At some point, someone decided a “strong personality” meant loud opinions, fast answers, and the kind of handshake that says I drink protein shakes with my eyes closed. And the rest of us, with our awkward silences and well-timed nods, just quietly slipped into the background.
For a while, I bought into that. Thought maybe I was missing something. Maybe I needed to speak up more or say things like “let’s circle back” with a straight face. But then I started noticing the quiet people. The ones who listen more than they talk. The ones who sit through a meeting without posturing, then send one sentence afterward that rearranges the whole thing. They’re not weak. They’re just not peacocking.
I wrote this on a Tuesday when I felt like a ghost in a room full of confident noise:
If I am not a mountain’s cry,
am I the breeze that passes by?
If I don’t shout, or strike, or shine,
can stillness be a strength of mine?
Turns out, yes. Stillness sees things. It notices how people shift in their chairs when they lie. It remembers where the scissors were last week. It doesn’t rush to fill silence just to prove it’s there.
I’ve learned to stop asking whether I have a strong personality. It’s the wrong question. The better one might be, am I honest? Am I curious? Can I sit with not knowing and not pretend otherwise?
Strong is relative. Some of us are just the type to quietly move a chair so someone else doesn’t trip. No one claps, but no one falls. That counts.
Anyway. That’s where I’m at. Probably still overthinking it. But at least I’m doing it quietly.
Leave a Reply