I have struggled since a young age with what it means to be extremely introverted in a very extroverted world. I actually believe that the world is split about 50/50 between introverts and extroverts, but in the US, there seems to still be a belief that being extroverted is preferred over being introverted. Of course, this carries numerous challenges for introverts, but one in particular is what it is like to be exceptional in some way, yet ill-equipped or disinterested in promoting the talents or skills that make you special.
I was always a high-achiever in school, at least until I reached the first few years of college. Math and science, in particular, were strong subjects for me. In fifth grade, I was selected to participate in a pilot course that was meant to bring children with strong logic and problem-solving skills into a class meant to enhance those abilities. I was already in the “vanguard” programs in my classes, but this took me at a slightly higher level, and I loved it. I felt that, for the first time, I was acknowledged for something that my louder, more social classmates regularly received attention. My Spanish teacher, whose class I left once a week for the new class, hated it and took it out on me, but I didn’t care.
After that year, I started to really struggle with my academic experience. I was bussed 10 miles away to a school in a very different neighborhood. People who had been friends were escalating their social interactions, while I was starting to feel overwhelmed. No longer was being the quiet, good kid a positive characteristic. If you were not loud, boisterous, and energetic, you were a loner, weird and anti-social. I generally accepted this as part of my life, never really able to connect with others, and generally not caring about it. Sure, weeks would pass where not a single kid would speak a word to me, but it wasn’t like I would go out of my way to converse with them, either.
Of course the isolation was painful, but it was somewhat bearable. I never had to worry about time to recharge, to fill by banks with the calm solitude I needed to deal with the group projects, the constant pressure to interact, and the growing discomfort with my behavior demonstrated by my parents. The one thing that regularly galled me was the fact that those who were more socially comfortable, driven to interact, as if they were fueled by it, were getting far more recognition of their accomplishments than I would under similar academic achievements. It even became clear that those who were the class clowns, the outgoing jokesters, the social butterflies, they were able to impress far easier than I ever could. Middle school was a perplexing time because of this. I began to lose interest in academic achievement because it seemed pointless.
Things improved in high school in most areas. I learned to just enjoy my successes in areas like math and science, even if they were not going to be acknowledged by others. I appreciated requests to tutor or help others out, because it was a recognition of my efforts. Even classes like history, government, and social studies were enjoyable because I could leverage my memorization and presentation skills to excel. The one area where I continued to struggle was in my English courses. It was extremely frustrating, because my mother was an English teacher. She helped me to develop my writing skills, as well as a value for literature. Unfortunately, each of my English classes in high school were very social, always driving intense class participation. This was challenging, especially when we would get into the analysis of literature. Teachers would want me to provide input on various books or poems, but my assessment was never in-line with their assessment of the subject matter. I understood that it was not unusual to glean different concepts of the writing, but it seemed that my assessments were never adequate. This, coupled with my general disinterest in speaking up in class, led me to develop a distaste for literature, one that still plagues me to this day.
My first stint in college was an experience in ups and downs, but I knew a couple of things were true there. Recognition would be rare or nonexistent, and I would have much greater control of the interactions I had to have with others. This was liberating, but it did not prepare me for the difficulties I would face in the corporate world.
I began my professional work experience as a process engineer for a cable manufacturing company. The first few years were focused on earning my place, proving to leadership that I had the brains, and proving to the people on the floor I had the guts to get my hands dirty. The growing respect I earned in that job was fulfilling. I extended myself beyond my comfort zone, and it was appreciated. There was something about being a guy who showed up his first day in slacks and button up shirt getting grimy with everyone else that earned respect. Eventually, I was able to fold in my intellectual talents to further gain recognition, leading to greater responsibility.
Things took an interesting turn when my manager abruptly left the company, leaving a void in a managerial role. I slid into the role without complaint, developing a deepening camaraderie with my manager peers, who were much older than me, as well as maintaining good relationships with those who sought my guidance. I felt that this synergy would develop into a role as manager in the near future. Instead it was my first real world reckoning on the risk of quiet diligence in the workplace.
During my fifth performance review with the company, I knew things were not going as I expected. Rather than any form of appreciation for stepping up and taking over, I received the typical tepid platitudes of a mediocre review. In past years, I had always received double digit raises because each year I successfully completed a challenge of increasing complexity and value to the company. None of those achievements equalled, in my mind, the value of stepping into a leadership role without being asked to do so. When it was announced that my adequate year would be punctuated with a 5% raise, I asked the plant manager how he intended to address my greater responsibility on the team. I also mentioned that the raise was the first one below 10% since I started with the company, and that seemed unusual given the increased value I offered. What I initially thought might be a smile of reassurance quickly morphed into a grimace of disdain. How dare a 28 year old engineer raise the specter of an official management title? Double digit raise, who does this kid think he is? After calling me a liar, I calmly asked him to check with HR. The smug confidence in his face flattened into simmering frustration as the HR manager confirmed my professional accomplishments over the past 5 years. He swiftly collected himself and chuckled, saying that we can see what happens in the coming year. I responded, now becoming a bit indignant by this asshole’s behavior, stating that he can either officially promote me to manager, with all the position’s benefits, or I would stop working as one for free. As the rage brewed in his eyes, I grew more calm, allowing a smirk to grow across my face.
You would think that a significant take away from this experience would involve an awareness that clamoring for position and supporting those moves with frequent, vocal self-promotion would be necessary to garner the recognition warranted. That lesson apparently did not take. I moved on to a different job, first as a manufacturing engineer, then supervisor, and finally found my place as an IT professional. I earned a Master’s degree in IT. I was always best suited to a role in IT, as I had a natural attraction to work relying on technology and data. It allowed me to carve out a niche as a strong troubleshooter, able to apply my analytical skills to solve a wide array of issues. I was at a new company, a much larger one that I quickly realized had a very extroverted culture. I soon realized that my role allowed me to fly under the radar. Managers and peers would frequently relay the results of my accomplishments without adequately acknowledging my participation in the effort.
It may be apparent by now, but I am not really driven by rapid ascent up a ladder. I view success as more than bounding from position to position. I have found a place where I get to do the work I love, have a desirable amount of flexibility, and am compensated well. This affords me a calm that many do not enjoy, but I have my limits. I have been been surpassed by those who are far less qualified, both academically and professionally, than me. After ten years, I am starting to struggle with the knowledge that being unwilling to flaunt my accomplishments means I will watch others enjoy the accolades. They organize the group lunches. They hoot or holler during team meetings. They find this interesting way to somehow be bracingly competitive yet affable enough to be showered with praise. It is as if the social aspect of the job is far more important than the actual performance of critical tasks.
What is the answer to this issue? How do introverts gain the recognition they deserve? There are certainly indicators that the younger generations have greater comfort with the various style differences possessed by their peers. They seem willing to embrace the strengths of both extroverts and introverts equally, and may be more willing to understand the need for leaders to seek out the value introverts quietly offer the organization in order to squeeze as much potential from them as possible. Fact is, introverts and those who understand them won’t rise as fast as the exuberant stars, so it will take longer for the corporate culture to shift in favor of the introverted way. I hope to be around to see this happen.
