Not loud, but present

„You don’t talk too much!”

„You are too quiet!”

„You take everything I offer you!”

„You never challenge me!”

„We always do what I want to do!”

„You’d go along with anything!”

Is this compliance? Accommodation? Or simply plain indifference? Could be apathy… the flame of my aching, depressed self.

Maybe it’s not an either-or situation but a polychrome mix of all of the above. Never understood why my silence, my understanding, my way of making space bother so many.

Does it make them uncomfortable?

Is it boring?

Perhaps.

People worship volume; they like drama, conflict and spit out difference like poison. I used to think that every remark was a way of calling me weird, wrong, weak.

I would shrink beneath those syllables, engulfing myself in a sea of my own inferiority and unworthiness.

I am not loud, I am not confrontative, so I became: Loser, Boring, Nothing!

„Why can’t you be more assertive, you mousy sad little thing?”

It’s a wonder how my mind would turn something often benign into something so hurtful — how a once pure soul could grow massive thorns against itself.

My malevolent side, my harshest voice, always turning against me. I am doing nothing wrong, I am allowed to exist however I see fit — in this body, in this quiet, in this way.

And yet, I am not loud, they call me quiet, and in my mind quiet becomes loser. I am not unaccommodating, to them I may be compliant, to myself I bend like branches in the storm, as if gentleness is guilt and stillness means I am boring. I don’t take up space, I shrink politely into corners where I become a lousy nothing.

By now, I have learned the language:

„too quiet” means „not enough”

„too soft” means „invisble”

And I understand it well — this cruel translation of who I am.

I can’t be the noise my demons crave, the fire they expect;

so I become the ash, the absence, the nothing.

Not comprehending that quiet is a voice as well; that compliance and understanding could come not from weakness or fear, but from depth and empathy.

The behemoth that is my critical voice would have me believe that acquiescing means you are less.

What if I like to choose peace over noise?

Silence never wounds, while words can always obliterate your spirit. I give, not because I can’t take, but because winning isn’t worth the wreckage.

They don’t see the restraint it takes to absorb a sharp word and answer with stillness.

They mistake niceness for weakness and softness for absence.

But I am here!

I exist fully even when I’m not echoing to their volume.

I do not speak over others to prove I am alive. My presence isn’t loud — it is steady, consistent, deeply felt by those who care enough to notice.

I may not always shout to be heard, but I speak.

And in that quiet, there is clarity.

(This story was originally published on Medium. I’m sharing it here for a wider audience — thank you for reading.)