The Quiet Space Within, So Often Misread From Without

The Quiet Space Within, So Often Misread From Without

A quiet moment of reflection

I found myself staring at an email this morning, a well-meaning nudge from a colleague: "Just checking in, L. Are you able to jump into the discussion on X? Haven't heard much from you lately." It wasn't accusatory, not really. But it landed with that familiar, soft thud in my chest, a reminder of the chasm between my internal world and what’s perceived externally.

It's November, and the world outside my window is shedding its leaves, settling into a contemplative quiet. The air holds a crispness that invites introspection, a slowing down before the rush of holidays. This time of year often feels like a mirror to my own natural rhythm. I long for quiet, for space to process, to simply be. Yet, in many corners of my life, especially professional ones, quiet is often interpreted as absence. Or worse, apathy.

The Great Misunderstanding

For years, I’ve wrestled with this. It’s the subtle, often unspoken, assumption that if you're not vocal, you're not engaged. If you're not leading the charge, you lack ambition. I’ve seen it play out countless times – in meetings where the loudest voices seem to command the most attention, in pathways to promotion seemingly paved by networking events and assertive self-advocacy. My natural inclination is to listen, to observe, to think deeply before I speak. And sometimes, even after all that thought, I decide my contribution is better served by a well-crafted email, a concise report, or simply a thoughtful nod of agreement rather than adding more noise to an already bustling conversation.

My husband, bless his extroverted heart, has often tried to give me "tips" – "Just speak up, honey! They need to hear you!" And my adult child, who inherited a fair bit of my quiet nature, sometimes wonders aloud why I don't "put myself out there more." They see my capabilities, my dedication, but they also see the world through a lens that values outward expression.

A Different Kind of Drive

But my ambition isn't loud. It's woven into the quiet fabric of deep work, meticulous planning, and a steadfast commitment to seeing things through. My engagement isn’t a performance; it’s a genuine investment from the heart. My faith teaches me the value of a gentle spirit, of humility, of listening more than speaking. I often think of Proverbs 17:28, "Even a fool who keeps silent is considered wise; when he closes his lips, he is thought intelligent." Not that I think myself a fool, but the sentiment of wisdom in quietness resonates deeply within me.

There have been times I've walked away from opportunities not because I wasn't capable or interested, but because the sheer energy required to perform the *role* of being ambitious – the constant self-promotion, the relentless networking – felt like donning a costume that didn't fit. It felt draining, inauthentic, and far removed from the actual work I was passionate about.

Finding Peace in the In-Between

As I’ve grown older, as a working woman who has navigated decades in various roles, as a wife, and as a mom who watches her own child navigate their path, I've learned to lean into this part of myself. I’ve learned to trust that my quiet strength has its own power, even if it's not always immediately recognized or rewarded in conventional ways. I sometimes pray for grace – grace for myself to be authentically me, and grace for others so they might see beyond the surface, to the heart and intention beneath the calm exterior.

This Thanksgiving, as I prepare to gather with family, I’m reflecting on gratitude for the quiet spaces in my life – the early mornings with a cup of tea, the peaceful moments after a busy workday, the silent understanding exchanged with a kindred spirit. These aren't empty spaces; they are where my resolve strengthens, where ideas truly form, where my spirit feels most nourished.

It’s a peculiar tension, isn't it? To know your own depth and drive, yet constantly encounter the world’s expectation for a different kind of presence. I don't have a grand solution, or a strategy to share that will fix this common misunderstanding. Perhaps it’s just part of the journey, this quiet dance between who we are and who the world sometimes expects us to be.

Do you ever find yourself caught in that quiet space, hoping your intentions shine through, even when your voice doesn't always lead the charge?


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