Being an Introverted and Quiet Leader
“That’s the thing about introverts, we keep our chaos on the inside where no one can see it.” -Michaela Chung
It wasn’t until I was in college when I realized I pretended to be extroverted throughout 2nd to 12th grade. I always aspired to be that way — open, revealing of the multiple layers of personality, bubbly, full of energy. I saw that you had to be extroverted in some sense for people to like you, for you to have community. I saw this in all forms of media, movies, TV shows. I noticed which applicants colleges were looking for, the happy ones on the brochures, with several social connections and groups. I thought that being as friendly as possible and having a large network of friends and associates means people are going to automatically like you (I was incredibly naive). I aspired to be that way, so I became it.
I knew being introverted was wrong when I got reprimanded for it in first grade. My sister (my legal guardian throughout the majority of my childhood) met with my teacher to discuss my ‘behavior’ problems. Even though I don’t remember much of the scenery during this conversation, I can definitely recall my first grade teacher’s words clearly.
“What seems to be the problem?” My sister asked her, side-eying me as I squirmed in my seat.
“Well,” my teacher responded, (I can’t remember her name for shit, you see what actually stays with you?) “She strays a lot. She’s always looking out the window and she daydreams quite often. When I call on her in class she’s sometimes too shy to answer even though I am aware she knows the content and the correct response. It’s like she’s more interested with what’s going on outside than what is happening in the classroom.”
I do remember my sister trying to control her face. She leaned in a bit, dripping with sarcasm, “Oh, you’re right. This is terrible.”
“Yes,” my teacher reinforced, ignoring the sarcasm. “She has to pay attention, and she has to be engaging. She can’t just drift off to another world in the middle of class.”
My sister did a great job of defending me because for her, she saw it more than just my personality, but a need to be in more challenging classes. But regardless, something in me shifted after that day. I told myself, “Be here at all times. Even if it’s hard to, you have to stay here.”
I became like that — more engaging, bubbly, present. I was also depressed for half of middle school and a portion of my high school years. My depression intensified after my first year of college. It was during this period I took some serious time to learn more about myself. I felt like the cause of my depression was definitely because of sources of unhealed trauma, but I also felt like it was because I was uncomfortable in my body. I could tell you easily how other people felt, but I was just discovering how I felt and moved through the world. I didn’t feel confident, I didn’t even feel like I knew who I was. I felt like I was projecting myself to be what other people wanted.
That’s when I started to show up differently in spaces I entered. I began to understand that my energy became drained quickly if I’m around people for extended periods of time with little to no solitude. No wonder I was depressed; I was always around people. It was a paradox for me because I’m more like a social introvert, or rather an outgoing introvert. Connection is what drives me to drift away from my comfort zone. I’m a naturally curious person, so I enjoyed being around people, having meaningful conversations and expanding in that way. I did more intensive research, tried to learn how to meditate, and it was during those periods where I felt like I could breathe again. I was making these discoveries about myself while also discovering my increasing and deepening passion for racial and reproductive justice. But here became another challenge: How could I be a thought leader in movement-building spaces if I didn’t want to talk a lot? How could I advance in this field if I preferred to be in the back of the room, or on the side, but anywhere than in the middle or at the front? How can I amplify these resources I have access to, and truly fulfill my calling to facilitate spaces of learning if I hated public speaking with a passion?
“How could I be a thought leader in movement-building spaces if I didn’t want to talk a lot?”
One of the reasons I always felt misunderstood, or that semblance of inherent loneliness is because I would be in spaces and feel all of this emotion, whether it was grief or anger, or a combination of the two. I would feel pride or love or power or whatever the myriad of emotions were circulating around the room, and I never understood how people could engage in meaningful conversations without listening or processing. There was less than a 5-second lapse before someone else was eager to respond. It was during these observations I noticed the reoccurring theme: a lot of people, regardless of personality type, tend to care more about what their response should be or the sound of their own voice rather than actually truly listening to what was said in the first place.
I remember thinking, “Can I truly do this? Can I facilitate trainings, lead events, make space for healing and intention?” It was like this new emotion was settling into my veins. Instead of depression (and remnants were still there, trust) it was doubt. Doubt that I could ever be an effective leader because every leader I knew had projecting voices, were razor sharp with their words, stringing together statements effortlessly with just a bat of the eye, radiating joy and pure happiness to be in front of a large group of people, yes to lead and educate, but also because you could see they belonged there. Some people look like they belong on a stage. They have the charisma, the humor, the package that looks different on everyone but leaders have a certain sparkle in their eye, and that’s inherent. I would always watch in awe at seminars and conferences, wondering if I ever had the intellect or the bravery to speak my truth in front of large crowds of people.
The reason I don’t like to talk a lot, or I have those moments where words have escaped my mind, is because I really enjoy listening. I learn so much about people, the world we live in, oppression, strategies, movement-building, pain, story-telling, art, culture by not saying a word. I learn the most by not saying anything at all.
So what’s a leader? Dictionary.com defines it as “a guiding or directing head, as of an army, movement, or political group.” There’s no mention about specific personality, speech patterns, or facial expressions. There’s no specs on height or the speed of your words. You can be a guiding light, and director of knowledge and truth regardless of your personality.
I recently made peace with who I am. Like, fuck it. I got important shit to do and say and I can still be impactful by being quiet. I do know that when I speak, people listen. And this is what I notice with some of my friends who are also quiet brilliant leaders, and I always give them this advice when they are feeling unsure about their capabilities: “Don’t doubt your power because you don’t like to speak a lot. People pay attention to you because when you do speak it’s poignant and it’s necessary. It’s always what needs to be said, at the right moment. You speak with intention and with purpose, and there’s room at the table for all kinds of leaders, with various personalities, movements, identities, and the world needs them all. Every last one of them.”
I am learning that being a leader is not what you do, it’s who you are. There are power in words. And there is power in deafening silence. There’s not a manifesto on leadership but one thing is clear: you are a leader because you are inspired to move and create, regardless of what industry or sector you’re in. That vision for excelling is a part of your truth. The truth of the product, the trade, the passion, the group, the movement, whatever. Truth is the guiding principle and it’s alright if truth isn’t being yelled from the mountaintops. Sometimes truth is whispered, or written in the margins of notebook paper, or shared quietly in a healing circle.
“Being a leader is not what you do, it’s who you are.”
Truth comes from a variety of vessels with oscillating personalities. And all of them paint a beautiful mosaic that pulls the picture into focus with a wide span view. Don’t let your timidity, your thoughtfulness, your loud presence but quiet voice deter you from going after your goals. Be a leader. A loud or quiet one, a shy or outgoing, a mixture of the two, none of that shit actually matters.
Who we are that makes us different, is actually our strength and what fuels our personal leadership and destiny in the world.
