Reading My Silence Wrong
How Being Quiet Got Me Labeled
Everywhere I go, it feels like people are having a conversation with a version of me that doesn’t exist anymore. At work, my quietness walks into the room before I do and somehow introduces itself as “attitude.” I can send an email that’s straightforward and professional, and by the time it reaches the other side, it’s been translated into “she’s mad” or “she has a problem.” It’s exhausting to constantly be misunderstood for something as simple and natural as being quiet.
When I was younger, I did have a temper. I won’t pretend I was always calm or easy to deal with. Back then, if I felt disrespected or cornered, my anger showed up quickly and loudly. People saw that side of me, and it stuck to their memory like a label. The problem is, I grew up—and they never updated the file. I’ve put in the work to control my reactions, to pause before I respond, to choose my peace over proving a point, but some people still insist on seeing me through the lens of who I used to be.
Now, I’m the sweetest person in the room—until I’m pushed too far. I try to be kind, respectful, and focused on my job. I’m quiet because I’m thinking, observing, and choosing not to add unnecessary noise. But in a world, and a workplace, that often equates loud with friendly and chatty with approachable, my silence gets twisted into arrogance, anger, or “having an attitude.” People read an entire story into my facial expression or my short, clear email without ever asking what’s actually going on with me.
Being misunderstood makes me question every message I send and every interaction I have. I find myself adding extra exclamation points, smiley faces, or unnecessary small talk just so people won’t assume I’m upset. I over-explain things that are already clear, just to soften my tone. It feels like I’m constantly editing myself so no one can accuse me of being the person I worked so hard not to be anymore.
But underneath all of that, I know my truth. I know I’ve grown. I know I’m not that hotheaded version of myself from years ago. I’m allowed to be quiet and still be kind. I’m allowed to be serious about my work without it meaning I have an attitude. And I’m allowed to have a “bad side” when I’m truly provoked, without that side defining my entire character.
One day, I hope the people around me will stop reading my silence as a threat and finally see it for what it is: a sign of growth, self-control, and a woman who has learned that not every feeling deserves a reaction.
