t was my final year of medical school in the UK. I was meeting with my consultant tutor, a formidable endocrinologist, for my last sign-off on clinical activities for the year. The meeting was ticking along smoothly, with each clinical task being dutifully checked off. Then, towards the end of our meeting, my consultant tutor turned to me and said, “You’re quite hard to read, Neha – you’re very quiet.”

It felt like the air had left the room.

Then I laughed awkwardly, feigning astonishment. This, however, wasn’t a new observation. I had previously been called a ‘dark horse’ and ‘mysterious’ by friends. A colleague had gone so far as to say that I had an ‘unimpressed face.’ Though these terms never offended me because I was aware that they were attempts at naming the unfamiliar, it slowly dawned on me that in professional spaces, being quiet wasn’t a good thing – it was a flaw. So, over my six years of medical school training, I worked hard to adapt to what the profession wanted – I smiled more and engaged deeply with doctors, patients, nurse, and other healthcare workers. I believed that I had outgrown these labels. Apparently, I hadn’t done enough.

When my consultant tutor called me ‘hard to read’ and ‘quiet’, these terms weren’t meant as gentle concerns, but rather as subtle admonishments. When she followed it up with a suggestion to be more ‘ballsy,’ it was clear that quietness was an obstacle, something to overcome. In a world wired for extroverts, my silence was mistaken for disengagement; worse, for a weakness.

Susan Cain’s Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking, validates the idea that the society skews in favour of extroverts. Children are constantly told to be bold and assertive and that anything to the alternative is not the right way of being. Perhaps, this is why writing has always been a place of solace for me. Over half a decade working as a writer, I’ve consistently found comfort in the written word. The time I spend choosing my language and expressing each thought intentionally is me silently railing against society’s fast-paced, hyperactive landscape.

But even the lone writers are expected to put themselves out there and be gregarious and sociable to promote their work on-and-offline. I noticed that when I used Instagram to promote my writing, (and sometimes my appearance), I felt like I was betraying who I was. I was using a superficial social media platform to promote art that was quiet, deep and meaningful.

As a society, we need to slow down, not rely on first impressions and give people more chances. Our worth isn’t defined by how many words come out of our mouths.

When I returned home, deflated from my meeting with my consultant tutor, I confided in my close friend, a transaction analyst at one of the Big Four accounting firms. The corporate world did operate differently to the healthcare profession. Perhaps she could clarify whether I was at fault. But my friend, somewhat an ambivert herself, confidently reassured me that, “As long as you put in the work, being quiet doesn’t matter.” However generous that sentiment was, the truth is that extroverts are championed across most professional careers.

According to the Harvard Business Review, extroverts are more likely to be seen as promotion-material and are rated positively by their superiors. Ultimately, extroverts then tend to dominate the higher income brackets. The perception around introverts is skewed, even in psychiatric literature, where introversion and shyness are seen as a criterion for many anti-social personality disorders.

Society’s bias against introverts runs deep, but it shouldn’t. Though loudness is often mistaken for competence, I’ve come across many people, in both my professional and personal life, who speak confidently on matters they know little about. Therefore, enforcing teamwork, socialising and stigmatising quiet work isn’t the solution. Workplaces should create an environment where every personality type thrives and where large populations of workers aren’t forced to mask or adapt – tendencies which can feed into chronic mental health problems, such as anxiety and depression. Encouraging flexible working practices in the corporate setting and classrooms can drive productivity, innovation and workforce efficiency.

As a society, we need to slow down, not rely on first impressions and give people more chances. Our worth isn’t defined by how many words come out of our mouths. Some of the greatest leaders in history were reserved. Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) was known for his shyness and soft-spoken nature. Abraham Lincoln was famously introspective. Rosa Parks ignited a revolution with a single, quiet act of defiance. The idea that only those who command rooms and dominate conversations are fit to lead is not only misguided, but also exclusionary.

The older I get, the more stuck in my ways I become. I want to grow into the person who feels most authentic to myself. I was and am capable despite being thought of as ‘hard to read’ and ‘quiet.’

I ended up passing my final year and graduating from one of the top medical schools in the UK. Sure, I did it quietly and silently, but I did it regardless.

The writer is a graduate of Imperial College London and received her medical degree from the University of Bristol.