Silence at work is often treated like a red flag. In meetings, town halls, or team check-ins, when people do not speak, leaders notice. And when leaders notice, they often interpret. The logic goes something like this: if people cared more, they would say more. If they were engaged, they would contribute. If they had energy, they would make noise. But this is a shallow reading of a deeper reality.

This article invites a different reading. One that sees silence not as a gap in commitment, but as a reflection of context. One that tells us less about the speaker’s attitude and more about the atmosphere we have created.

Instead of asking why someone is quiet, The more useful question is: what makes speaking feel difficult, unrewarding, or unwise?

This shift, from decoding silence to being curious about it, is not cosmetic. It is a fundamental reorientation. And it asks us to stop treating quiet as a personal flaw and start seeing it as a signal shaped by the culture we hold.

Silence is not about individual disengagement. It is a relational response.

Why this myth is so persistent

The belief that silence equals disengagement has a comforting simplicity. It makes behaviour measurable. Those who speak are with us. Those who do not must be checked out. This kind of binary thinking is tempting in workplaces that prize clarity and speed. But it conceals more than it reveals.

This myth survives because it protects the system that upholds it. If silence is due to someone’s mindset, then the organisation does not have to ask harder questions. It does not have to examine how its leadership practices, group dynamics or historical patterns have contributed to making voice feel costly.

There is a wider pattern at play too. “Employee engagement” has become its own performance metric. Surveys track sentiment, not safety. They offer data, but often miss the truth. Especially in cultures where results are linked to leader performance, the pressure to report high scores can silence honest speech. The more visible the metric, the more invisible the risk.

Amy Edmondson’s research makes this plain. In environments of psychological safety, silence is rare. People contribute freely, even when uncertain. But in settings marked by fear or futility, silence becomes protective. Not because people do not care, but because the emotional price of speaking is too high. Silence, then, is often a form of adaptation.

Research from the CIPD supports this too. People do not speak simply because there is an open channel. They speak when the history, hierarchy and relationships suggest it is safe to do so. Formal invitations are not enough. If earlier contributions were ignored or punished, silence becomes a rational choice.

The danger of the myth lies in how it distorts attention. It asks who is not speaking, instead of asking what might be holding them back. It shifts the burden to the individual, while leaving the space unexamined.

The real question is not how to get people to speak. It is how to create conditions where speaking feels worthwhile.

Silence is not a void. It is a signal.

To treat silence as the absence of engagement is to miss its presence as communication. Every quiet moment tells a story. It is not empty. It is shaped by history, power, and the dynamics of the room. But listening to silence requires a different kind of attention.

Workplaces often reward verbal confidence. Those who speak early, loudly, or fluently are more easily recognised as contributors. Those who reflect, hesitate, or choose their words slowly are sometimes assumed to be holding back. This narrows the definition of participation.

But silence is not passivity. It is a form of discernment. It can signal that someone is thinking carefully. Or that they are unsure whether what they say will land well. Or that they have spoken before and were not heard. It may also mean they are resisting a pattern they cannot name yet.

And silence is rarely neutral. For many, it carries the weight of past disappointment or quiet resignation. To stay quiet may be logical, but it is not without emotional cost. It can mean swallowing an idea, a hurt, or a hope that no longer feels welcome.

In some settings, silence is the only safe choice. In others, it is the only dignified one.

This is especially true where difference is present, of identity, experience, or power. The same silence that is read as thoughtfulness in one person might be read as detachment in another. Race, gender, role seniority, and accent all shape how silence is perceived. That makes it not just cultural, but political.

To approach silence with care is to invite a different kind of leadership. Not one that assumes, but one that listens for what is beneath the surface. One that is willing to be altered by what it hears.

What leaders can do instead

If we understand silence as a relational act, not a personal flaw, the role of leadership changes. It becomes less about generating input, and more about creating the conditions in which input feels possible. This is not a communication strategy. It is a cultural stance. And it starts with how we design the spaces we gather in.

Redesign the space, not the speaker: Instead of asking what people are holding back, ask what in the space is keeping them quiet. Some formats, large meetings, open-ended questions, fast decision cycles, amplify confident voices and mute cautious ones. Try using smaller groups, structured rounds, or anonymous input to reduce the cost of contribution.

Change the rhythm, not just the content: Fast-moving conversations reward certainty. But not everyone processes or participates at the same pace. Build in pauses. Allow for post-meeting reflections. Give permission to revisit what felt unfinished. These small shifts make participation more accessible.

Treat uncertainty as valid: Leaders who claim clarity too quickly discourage honest contribution. Those who name what is unresolved model a different kind of strength. Admitting “I’m still thinking this through” can signal that incompleteness is welcome.

Name the quiet with care: There is a difference between pointing out silence and making space for it. Instead of asking “Why aren’t you speaking?”, try “What might be making it hard to speak here today?” This moves the spotlight from the individual to the environment.

Use questions that invite, not evaluate: Closed prompts like “Any questions?” often end conversations before they begin. Ask instead, “What’s missing from what we’ve said?” or “What are we not hearing that matters?” Good questions widen the doorway.

Model the courage to be imperfect: Leaders shape norms through what they reveal. When a leader shows vulnerability, naming discomfort, naming regret, or speaking before fully polished, they make it easier for others to do the same. This is not performance. It is permission.

These practices do not guarantee that people will speak. They are not techniques to coax compliance. They are ways of honouring people’s agency and acknowledging that voice is a gift, not an obligation.

The goal is not to eliminate silence. It is to make sure silence is a choice, not a survival strategy.

Silence invites us to reflect, not to judge

The real test of leadership is not how quickly we interpret behaviour, but how generously we respond to it. Silence will always be part of organisational life. But our reaction to it, curious or corrective, reveals the culture we are building.

Rather than asking why someone is not speaking, consider asking:

  • What story are we telling ourselves about this silence?

  • What histories or dynamics might be shaping it?

  • What signals have we sent about whose voice matters?

These are not rhetorical questions. They are invitations to slow down and pay attention.

Engagement is not about volume. It is about meaning. It is about whether people believe their presence matters and their contribution counts. When we treat silence as disengagement, we reduce people to output. But when we treat it as signal, we create space for understanding, trust, and eventually, voice.

Leadership does not begin when someone speaks. It begins with how we listen when they do not.

Three questions to reflect on

  • What silence in my team have I misread as disinterest?

  • What is one condition I could change to make voices feel safer?

  • When I last heard nothing, how did I respond, and what might I do differently now?

Do you have any tips or advice for working with quieter team members?

What has worked for you?

Do you have any recommended resources to explore?

Thanks for reading!

 

Sources:

Chartered Institute of Personnel and Development (2021) Employee voice: Good practice guide. London: CIPD.

Edmondson, A. (2019) The fearless organisation: Creating psychological safety in the workplace for learning, innovation, and growth. Hoboken, NJ: John Wiley & Sons.