🎙️ EPISODE 2 : I Thought I Was an Introvert — Then I Learned the Name for My Silence

Labels, Silence, and the Story I Was Telling Myself

Before you read further, you may want to listen to Episode 2 of Unmuted — 

 I Thought I Was an Introvert — Then I Learned the Name for My Silence

🎙️ Listen on Spotify: 

This post expands on the reflections shared in the episode and offers space to pause, read, and return whenever you need quiet company.

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“Hey… you’ve put the wrong label on this.”  my friend pointed to the glass jar she was holding. 

It was salt.
Not sugar.

A harmless mistake—but imagine if she’d added it to her cup of tea?

Sometimes, a label seems harmless…

until it changes the entire taste of something.

Martina Navratilova, my favourite tennis player, once said:

“Labels are for filing. Labels are for clothing. Labels are not for people.”

And I’ve been thinking about that a lot.

Because labels don’t just describe us.
Sometimes, they decide how the world sees us.
And worse—how we see ourselves.

Ironically, it was a label that once helped me make sense of my childhood.
It gave a name to my silence.
And for the first time, it brought me peace.

But here’s what I didn’t realise back then…

That I was making the same mistake as I did with the jar - labelling myself incorrectly.

Have you ever thought - What if the label that comforts you
isn’t the one that truly belongs to you?

What if the name you accepted
was never your story to begin with?

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THE INTROVERT LABEL

Today, I want to talk about identity.

About how it forms.
And how much of it comes from what others see—and name.

Because whether we like it or not,
as we grow up, we’re given labels.

And often, we grow into them.

Growing up, people liked my quietness.

Relatives called me soft.
Teachers called me quiet.
Classmates called me shy.
Colleagues called me reserved.

I kept hearing a story about myself—
from everyone else.

Like most of us, my identity was shaped by other people’s observations.
A narrative written without asking how it felt from the inside.

As I grew older and struggled socially,
I learned a more polished word for it.

Introvert.

Someone who prefers the background.
Someone who chooses when and where to speak.

It sounded harmless.
Even elegant.

So I accepted it.

Because it was easier than explaining
why my throat tightened in social spaces.

Why my thoughts disappeared
the moment attention turned toward me.

Why my heart raced
when I had to speak.

The label introvert protected me.

It stopped the questions.

But it also hid the truth.

Because I wasn’t choosing the background.
I wasn’t choosing silence.

I was stuck in it.

And the day I discovered the real nature of my silence,
everything—slowly, gently—began to change.

Before I tell you what that was,
let me ask you something.

What do you think introversion really is?

And what do you think it isn’t?

Because it took me a long time
to understand the difference.

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WHAT INTROVERSION IS — AND WHAT IT ISN’T

Introversion is a preference.

What I experienced… was a compulsion.

Introverts may enjoy solitude. They may feel drained by social interaction.

But introverts can speak.

They’re not frozen by it.

I was.

I didn’t enjoy being alone.
I wanted friends.
I wanted connection.

I wanted to speak.

I had opinions.
Stories.
Thoughts constantly running through my mind.

But when it was time to express them, my body shut down.

I didn’t dislike people.

But I was terrified of being seen.

I was operating through fear, anxiety, and the shame of being so timid.

In that sense, introvert felt safer than being called what I feared most— A coward.

Someone who’s always afraid.

But was that true?

Was my silence really introversion?
Or was it something else entirely?

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THE MOMENT OF REALISATION

I might never have questioned it if my mental health hadn’t collapsed.

In Unmuted- My Quiet story, I spoke about that time— and how it pushed me toward healing.

As I began working on myself, I tried to push myself to speak more.

And I failed.

Again and again.

That’s when it finally clicked.

This wasn’t about choice.
This wasn’t about personality.

This was fear.

And once I saw it in myself, I started seeing it in others.

In children.
In adults.

So I went searching.

Is there a name for this?

And I found one.

Selective Mutism.

An anxiety disorder.
Often beginning in childhood.
Frequently misunderstood.
And rarely talked about—especially in adults.

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WHAT SELECTIVE MUTISM REALLY IS

Selective mutism isn’t about refusing to speak.

It’s about being unable to speak in certain situations— even when you desperately want to.

It’s not a lack of intelligence.
Not a lack of confidence.
And not a personality flaw.

It’s the nervous system going into freeze.

I remembered days when I didn’t say a single word.
I remembered dreading even saying “yes” when my name was called in class.

As I read more, something inside me softened.

My life suddenly made sense.

I wasn’t broken.
I wasn’t rude.
I wasn’t arrogant.

I wasn’t a coward.

I was anxious.

Classrooms.
Social gatherings.
Meetings.
Friendships.

My silence wasn’t empty.

It was full—
just locked.

And no one knew how to help me open the door.

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THE INVISIBLE STRUGGLE IN ADULTHOOD

Selective mutism is more common than we think.

Some children grow out of it.
Many don’t.

As adults, it doesn’t look dramatic.

You function.
You work.
You smile.

But inside, everyday moments feel heavy.

Meetings where your ideas stay trapped.
Social gatherings where you fade into corners.
Conversations rehearsed again and again— but never spoken.

And there’s a cost to that.

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THE COST OF BEING MISUNDERSTOOD

Silence is judged harshly.

In a loud world, quiet people are misunderstood.

People assume you don’t care.
That you’re distant.
That you have nothing to say.

The truth is—

You have so much to say.
But nowhere feels safe enough to place it.

So many of us carry invisible struggles.

Not just selective mutism.
But anxiety.
Depression.
Neurodivergence.

Some go unnamed.
Some are wrapped in labels that don’t quite fit.

And many adults—especially women—
live their whole lives mislabeled:

Shy.
Quiet.
Submissive.

Not knowing that the wrong name can become a cage.

And the right one… can become a key.

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RECLAIMING MY STORY

Learning about selective mutism didn’t change my past.

But it changed how I held it.

Memories that once haunted me
became gentler.

I didn’t rewrite my story.
I reframed it.

I stopped blaming others for being louder.
I stopped feeling guilty for not being louder.

I stopped wishing I were different.

Most importantly,
I started offering myself compassion.

Nothing about me changed.

Only my understanding did.

And that made space for healing.

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A POEM FOR THE UNSEEN

There’s a poem by Emily Dickinson that feels like it was written for people like us.

For those on the edges.
For those who were present—but unseen.

She writes:

“I’m Nobody! Who are you?
Are you — Nobody — too?
Then there’s a pair of us!
Don’t tell! they’d advertise — you know!

How dreary — to be — Somebody!
How public — like a Frog —
To tell one’s name — the livelong June —
To an admiring Bog!”

For a long time, I thought being nobody meant failure.

Now I see it differently.

Being unseen doesn’t mean insignificant.

Sometimes it just means being sensitive in a noisy world.

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CLOSING REFLECTION

Maybe you’ve been mislabeled too.

Maybe a part of you was misunderstood—not because it was wrong,
but because no one knew how to name it.

If you’ve lived quietly—not by choice— you are not broken.

You were just unheard.

Begin your healing journey.

Find your right label.

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If you live with selective mutism,
or recognise a similar struggle around speech or silence—
correctly.
And be gentle with those who whisper instead of speak.

You may find your pain softening.

know someone who does,

you’re not alone.

And if you feel like sharing your experience, you’re welcome to reach out or leave a comment. Even a few words are enough.

Sometimes, being heard begins with being named—

Be kind to yourself.

Be soulful. 💛