This article has been sitting somewhere in the back of my mind for quite some time.
The final nudge came this morning after I came across a LinkedIn post that sparked a thoughtful exchange, including a comment from my dear friend Robert. It also reminded me of a question someone had asked me recently at a TiE Ottawa event. In truth, I have written about introversion before, but never quite like this. Never by placing myself at the centre of the story. Never by reflecting openly on the quiet struggles, the deliberate effort, the lessons learned, and the small victories that have shaped how I carry it today.
Looking back, I am grateful that I chose to work on the skills without trying to change the person.
There is one sentence that almost always earns me the same reaction, almost every time I say it out loud.
“I’m an extreme introvert.”
The response is remarkably predictable. A raised eyebrow. A smile. Sometimes even a laugh.
“That can’t be true.”
People point to the conversations they’ve seen me have. They remind me of networking events where I’ve spent hours talking to people. They mention teaching, mentoring, facilitating discussions, speaking to rooms full of professionals, or the fact that I seem genuinely comfortable approaching someone I have never met. A few will joke that I spend too much time helping people to possibly be an introvert.
I understand why they think that.
They’re simply describing behaviors.
Introversion, however, has very little to do with behavior.
Somewhere along the way, we confused personality with capability. We started assuming that if someone communicates well, enjoys people, or leads confidently, they must be extroverted. I think we’ve done ourselves a disservice by reducing something so nuanced to something so visible.
For me, introversion has never been about avoiding people. It has never been about shyness, social anxiety, or lacking confidence. Those are entirely different experiences.
It has always been about energy.
I can spend an afternoon teaching a class, facilitating a strategic discussion, mentoring someone through a difficult decision, or standing in a room full of people having meaningful conversations. I often enjoy every minute of it.
Then I go home.
Not because I had a bad time.
Because that is where I recharge.
Over the years, I have become comfortable operating in spaces that many people associate with extroversion. That did not happen naturally. It happened because those skills mattered. Leadership requires communication. Relationships require presence. Service requires engagement. I worked on those skills because they were necessary, not because they reflected how I naturally restore myself.
We often underestimate how much of effective leadership is learned rather than inherited.
What fascinates me is that people rarely question when someone develops analytical ability, emotional intelligence, or strategic thinking through practice. Yet when an introvert becomes an effective communicator, many assume they must have stopped being an introvert altogether.
The skill changed.
The person didn’t.
I also think there is another misunderstanding worth talking about.
People sometimes assume that because I value solitude, I don’t enjoy being around others.
The opposite is true.
I genuinely enjoy people.
I love sitting with thoughtful individuals who challenge how I think. I enjoy conversations where curiosity is more important than certainty. I appreciate gatherings where people come together because there is a shared purpose, whether that is learning, celebrating, solving a problem, or simply spending meaningful time together.
In fact, one of the reasons I enjoy conferences, community gatherings, and events is that I get to see many people I genuinely care about in one place. Rather than scheduling countless one-on-one meetings, I have the opportunity to reconnect with friends, colleagues, students, and mentors through a shared experience. I leave grateful for those conversations. I also leave looking forward to the quiet that follows.
What I struggle with is interaction without intention.
Networking for the sake of networking has never appealed to me. Collecting business cards has never felt like building relationships. Meeting someone simply because it increases the number of people I know has never been a compelling reason to spend my time.
I would rather leave an evening having had one conversation I will remember for years than twenty conversations neither of us will remember tomorrow.
That preference is often mistaken for being antisocial.
I see it differently.
I simply place a higher value on depth than breadth.
The same applies to my personal relationships.
I am not selective because I believe some people are more worthy than others.
I am intentional because relationships deserve investment.
Once someone becomes important to me, I show up. I make time. I stay present. Sometimes I do that even when I know I will need a quiet day afterward because caring for the people in my life matters more than protecting my own comfort.
The irony is that many of the people closest to me probably experience me as someone who is consistently present.
They rarely see the quiet recovery that makes that presence possible.
I wonder how many other introverts quietly carry the same invisible rhythm.
There is another reason I wanted to write this.
Introversion still receives far more criticism than it deserves.
Many people are coached to become more outgoing. Young professionals are encouraged to “come out of their shell.” Leaders are advised to be more visible, more vocal, more energetic. Some are even told not to mention being introverted because it may create the wrong impression.
Imagine carrying the message, year after year, that your natural way of engaging with the world is something to compensate for.
That is a heavy burden.
I believe the greatest cost is not simply the pressure itself. It is the misunderstanding that creates it.
When organizations reward only the loudest voices, they miss quieter forms of leadership. When schools equate participation with speaking the most, they overlook students who are thinking deeply before contributing. When we assume visibility is the same as value, we begin measuring the wrong things.
From what I have seen, some of the strongest leaders are remarkably quiet.
They ask more questions than they answer.
They create space before they fill it.
They listen long enough to understand what is actually being said instead of preparing what they will say next.
They are often slower to speak and quicker to think.
Their influence is rarely built on volume.
It is built on trust.
Perhaps that is why I have never felt the need to become someone else.
I have certainly stretched myself. I have learned skills that did not come naturally. I continue to push myself into conversations, rooms, and opportunities that matter because meaningful work deserves meaningful effort.
But I have never wanted to trade my introversion for extroversion.
I don’t see it as something to overcome.
I see it as one of the reasons I lead the way I do.
The truth is, every personality comes with strengths and blind spots.
The goal was never to become more extroverted.
Nor should it be to become more introverted.
The goal is to understand yourself well enough that your personality becomes a source of contribution rather than limitation.
I think we spend too much time asking people to fit environments that were designed around one idea of success.
Perhaps the better question is whether we are building environments where different ways of thinking, connecting, and contributing can all flourish.
Because the world does not need more people pretending to be someone they are not.
It needs more people who understand themselves well enough to bring their best selves to the work, the relationships, and the communities that matter.
For me, that has always included long stretches of quiet.
Not because I am withdrawing from people.
Because that is where I return to myself.
And in my experience, the more faithfully I protect that quiet, the more fully I can show up for everyone else.
