Why Are You So Quiet?
The answer: I’m really not.
Ironically, they never intended this question to be answered.
It was thinly veiled criticism: “why are you so quiet?” is just a more polite way of asking, “why are you so weird?”
As a kid, I heard these words countless times. In shower-fantasies, I always imagined myself answering, smoothly and sarcastically, “why are you so loud?”
But there’s really not much you can say to it. Why are you so quiet?
I was a shy kid, yes. A bookish introvert who feared natural disasters, theme park rides, and, most of all, social interaction.
I was also a thoughtful kid. I thought a lot because I was quiet; I was also quiet because I thought a lot.
I wasn’t entirely uncomfortable in my quietness. I lived in my own world: the world of imagination, what-ifs, and stories.
But the outer world saw quietness as a defect to be cured. Or, at least, called out.
Always, my shyness was seen as an issue to be worked on. My 4-H leaders saw me as a fixer upper. Teachers wanted me out of my shell.
Sometimes, extroverted kids “adopted” me. They saw my quietness and took it as an invitation to try and make me into whatever they wanted me to be.
It’s not that their intentions were bad. It’s just that no one ever tried to get me out my shell by asking me what lit me up. What I was passionate about. What I thought about during all that quiet time.
Often, people just assumed I didn’t think about anything. They saw quietness as blankness.
So, I grew up and I learned to perform extroversion. To speak up, to be social, to share my thoughts.
In 4-H, I learning public speaking. I did speech and debate in school. I learned confidence and eloquence.
That’s when I discovered something.
The same people who saw my quietness as a defect were also the first to recoil when I spoke up. My quietness got me criticized, dismissed, and underestimated, but learning to speak up earned me vitriol.
When the un-opinionated kid shares opinions, people tend to react poorly. When the quiet begin to talk too much, the very people who encouraged them to open up lose interest. Some become downright hateful.
After a lifetime of being the invisible kid, I’m learning to take up space. After growing up the quiet girl, I’m learning to claim my voice.
After being labeled un-opinionated (by people who never asked) for so long, I’m learning to share my opinions. And, boy, do I have them!
I have opinions on books, movies, and music—especially music. I have opinions on history and current events, poetry and philosophy.
I have opinions that would make my mom pray for me extra hard. Opinions that would stop Thanksgiving dinner like a record scratch as all heads turned, because “no way did Bethany of all people just say that”.
I’m still quiet. But nowadays I have slightly better answers to the dreaded question, “why are you so quiet?”
I’m quiet because I try not to form opinions on knee-jerk instinct or hearsay. I’m quiet because I’m thinking, actively. I’m quiet because I listen.
But I’m no longer a vessel for the nearest extrovert to project upon. I will listen, but I also expect to be listened to.
So, that’s what this substack is. A platform for the un-opinionated kid to share her opinions. For the quiet kid to yap about her interests.
And for the girl who thought her voice didn’t matter to make herself heard.