What if the quietest students are the ones asking the loudest questions inside their minds?
I have been labelled as quiet from a very early age, probably since I started preschool aged three years old. I say labelled purposefully. The act of labelling a child makes them passive, it objectifies them and it’s deeply confusing and limiting for our young people.
Why is being quiet so often portrayed in a negative light? Why are people consistently called out for being too quiet rather than too loud?
What if being quiet is a strength?
I don’t think people understand the true impact labelling negatively has on young children. Developmental psychologists suggest that we are most vulnerable through the ages of eight to 18 years old.
I looked back through my reports from Reception through to the first term of sixth form, and I noticed a clear pattern. In the early years of primary school, I was described very differently.
In Year 1, I was happy and cheerful. In Year 2, I was mature and sensible, had a wonderful sense of humour and was a natural leader. In Year 4, I made my teacher smile and laugh, and even spoke to him with the tone of a moody teenager, as if he was my annoying dad.
Never once was the focus of the report on my generally quiet nature. In fact, it was usually quite the opposite.
However, towards the end of primary school and throughout secondary school, this shifted. I began to be repeatedly described as quiet, and often in a negative light. Whilst my intelligence and work ethic were consistently praised, the emphasis on my lack of verbal contribution became harsh, belittling and increasingly difficult to digest through the ages of nine to 16. Over time, that word began to feel less like a description and more like a limitation.
Psychologists Robert Rosenthal and Leonore Jacobson have done research into how teachers’ expectations can actually shape how students perform. This is a phenomenon known as the Pygmalion effect. So when teachers expect less from quiet students, they can actually end up achieving less, not due to ability, but due to expectation.
The word quiet is defined as making little or no noise. So why is being quiet so often portrayed as a weakness?
Being quiet can be, and should be, redefined as a strength. Quiet people are often reflective, deeply curious and in touch with their emotions.
In the book Quiet, author Susan Cain argues that educators should shift the dynamics of classrooms away from constant collaborative work, to actually including time for independent work that creates a less overstimulating environment where introverts can thrive.
As well as extroverts, in schools especially, we often associate speech with communication, yet speech is only one form of communication. Body language, facial expressions and written answers are all equally valid ways of communicating. So why are we constantly pressuring students into verbal speech if it doesn’t work for them?
It’s important to state that concerns about students can come from a place of worry regarding anxiety or mental health. These concerns are valid, but they should be approached with empathy and support, not through repeated negative criticism that may deepen an existing struggle.
Admittedly, there have been moments in class where I felt my heart pounding in my chest, desperate to escape the fear and worry produced by my familiar friend, adrenaline. These moments have fuelled the labelling I receive, as too often adrenaline wins the internal battle and I stop myself from making a valuable input yet again.
At times when anxiety peaks for me around exams, due to my strong sense of perfectionism, I found that speaking to teachers and parents on a surface level helps. However, I could only truly express my emotions through writing.
I think this was partly because the emotions were so new to me that I felt a little vulnerable in sharing them with others. But equally, when writing, I felt the emotions and words flow and steady themselves on something outside of my busy mind. Writing grounded my emotions in a way speech could not.
Written words are communication, just as speech is communication.
Consider the authors Charlotte Bronte, probably most famous for her critically acclaimed novel Jane Eyre, amongst others, Agatha Christie, famous for her captivating murder mystery stories, and American poet Emily Dickinson.
Whilst you’ll probably all know them by name, you may not know that they were widely known as introverts throughout their lives, and we question whether we would be able to share their amazing works of art today if their voices had been silenced in their youth.
Student-led psychological research at UCD found that anxiety can actually affect the cognitive skills needed for the taking and preparation of school examinations. If we’re consistently promoting the need for good grades at school, we need to understand how to cater for students’ differing needs in the classroom.
If a student’s silence feels new or sudden, it is essential to ask if they are okay. However, this should feel supportive, not accusatory.
If a student is generally quieter by nature, it’s important to shine a positive light on the traits that so often accompany quietness, such as reflection, curiosity and intuition.
Teenagers are constantly absorbing new information, managing heightened emotions due to hormonal changes and trying to find out who they are and where their strengths lie. So why are we consistently promoting an approach that doesn’t work, and placing negative emphasis on something that is so common, just a response to the teenage experience?
Over the last couple of months, I have begun to challenge the label I have so often been given. I’ve realised that actually, not being the loudest voice in the room is okay, and it’s actually okay to learn from this perspective.
I found this out from teachers who noticed that actually, my quietness wasn’t a weakness, it was a process, and I would grow to feel more confident in expressing my ideas over time. It was those teachers who gave me space to grow and recognise that I would find my voice in my own time that helped me to then find my voice.
Psychologists suggest that it takes three to six months of consistent daily effort to rewire the brain against negative, internalised criticism. Three to six months. This time period is long, much longer than it should be, because it doesn’t need to happen at all.
Educators need to focus on how the individual student communicates best, not how often they speak in the classroom. This can make a significant difference.
Students, teachers and parents, I urge you to stop casually using this adjective and question whether you are, in fact, silencing a strength.
