Lately, I’ve noticed something strange—my quietness unsettles my coworkers. Not because I’m giving anyone the cold shoulder, not because I’m in a mood, but simply because I’m quiet. Focused. Present within myself.
And somehow, that has become a problem.
As my workload has increased, so has my need for focus. Naturally, I’ve grown even quieter. I don’t have time to gossip, chitchat, or perform friendliness to make others comfortable. I’m working. I’m doing what I came here to do. Yet somehow, my quiet presence rattles those around me. They’ll walk up to me while I’m deep in a task just to say hello or ask if I’m okay—as if silence is a sign that something must be wrong.
But nothing is wrong.
I’ve come to realize that for some people, silence is unsettling. Especially when that silence comes from someone who is competent, grounded, and doesn’t rely on the energy of others to function. In emotionally immature or toxic environments, quietness is often misinterpreted as coldness, arrogance, or passive aggression. But in truth, it’s none of those things.
Here’s what I think is really going on:
1. My silence disrupts their need for external validation.
Some people need constant reassurance—chatter, small talk, and performative friendliness—to feel secure. When I don’t engage, it’s not a rejection of them, but they interpret it that way. They can’t “read” me, and it makes them uncomfortable.
2. My independence challenges the group dynamic.
Because I’m not leaning on the social structure for a sense of belonging, I’m not playing by the unwritten rules of group behavior. I’ve stepped outside the circle, and people notice. To them, I’m disrupting the hive mind.
3. They’re trying to force a reaction.
Sometimes, the “Are you okay?” isn’t concern—it’s a subtle test. A way to provoke a response, to get under my skin, or to make me doubt myself. But I know who I am. I know what I’m doing. I don’t owe them a performance.
4. People project onto what they can’t understand.
Quiet people often become mirrors. When we don’t give others anything to latch onto, they begin to project their own fears and insecurities.
“Is she mad?”
“Does she think she’s better than us?”
“Why is she so quiet?”
None of these are about me. They’re about them.
The truth is, my quiet is not a mood. It’s not hostility. It’s not distance. It’s just me. Focused. Internal. Self-regulating. And people who are uncomfortable with themselves often cannot tolerate that kind of peace in someone else.
But I won’t apologize for it. I won’t explain it away.
If you’re like me—if your silence has been misunderstood, weaponized, or used as an excuse to micromanage your emotional state—just know this: Your peace is not the problem. Their discomfort is not your responsibility.
When someone asks if you’re okay, maybe it’s best to just smile and say:
“I’m just focused. All is well.”
And keep it moving.
My Voice Unchained 