Even Turtles Come Out of Their Shells

Because in our society, we don’t typically celebrate critical thoughts, we celebrate those who can make a lot of noise.

In hindsight, my upbringing was orderly and structured, with a sprinkle of privilege. To maintain the order and structure, I enforced a self-imposed requirement: remain composed in public and deal with chaos in private. When I would go to school, church, or other extracurricular activities that my parents encouraged me to join, I’d smile and greet everyone. My parents would chat with their friends and their friends would always ask: “How’s school?  Are you ready for college? How’s your family?” I answered properly, careful not to share too much information. I’d try to fit my responses in a sentence or less. It became a performance, rinsing and repeating every time. When I got home though, I was relieved. That was the only space to unapologetically be me. I’d lock myself in my room, crank up the music, dancing and singing in front of the mirror.

While I valued the opportunities that my upbringing brought, the constant pressure I placed on myself to perform never fostered room for me to authentically step out of my quiet, comfort zone. I put on a mask to show the world a version of myself that would make everyone else comfortable. And, while that mask invoked comfort in my relationships with the outside world, it also reinforced a subconscious message to hide a critical part of my inner self.

It wasn’t until I stepped into my first job out of college that I learned the dangers of silencing yourself. My first “corporate” job was as a recruiter. Now, for an introvert, a recruiter is probably the worst job you can take. You literally make fifty to a hundred cold calls each day trying to match random people to jobs and your salary is composed of a base amount that only increases with commission after you place people in a position.

Everyday, I’d sit in my cubicle drowned out by loud voices surrounding me. I was so jealous of how everyone else could seamlessly make small talk over the phone. Whereas, I’d hop on the phone and utter words like, “Would you happen to be looking for a job?” After about a minute of awkward silence, I’d hear a dial tone. Five months passed with no successful recruits. I was escorted out the door.

I didn’t realize it then, but that was actually the best time of my life. Down and out, I was living off of unemployment in my parent’s home. Luckily, I was in my early twenties so it wasn’t the worst thing in the world to still be living with my parents. At that point, it was obvious sales was not my calling, but I was unsure of what was next. I jotted down personal hobbies. Struggling to populate a list, I stumbled across my high school newspaper clippings and the light bulb eventually went off.

 It was a no-brainer, I had to become a freelance journalist.There were so many hours spent studying about how to make money from writing. I started a free blog and pitched to local newspapers. I wasn’t a subject matter expert in literally anything. However, being a recent college graduate, I learned a thing or two about student loan debt. So I wrote and published a blog, but failed to see much traction.

I needed to do more. But to get more, I had to do the dreaded thing – cold call and cold pitch to editors, the very thing I just failed at professionally. But, with unemployment checks coming to their expiration, I worked up the courage to reach out to a couple of local newspaper editors who eventually featured my writing. I hustled to procure and facilitate interviews. I pitched to three to five publications per week and at the end of the year, I had made a salary of up to eighty thousand as a twenty-two year old. That may not sound like a lot to some folks, but that was a significant increase from the fourty thousand I was making as a recruiter at that time.

As I continue to grow in my professional career, the jobs I take on become more about strategy and leadership rather than operations and implementation. In doing so, there is an expectation to contribute and to engage in thoughtful conversation. I’m not going to lie, it’s rather intimidating to be the only black person in a meeting with a sea of white people. You feel like you’re not supposed to be there, and you’re constantly having to remind yourself that you truly belong.

But for me – an introverted, black woman, or honestly for any person in a marginalized community working in a corporate space, it is dangerous to not assert yourself. When you are a brown speckle amongst a canvas of white dots, you stick out like a sore thumb and are socially different. The further removed you are from whiteness, the more your otherness exudes.

To top that, quietness is often misinterpreted as incompetence. For all my fellow introverts who have been mistakenly categorized as incompetent, you can thank society’s resounding message that claims an extraverted, loud presence symbolizes leadership. Because in our society, we don’t typically celebrate critical thoughts, we celebrate those who can make a lot of noise. You can’t sit back and be quiet. You have to jump in, you have to engage.  And if you can’t fit into that mold, your value and competence are questioned.

And, we can’t afford to have our competence further questioned. Whether we are quiet or loud, we are navigating a world where we are situated at the bottom of the totem pole – socially, economically, and politically. The moment we elect to forego speaking and pronouncing ourselves, we push ourselves further down that pole.