Celebrating the Quiet: Why Being an Introvert Is My Superpower

Growing up as the oldest of three daughters in what I can only describe as a "loud" house, I constantly sought silence. And I don't just mean typical family noise—I mean loud. At least one (usually two) TVs blaring all day and night, including one in the kitchen that stayed on during dinner. My mom's preferred method of communication was yelling and stomping on the floor upstairs to let us know dinner was ready or she needed something from us downstairs.

All I wanted when I grew up was quiet.

So naturally, I married a man with a hearing impairment, which means the TV and radio are always loud. (The universe has a sense of humor, apparently.)

My Journey to Solitude

But here's the thing: before living with my now-husband shortly before we married, I lived alone. After my college roommate moved out during sophomore year, I never had another roommate. Growing up, I occasionally had my own room, but I also spent years sharing with my middle sister or even both sisters—our ages spanning over eight years.

It was always the quiet I was seeking.

As we married, bought our first home, and our family grew through three moves over 25 years, I always worked to make our home a peaceful place. I loathe yelling. When my husband gets worked up over his favorite sports teams on TV, I quietly leave the room to find solace elsewhere.

Now I'm home by myself most weekdays (minus a day or two when my husband works from home). He knows I treasure this time with the solitude of my own company. This is when I write, create new products for Flour & Wisdom, bake, or simply sit and read peacefully. I rarely turn on the radio or television during the day.

I like the silence. No—I need the silence.

The Book That Changed Everything

A few years ago, I read a book that helped me understand why I am the way I am. Why I can zone out everyone around me in a crowd. Why I prefer staying home to going out. Why attending a three-day professional conference leaves me so exhausted I could sleep for a week.

It's because I'm an introvert.

Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking by Susan Cain was absolutely eye-opening. It helped me realize there are others out there like me, and we shouldn't be ashamed of who we are. I recently watched her TED talk on The Power of Introverts, and I highly recommend it whether you're an introvert or married to one (like my extroverted husband, who gets what I call "jittery" if he's not interacting with people constantly).

My sister and I are much alike in this way—we both married extroverts. She gets it.

Understanding Myself Through a New Lens

Reading that book suddenly explained so much about my life. Why I despised group projects in school. Why I valued reading (sometimes at the dinner table, which got me in trouble with my mom) over socializing. Why I used to cry to my mom that I didn't have any friends when really, I just felt more comfortable being by myself.

But here's what I loved most about Susan Cain's book and TED talk: she made me feel special for being an introvert. Not broken. Not weird. Special.

I'm creative. I'm thoughtful. I'm deep. And like Susan, I spent years fighting against my nature—forcing myself to be more public, more social, more "on" in my work because I thought that's what success looked like.

The Shameful Truth I'm No Longer Ashamed Of

Here's something I've been afraid to admit: While most people hated being stuck at home during COVID, I absolutely relished it.

There, I said it.

I loved working from home every day. I loved only interacting with people during planned Zoom calls. There's nothing I hate more than being in an office with "drop-ins" at my desk—it completely disrupts my rhythm and drains my energy.

For years, I thought this made me weird or antisocial. Now I understand it's just how I'm wired, and that's perfectly okay.

A Book Club Made for People Like Me

Recently, I saw a story on the Today Show with Jenna Bush Hager about the "Silent Book Club," and I nearly jumped out of my seat with excitement. This brilliant concept throws out everything traditional about book clubs—no mandatory reading lists, no forced discussions, no awkward small talk about themes and symbolism.

Instead, members simply gather to read in silence for an hour or so. Then, if they want, they can socialize and chat. If not, they can grab a muffin and coffee and keep reading.

Honestly? Genius. I wish I'd thought of it first. (You can start your own chapter—look it up!)

Embracing My Natural Habitat

So here I am, finally learning to embrace the quirks of being an introvert without apology.

Reading a book instead of hanging out with people isn't shameful—it's a blessing. I can be social when I need to be, and I can absolutely "turn it on" for work or special occasions. But I can now unabashedly say that my natural habitat is being alone, in the quiet, with my own thoughts, feeling the peace of each moment.

This isn't a weakness or a character flaw. It's simply who I am.

At fifty and seasoned, I've finally stopped apologizing for needing silence, for preferring small gatherings to large parties, for choosing a good book over a crowded event. I've stopped feeling guilty for treasuring my alone time or for needing to recharge in solitude.

Being an introvert in an extroverted world has its challenges, but it also comes with gifts: deep thinking, creativity, the ability to listen well, meaningful one-on-one connections, and a rich inner life that fuels everything I create.

To My Fellow Introverts

If you're reading this and nodding along, know that you're not alone. You're not weird. You're not antisocial or unfriendly. You're just wired differently, and that's not just okay—it's wonderful.

Your need for quiet isn't something to overcome. Your preference for solitude isn't something to fix. Your energy limitations aren't weaknesses. They're simply part of who you are, and the world needs introverts just as much as it needs extroverts.

So here's to celebrating the quiet. To honoring our need for solitude. To reading books at dinner tables and finding peace in our own company. To finally understanding that we're not too much or not enough—we're exactly who we're meant to be.

And honestly? That feels pretty powerful.