Turning Down the Volume on a Communication Myth
Early in my career, I sat in the audience at a communication event and listened to a panelist say, “No offense, but if you’re not an extrovert, you shouldn’t be in comms.” People around me laughed and nodded. As an introvert in the PR and corporate communication field, the line stayed with me not just because it stung, but because it reflected an outdated belief that communication is primarily about who speaks the loudest, not who listens the best. The industry still tends to reward volume and visibility, yet the work that actually protects reputations and builds trust often begins in silence.
The assumption behind that comment is that communication is about performance. In that version of the story, the ideal communicator is always “on,” always ready with a joke or a soundbite, always energized by a crowded room. Yet when I look at what actually moves organizations, most of the important work happens in quieter spaces. It happens when someone reads through background materials long after the room has emptied, or when an employee finally opens up in a one‑on‑one meeting, or when a draft statement is rewritten late at night so that it sounds honest instead of convenient.
Being introverted does not mean disliking people. It often means preferring depth over noise and needing time to think before responding. Those tendencies can be powerful strengths in communication. I have always been drawn to the parts of our discipline that slow us down: research that asks what stakeholders really feel, planning that forces us to define our assumptions and evaluation that tells us whether our messages actually landed. The more I leaned into those processes, the less sense it made to treat extroversion as an unofficial entry requirement.
Reading Susan Cain’s Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking helped me find language for this tension. Cain describes how many introverts prefer listening to speaking, think deeply before they share ideas and often do their best work away from constant social stimulation. That description felt familiar. It also reminded me of the colleagues I trusted most in communication: the ones who might not dominate a meeting, but whose comments could shift the direction of a decision, the ones who noticed discomfort in a room before anyone named it, the ones who caught the risk in a sentence that everyone else thought was finished.
Over time, I began to realize that it is more important to be personable than outgoing. Outgoing gets you into a conversation. Personable keeps people coming back to you with the truth. It can be as simple as remembering what someone shared weeks ago and quietly checking in. It looks like letting a difficult silence stretch a moment longer instead of rushing to fill it with reassurances. It feels like admitting you don't have all the answers, but you are willing to sit with the hard questions until they are a bit lighter. These are habits that many introverts practice every day, but also a skill that anyone can hone.
This is not a competition between introverts and extroverts. On the contrary, our field is stronger when different temperaments work together. Extroverts often shine at opening doors, energizing a room and making quick connections. Introverts often excel at sustaining trust over time, noticing what is unresolved and returning to conversations that others might leave behind. When the two are in balance, what gets said publicly is more likely to align with what people are actually experiencing privately. The problem is not extroversion. The problem is treating it as the only valid way to communicate.
Our industry loves the image of the charismatic spokesperson, yet reputations are frequently protected by the quieter person who sits in the back, takes detailed notes and thinks several steps ahead. That person might speak less often, but when they do, the room tends to listen because their comments are rooted in observation and listening rather than performance. Having people in communication who are comfortable with silence, reflection and nuance is not a luxury. It is a safeguard.
If I could go back to that panel, I would remind myself that when we insist only extroverts belong in communication, we overlook the quiet work that holds this field together. We forget about the people who read the third report that no one asked for, who listen longer than is comfortable, who rewrite the line that would have sounded clever but landed badly. Communication is not just talking. It is understanding, choosing and sometimes waiting. Introverts are not the exception to this profession. We are part of the reason it works at all.
Introverts do not need permission to belong here. We belong in PR and corporate communication because we bring what this industry claims to value: empathy, depth and the courage to sit with complexity instead of rushing to spin it away. We need environments where listening counts as leadership, where silence is seen as space for thought rather than a problem to fix, and where reflection is treated as a strategic advantage. In a world that cannot stop talking, there is real value in the proFfessionals who are willing to pause, pay attention and then say only what truly needs to be said.
