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

- December 22, 2025

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: https://unmuted.short.gy/sptfy-02
This post expands on the reflections shared in the episode and offers space to pause, read, and return whenever you need quiet company.
For a long time, I believed my silence had already been explained.
Quiet.
Shy.
Introvert.
These words followed me everywhere—spoken gently by some, casually by others. Over time, they settled into my identity, shaping how people saw me and how I learned to see myself.
It wasn’t until much later that I realised something important:
The label I accepted wasn’t wrong. It just wasn’t complete.
And that incompleteness mattered more than I understood.

How Labels Shape Us—Quietly

Whether we like it or not, we grow up surrounded by labels.
Some are familiar:
The confident one
The emotional one
The difficult child
The introvert
The quiet one
Sometimes these labels are helpful. They give language to our experiences. They help us make sense of ourselves.
But sometimes, they do something else.
They simplify us.
They flatten complex inner worlds into single words. And over time, we stop questioning them—not because they’re accurate, but because they’re available.

The Day a Kitchen Jar Changed How I Thought About Identity

Recently, a friend picked up a glass jar in my kitchen and said,
“You’ve put the wrong label on this.”
It was salt.
Not sugar.
A harmless mistake.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Because the label didn’t change what was inside the jar.
But it would absolutely change the experience of using it.
And that’s when it struck me:
What if people are like that too?
What if a label can look close enough on the outside—
but still change the entire meaning of what’s inside?

“Introvert” Felt Safe—Until It Didn’t

As I grew older and struggled socially, I learned a more polished word for my silence.
Introvert.
It sounded gentle.
Almost elegant.
It explained why I didn’t speak much.
Why I stayed in the background.
Why I avoided attention.
And for a while, it helped.
It stopped the questions.
But there was always something that didn’t quite fit.
Because I wasn’t choosing silence.
I wanted friends.
I wanted connection.
I wanted to speak.
I had opinions, stories, thoughts—loud ones.
But when the moment came to speak, my body froze.
My throat tightened.
My heart raced.
Words disappeared.
This wasn’t preference.
It was fear.

The Difference Between Preference and Compulsion

Introversion is often misunderstood—but at its core, it’s a preference.
Introverts may enjoy solitude.
They may feel drained by social interaction.
But they can speak when they want to.
I couldn’t.
What I experienced wasn’t a personality trait.
It was a nervous system response.
And I didn’t understand that until much later—
when my mental health forced me to look more closely at my silence.

Finding the Right Name: Selective Mutism

While trying to understand my struggles, I came across a term I had never considered for myself:
Selective Mutism.
An anxiety disorder.
Often beginning in childhood.
Frequently misunderstood.
Rarely discussed in adults.
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 certainly not a flaw in character.
It’s the nervous system going into freeze.
Suddenly, my past made sense.
The days I didn’t speak at all.
The dread of answering attendance in class.
The rehearsed sentences that never left my mouth.
I wasn’t broken.
I wasn’t rude.
Or arrogant.
Or cowardly.
I was anxious.

The Invisible Struggle of Adulthood

As adults, selective mutism doesn’t look dramatic.
You function.
You work.
You smile.
But inside, everyday moments feel heavier than they should:
Meetings where your ideas remain unspoken
Social gatherings where you disappear into corners
Conversations rehearsed endlessly but never voiced
And silence is often judged harshly.
In a loud world, quietness is suspicious.
People assume you don’t care.
That you’re disinterested.
That you have nothing to say.
The truth is often the opposite.
You have too much to say—
but nowhere feels safe enough to place it.

When the Right Name Becomes a Key

Learning about selective mutism didn’t change my past.
But it changed how I held it.
I stopped blaming myself for not being louder.
I stopped wishing I were different.
I stopped feeling guilty for something that wasn’t a choice.
Nothing about me changed.
Only my understanding did.
And that understanding made room for compassion.
The wrong label had felt like a cage.
The right one became a key.

A Quiet Ending

Emily Dickinson once wrote:
“I’m Nobody! Who are you?”
For a long time, I thought being “nobody” meant I had failed.
Now I see it differently.
Being unseen doesn’t mean insignificant.
Sometimes, it simply means being sensitive in a noisy world.

If This Resonated With You

If you live with selective mutism,
know someone who does,
or recognise a similar struggle around speech or silence—
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—
correctly.

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