Always the Quiet One

  
by Sandra Parshall

All my life I’ve been criticized, scolded, and occasionally ridiculed for being too introverted, too shy, too sensitive. Too quiet.

I was the despair of teachers because I never raised my hand in class, and if they asked me a question my response was barely audible. I had friends, but they eventually gave up trying to include me in their good times. In a triumph of casting against type, I became a newspaper reporter, and while I was fine (after the first few minutes, anyway) in one-on-one interviews, I could not make myself ask a question at a news conference.

I felt – and still feel – everything keenly, including the ridicule, but I’ve always been drawn away from others and toward the sidelines, where I could blend into the wallpaper.

All my life, I have believed something was terribly wrong with me. 

Of course, I knew I wasn’t the only one who was like this, but rather than taking comfort in that knowledge and making those others my friends, I dismissed them as being somehow damaged, like me. As most people are, I was attracted to those who shone in company, thrived on attention, always came up with something fascinating to say. I felt apologetic and ashamed of my lack of social skills.

But now, at this late date, I’ve decided to accept myself as I am and stop apologizing because I’m not the one who dances on tables at parties. A book by Susan Cain, titled Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Won’t Stop Talking, made me realize that I’m perfectly normal.

Like approximately 40% of the population, Susan Cain is a introvert. She’s been through all the things I’ve endured, and she has accepted that she will never change. Her careful and extensive research for her book turned up ample proof that she and I and all those like us are just fine as we are. I’ve never met her, but upon finishing her book I felt grateful: here, at last, is somebody who understands me.

Every introvert should read this book. Every teacher, every parent, every spouse of an introvert should read it. Parents should buy it for their older children and teens who hate themselves because they’re too withdrawn to ever be popular.

They will learn what no psychologist will dispute: we are born this way. Humans are hardwired from the beginning to be either introverts or extroverts. Children who are born introverts can’t be badgered, cajoled, or shamed into being more outgoing. Some might learn to pretend, just to get some relief from the pressure, but they can’t change their basic natures and they won’t be happy when faking it.

Cain’s descriptions of introverted behavior all rang true to me because she was describing my life. A long day at school with others can be emotionally exhausting for an introverted child, and the last thing she or he wants to do when the last bell rings is move straight into a boisterous extra-curricular activity with a group. The introverted child needs quiet time alone to decompress after being with others for hours. Reading, writing, walking the dog, pursuing a hobby – whatever the activity, it allows the introvert’s batteries to recharge for the next extended encounter with other people.

Introverted children may be smart, they might be doing well with their assignments and tests, but teachers often don’t appreciate them because they are so quiet in class. Introversion and shyness are two different traits, and not all introverts are shy. But relentless pressure to participate can destroy a child’s sense of self-worth and create shyness.

This inevitably carries over into adulthood, where the introverted person may not do well in professional life. Studies indicate that the majority of successful leaders in business and politics are extroverts. They aren’t always the smartest, or the most capable and well-informed, but they’re the ones who demand and revel in attention, while a more qualified introvert sits unnoticed on the sidelines.

In science and the arts, though, introverts have the edge. They don’t mind working alone day after day, year after year, in pursuit of a goal. They enjoy retreating into their own worlds and shutting out everything and everybody around them. Most would say they can’t do their work any other way.

As Cain points out, nearly half the human population is made up of introverts, and they won’t produce to their full potential if they’re forced to work in a group. Businesses that once used open floor plans in their offices, and encouraged everyone to work together, are discovering that many employees need their own space, where they can think and work alone. Open floor plans in some companies are being divided into cubicles or private offices, and productivity is rising as a result.

For myself, as for all introverted writers (and that’s probably most of us), the greatest challenge is switching from the blissful solitude of work to the noise of the marketplace, where we must put ourselves forward and sell what we’ve published. When my first book came out, I dreaded making appearances because my shyness was almost crippling. Two hours in a bookstore, talking to one stranger after another, completely wore me out for days afterward. I was terrified the first time I attended a mystery conference and had to speak in front of a crowd.

After nearly seven years, though, I’ve worked through a lot of my shyness. I still have a touch of stage fright, but I’ve realized that it’s not possible to actually die from embarrassment, and if I stumble over a word, the audience won’t notice, much less care.

I’m still introverted, though, and always will be. At conferences I begin to feel desperate to get away from the crush of other humans, and I retreat to my room, feeling like a failure because I can’t work the crowd the way an extrovert can. Although I enjoy meeting readers, appearances still drain me.

After reading Susan Cain’s book, I’ve decided it’s okay to be this way. From now on I’m going to put myself first. I’m giving myself permission to be the quiet one. 

Stage Fright

Sandra Parshall

Like any reasonable person, I’d rather step into the path of a train than get up in front of a crowd and give a speech. Countless surveys have shown that public speaking is the one experience people dread most. Death comes in a distant second. Makes sense. Death doesn’t require that you stick around and hear what people thought of your performance.

When I signed a book contract for the first time, I knew I had to do something to prepare for the public appearances that are part of book promotion. I have always been shy -- I’m okay in one-on-one encounters, but the thought of being the focus of a crowd’s attention makes me panic. I don’t have the voice for public speaking either. I sound strikingly like a 10-year-old with laryngitis, and my husband has been begging me for more than 30 years to SPEAK UP because he can’t hear me from three feet away. How could I get help with both the panic and the voice?

After asking a lot of people for advice, I decided to join A Very Famous Organization that helps people improve their public speaking skills and has zillions of small clubs scattered the length and breadth of creation, practically one on every corner. I joined a club in my neighborhood, and I was honest with the other members from the start. I wasn’t interested in working my way up to regional, national, or international speaking competitions. My only goal was to learn how to talk about my book without freezing up or fainting.

The first time I spoke, my topic was “My Life of Crime” (the speech is now posted on the Writing page of my web site) and the club members gave me the blue ribbon for Best Speaker of the evening. Hey, I thought, this is easy. Never mind that I can’t recall a single second of the time I was speaking. I must have done okay, or I wouldn’t have the ribbon to show for it. Unfortunately, it was all downhill from there.

In four months of meetings, I was only scheduled to speak three times, which was not exactly the intensive preparation I needed. The second time went well. The third time was a disaster, my worst fears realized. A member took me aside and told me, basically, that I was doing everything wrong. I had to move around, walk back and forth, gesture a lot, project and talk faster, make eye contact with people in the audience. I had to speak as if I were bubbling over with excitement. I was soundly criticized for revealing that I had endured a long period of rejection before I sold a book. Never, never, never talk about failure, I was told, because the audience will not respect you if they know you’ve failed in the past. When I tried to explain that audiences love to hear what writers went through to get published, she told me I was wrong.

Another member, assigned to critique my speech for the whole group, said I had to start talking about something besides my book -- that was my “comfort zone” and I must move beyond it and speak on unrelated topics.

My book, of course, was the very thing I felt least comfortable talking about, and I had joined the group to get over that unease. I needed practice. But I was breaking the club rules by sticking to one subject. I left, having gained only a little confidence. I was on my own, sink or swim.

Not long after I attended my last meeting, I went to hear a bestselling mystery writer speak. I won’t name her, because she’s both a political and professional heroine to me, and I don’t want to sound as if I’m ridiculing her. Instead of walking back and forth on the stage, she stayed put behind a lectern. She used a microphone, but even so, her voice fell below the audible level on a few words. She might have made eye contact with some members of the audience, but most of the time she seemed to be looking over our heads. She never gestured. Instead, she fussed constantly with the belt of her jacket, tying it, untying it, pulling the ends behind her back, pulling them to the front again. I became mesmerized by the movements of that belt, wondering what she would do with it next. She did everything wrong. And she gave a wonderful speech. I found this most reassuring.

Since then, I’ve spoken before a number of groups, and I’ve survived. I still feel cold and shivery and dry-mouthed beforehand and I’m faint with relief when it’s over. I rarely recall a word I said, which is a profound blessing. With a second book coming out, I’m embarking on another round of appearances. I’m doing my best to make people feel at the end of each event that attending was worthwhile.

If you’re ever in one of my audiences, and I stumble over my words or look like I’m heading for meltdown, remember that my choice was between you and the train, and I chose you. That ought to count for something.