Quiet progress is figuring out how to talk. Not small talk, not noise—but the real kind. Saying what you mean. Being heard. Listening back. It’s work. For most of my life, I’ve avoided it. I thought I was bad at it. But lately, I see something else: I’m not as terrible as I believed.

I’m actually getting better. People are much worse than me. I can listen better then most people can talk, or listen. What I’ve learned is that communication isn’t just about volume. It’s about choice. When I speak, when I don’t, how much I give, how much I withhold—that’s me protecting my peace.

The truth is, a lot of the time, speaking feels pointless. People don’t want to listen. They hear through filters: already decided, already defensive, already translating my words into something else. Communication doesn’t land. It gets bent, dismissed, or flattened into noise.

That’s why people get louder. They shout, they perform, they dominate the room, because somewhere they also learned that being loud might be the only way to be heard. But being heard isn’t the same as being understood. This started as a thought about ghosting.

The way silence has become the default. Instead of saying “I’m not interested,” people vanish. Block, unmatch, delete. Silence feels easier than words. And yet, that silence says more about them than about me. So maybe that’s the strange progress: I’m getting better at communication, while realizing how many people can’t do it at all.

Turns out, I wasn’t the worst. I was just quiet.