Quiet Isn’t the Same as Calm

People often describe me as calm. Steady. Someone who doesn’t get stressed.

And they’re not entirely wrong. I don’t panic easily. I believe things will work out (eventually – perhaps after some last-minute scrambling and a large latte). I adjust well. I like routine but I’m not thrown off by change. I don’t need chaos to feel alive, but weirdly… I don’t mind it either.

And yet, give me chaos, and something kicks in.
Deadlines, dilemmas, people panicking? That’s when my inner radar lights up.
It’s like my calm knows when to step aside for focus.

I adapt. I stay cool. I don’t melt in the heat.
But that doesn’t mean I’m always calm on the inside.

There are days when I sit in the sun, latte in hand, staring into the middle distance like a peaceful housecat, and my smartwatch informs me I’m “moderately stressed.”
Excuse me? I’m literally doing nothing except enjoying the breeze and overthinking what to make for dinner. Apparently, my body missed the memo.

Then there are days where I look composed – quiet, maybe even zen – but inside, I’m editing the same imaginary argument on loop. A conversation I never had. A worry I didn’t ask for. A mental IKEA shelf that won’t go together no matter how I rearrange the screws.

Still waters run deep? Sure.
Mine host full weather systems, complete with swirling drafts and the occasional fog warning.

When I’m in that quiet-but-not-calm state, I tend to retreat. Not because I don’t want to be with people, but because the noise in my head already filled every seat.
And let’s be honest, it’s hard to enjoy small talk when you’re busy having a full-blown committee meeting in your brain.

I used to think I had to sort it all out alone. To wait until everything made sense before I spoke.
But I’m learning that I don’t need to come prepared with clarity, just honesty.
That I’m allowed to say the same thing four times in different tones.
That friends don’t secretly hate me for repeating myself. (And if they do, that’s a separate blog.)

The truth? I love people.
But I don’t always know how to join in when my brain is sprinting laps.
Still, I’m getting better at saying:
“Hey, I’m spiraling about something small but loud.”

I used to think calm meant quiet.
Now I know it means choosing kindness, toward myself, too.
It means texting a friend instead of drafting a novel in my head.
It means accepting that overthinking doesn’t make me broken, just very, very thorough.

So next time you see me sitting alone, latte in hand, looking perfectly serene, feel free to join.
I might be calm.
I might be calculating every possible outcome of a two-line text.
But I’ll always be happy to talk it through.

Especially if there’s a second latte involved.

– Sophie Quinn