The phrase ‘you are too quiet,’ has followed me my
whole life, sticking to me as doggedly as my shadow. Though, in my experience,
those kinds of statements are very rarely intended as insults I still find them
annoying and maddening. It is like the speakers of such phrases are hoping that
pointing out my silence will flip some kind of magical switch and I will revert
to a human model easier to interact with. In my case it nearly always has the opposite result.
I have always been the quiet type. As a kid the word chosen
most often to describe me was shy. The word shy is not threatening; it is all
adorableness and sweetness. It wasn’t until my early teens that the ‘too
quiets,’ began, and to me, they were far from sweet. They made me feel that my
quiet nature was a condition I should have outgrown, particularly because I was
female. I internalized those perceived accusations of my wrongness and allowed
them great power. The ‘too quiets’ clung to me, or I too them. In situations where
I could have spoken up, I stayed cocooned in the safety of my own thoughts. It
became easier give what was expected, to allow those words to shape me. Because
I found that those same people who labeled me as ‘too quiet,’ rarely listened
attentively when I did speak.
I thought
that I needed to change, that being talkative and outgoing would make me
‘normal.’ For a time I deluded myself that it was possible - that if I could
find some place different I could be different too. But the truth is I cannot change
who I am at my core, and frankly, I don’t want too. Being quiet is as much a
part of me as my heartbeat. I accept that my inner-self is more exuberant and
wild than what my outer-self can show. I accept that sometimes I can be
expressive, and sometimes I cannot. I know that my voice, while not loud and
thunderous, still carries great power. When I embraced those facets of myself,
when I learned to love all of me, I came to understand that those who comment
on my silence are saying more about themselves than they are about me. I could
see how my quiet attentiveness might make some people feel awkward and
uncomfortable, just as exuberant extroverts make me feel insecure.
I still dislike the ‘too quiets,’ but now I
accept them with a smile. Despite the fact that I usually end up feeling
uncomfortable, or unwelcome, I smile. Because I know the power of silence, and
I know it is not an insult. And while it
is my responsibility to treat people with respect, it is not my responsibility
to transform to better suit their needs. I do not need to apologize for the way
I am. I can just be, with no shame, because I’m perfectly flawed, just like
everyone else.
