I used to believe that if I stayed calm, everything would work itself out.
If I explained things clearly.
If I remained respectful.
If I kept emotion out of it.
That was the rule I lived by for a long time. Calmness felt like protection. It felt professional. It felt like the safest way to be heard.
What I did not understand then was that calmness does not protect you in systems that rely on avoidance.
I learned this the hard way.
I remember being in situations where the facts were clear. The work was visible. The communication trail existed. Nothing I said was inflammatory or defensive. I was careful with my words. I spoke slowly. I stayed grounded.
And still, the reaction I received was not curiosity. It was resistance.
Not open disagreement.
Not discussion.
But a subtle shift in how I was positioned.
Somewhere between speaking and being heard, I became the issue.
The moment that stands out most clearly is when I was asked to apologise for something that had harmed me. I had been subjected to personal and hostile feedback that crossed the line from professional critique into bullying. When I responded, I did so calmly and factually. I explained the context. I clarified the work. I named the issue without attacking the person behind it.
What happened next taught me more about power than any leadership training ever had.
The organisation did not manage the behaviour.
They managed me.
I was asked to soften my response. Then to remove it. Then to apologise.
Not because I had been unprofessional, but because my calm clarity disrupted the path of least resistance. Addressing the bullying would have required discomfort. Asking the other party to reflect would have required accountability. It was easier to redirect responsibility back onto me.
That is the moment you begin to understand how systems maintain themselves.
What stayed with me was not just the injustice of it, but the internal confusion it created. I replayed the exchange over and over in my head. I questioned my tone. I wondered if I should have said less. I wondered if I should have said nothing at all.
That questioning is not accidental.
When calm honesty is treated as confrontation, it trains you to self-censor.
I see now how often this happens to people who communicate clearly and directly. Especially women. Especially those who are not aggressive, but not submissive either. Calmness without compliance is deeply unsettling to systems that depend on silence.
I experienced something similar again, this time in an online space I had been part of for years. I shared something personal. It was not provocative. It was not an accusation. It was simply my lived experience.
What followed was swift and disorienting.
My intent was rewritten by others. Assumptions were made publicly without a single question being asked. The tone shifted from discussion to accusation. The comments crossed into harassment.
I responded the same way I always had. Calmly. Factually. Without escalation.
And then my ability to communicate was restricted.
No warning.
No explanation.
No opportunity to defend myself while accusations continued.
That part hurt more than the comments themselves.
Because being silenced after being targeted sends a very clear message. It tells you that calmness does not equal safety. It tells you that neutrality is not protection. It tells you that systems often prioritise containment over fairness.
What I noticed in both situations was the same underlying pattern. The issue was never my delivery. The issue was that I would not play the role expected of me. I would not become emotional enough to discredit, nor quiet enough to disappear.
So, the discomfort had to be relocated.
Onto me.
This is how speaking calmly still makes you the problem.
Not because you are wrong, but because you are steady. Because you do not give the system an emotional reaction it knows how to manage. Because you refuse to perform either submission or aggression.
And when a system cannot categorise you, it often tries to neutralise you instead.
For a long time, this made me smaller. I became more cautious. I delayed speaking. I weighed every word. I started to associate visibility with risk rather than contribution.
That is the cost no one talks about.
Being calm does not always protect your voice. Sometimes it makes it easier to dismiss.
What changed for me was recognising that being misunderstood does not mean I am unclear. Being resisted does not mean I am wrong. And being silenced does not mean I should have spoken differently.
It means I was in a space that could not tolerate truth delivered without drama.
If you have ever been told you are difficult when you were composed, or confrontational when you were factual, or disruptive when you were simply present, I want you to hear this.
Your calm is not the problem.
And you are not required to make yourself smaller to keep others comfortable.
Sometimes the most unsettling thing you can do in a system built on avoidance is speak clearly and remain steady.
And sometimes the bravest thing you can do after that is refuse to internalise the story they tell about you.
Copyright © 2026 Lynette Diehm.
All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced without written permission of the author.
