• I’m nervous about going to DisneyWorld someday (there isn’t even a plan for that), because I love Disneyland and what if I’m disappointed in DisneyWorld? What if I don’t like it as much and I end up wishing I’d gone to Disneyland instead? Yes. I’ve literally had this conversation about a hypothetical trip that isn’t even planned. With myself and also, with other people.

• I own an entire shelf of books about being prepared for any possible situation imaginable. I mean—any. Everything from raising chickens in tiny backyards to what to do if there’s a tornado. Even though I’ve never lived anywhere that’s especially threatened by tornados. Or owned a chicken.

• When someone has made it into my orbit, when I feel like they’re mine, they’re mine. I’m loyal to a fault. I think that’s why Ninja Writers has such a family feeling. Because to me, every person there is family.

• If you some how manage to break that trust (which is very, very difficult to do,) it’s nearly impossible for me to get back to a place of trust. But it really is very hard to break my trust completely. There are very few people who have done it.

• People are often surprised that I don’t hold a grudge. I’ve usually forgotten what I was mad about by the next day. Once I’ve either offered or accepted an apology, or both, for me it’s over. And 99 percent of the time, my trust of that person is in tact.

• I think in every single instance where someone has broken my trust completely, it was by abandoning me. Or making me feel abandoned.

• Strong emotions freak me out.

• I’m excellent in a crisis.

• My husband and I almost never fight. But when we do, it’s because he’s tailgating and it scares the pants off me. And why won’t he stop? He knows it scares me and when he drives too close to the car in front of us, my brain screams at me that he doesn’t love me.

• When I’m sick, I’m 100 percent convinced I’m dying. I’m the worst sick person.

• When anyone else is sick, I’m also 100 percent convinced they’re dying. Or, no. That’s not quite right. I’m convinced they might be dying. My husband pulled a muscle in his shoulder last week. I was certain he was possibly having a heart attack.

• I never, ever, ever miss a preventative medical screening. Ever.

• People who refuse to go to the doctor when they’re sick make exactly zero sense to me. I spent most of my life without medical insurance and now that I have it, I use it.

• I’ve been tested three times for Covid. Not because I had symptoms. Just because I was worried that I might have symptoms. Once because I woke up with some vertigo. Once because I had a hot flash that freaked me out. (I’m a 50-year-old woman, ya’ll.) And once because my daughter had Covid and she lives in my house and what if?

• I plan everything. Everything.

• I feel a strong need to have a system. Also for everything.

• When I’m under stress, I move toward being a workaholic. I have a true belief that if I put my head down and work, I can get out of any situation. It’s a point of pride for me that no one outworks me. (That’s hard to admit.)

• When I’m in a healthy place, I’m happy to just let things be peaceful and smooth. I almost never feel the need to change things that are working the way I think they should.

• That said, I crave change. That’s my seven wing.

So. Yeah. I’m a six. And yeah, fear is the base of my operating system.

I have a seven wing that tempers my fear and makes me braver. It also makes me more enthusiastic and child-like in that enthusiasm than I’d be if I had a 5 wing. It helps me come out of my own head.

It’s why I get so excited about ideas. Everyone’s ideas.

It’s a revelation to me that not everyone feels the need to be as prepared as I do. That doesn’t read as fear or even anxiety in my own brain. It reads as common sense.

Why wouldn’t I have three year’s worth of empty two-liter bottles in my basement, full of tap water that I rotate out by using it to water the plants? Doesn’t everyone want a plan for if the Zombies cut off their water supply?

Why wouldn’t I know exactly what I’d do if a tree landed on my house or there actually was a tornado (hurricane/tsunami/alien-spaceship-landing-in-my-front-yard)? I mean it could happen. And then what?

Why wouldn’t I have an exact plan for what to do if my business fails or my husband loses his job or . . .

Won’t everyone be glad I’m around when that thing happens? Won’t that make them love me and want to keep me around? Won’t it?

That’s what my anxiety looks like. Practicality. And an extreme inability to deal with anticipation. I hate surprises, unless they’re of the ‘Surprise, here you go!’ type. I love those.

Surprising me with a gift you give me right now or good news that I wasn’t expecting that you don’t make me wait for? Bring it on. Love that. I live for it. But anticipatory surprises? Yikes.

I’m definitely not someone likes to stretch out anticipation. I avoid it as much as I can.

Some, I can tolerate. Like Christmas, although it makes me crazy that my husband won’t even let me shake my presents. (And, even though I give him a Christmas list like I was seven years old, so I basically know what I’m getting anyway.)

Some I can’t. Please don’t ever, ever tell me that you have something to talk to me about later. Even if it’s a good thing. Even if you tell me it’s not bad. And don’t get mad when you find out I read the end of the book first. And look up movie spoilers.

Do you know your enneagram type?