When Fear Makes Us Silent: The Quiet Cost of Getting It “Wrong”

A letter to those who want to get it right—but are afraid to speak

 The Sound of Swallowed Words

I nearly didn’t write this. Well technically I did. I spent a whole day writing a considered piece on masculinity in modern culture. Then I didn’t share it. I am okay with that, because in holding back, I finally faced the deeper fear that keeps showing up in life, work and conversations.

I was afraid I’d get it wrong.

Not in a clumsy-spelling, missed-the-mark completely kind of way, but in the “this could cost me something” kind of way: reputation, trust, respect. The earned privilege of being listened to and heard.

 And that fear? It's not new.

I've felt it before, in boardrooms, in professional relationships, in confrontations with service providers (not providing a service), and even in friendships. It's a specific kind of silencing, one that creeps in quietly, fuelled not by shame, but by a slow erosion of safety.

And when I do not feel safe, I will not speak.

So, that is what this is about. It’s about what happens when the fear of getting it wrong keeps us from saying anything at all. It’s about the cost of not knowing what “right” looks like. It’s about the powerlessness of ignorance. It’s about speaking up without knowing if your words will land as intended.

Most importantly it’s about the societal moment we’re all in, one that asks us to discern, think better, and live in the grey.

The Invisible Muzzle

The fear of being wrong isn’t always loud. It often arrives dressed as second-guessing, over-editing, staying quiet in meetings, or defaulting to “maybe later.” It’s the mental rehearsal before we press send, or the blog post that stays in drafts for weeks.

Exactly as I just did, maybe I will write that blog later, when I know more, when I have time to research the topic in more depth, when I have talked to more midlife men about their experience.

And it’s not a fear of being factually wrong, it’s the fear of being misread, misunderstood, misaligned. The fear of being made out to be something we’re not. The fear of becoming someone else's projection.

For many of us, especially those socialised to "get it right", to be competent, responsible, thoughtful, this fear isn’t abstract. It’s physical. It clenches the jaw. It sits in the gut. It wells up behind the eyes. It mutes the voice box.

When power shuts you down

I’ve observed this dynamic in my consulting work, especially in businesses where leadership is performative, not participatory. I have witnessed the impact of leaders who systematically undermine every idea, plan, and contribution, giving off the clear message: it’s my way or no way; you’ll never get it right, so stop trying.

For many midlife professionals, the fear of saying the wrong thing isn’t about immaturity or insecurity, it’s the weight of decades spent earning credibility. It’s the dread of undoing hard-won trust with one misstep. They’ve climbed ladders, negotiated egos, navigated shifting politics and now they’re afraid that one poorly worded opinion could make it all unravel.

That’s how people stop raising their hand. That’s why high performers leave. That’s why smart, capable professionals begin to question their own competence. It’s not a performance issue. It’s a psychological one.

This is the emotional burnout behind “quiet quitting”, not apathy, but quiet self-preservation in a quieter form. A strategic withdrawal to avoid the risk of humiliation, misalignment, or being cast as “the problem.” Most professionals don’t just stop caring. They stop believing they can make a difference or that they can motivate positive, innovative change, or that they can have an impact and without these, tasks become meaningless.

I see this mirrored in relationships, intimate, familial, and social, where individuals stop speaking up. Not because they don’t care, but because no matter what they say, they’re cast as the villain. Say too much, and you’re overstepping. Say too little, and you’re accused of being distant or disengaged. The silence that follows isn’t rooted in fragility; it’s born from confusion and the exhaustion of being misinterpreted.

I have also experienced it personally when standing up for myself with evidence against unjustified increase to my service charges. There’s a voice in the back of my head that whispers, What if I’m wrong?What if they know more? What if I am missing something? What if I make things worse by speaking? That voice isn’t just mine; it’s a symptom of living in systems where power can distort perception and perception can control narrative.

When silence is the safest answer

It can be maddening to feel like we are not being listened to. In many instances where I witness this sentiment I am left wondering if the individual has been listened to, has been heard and has been understood, but when a response is not forthcoming, favourable or otherwise, this is being mistaken for invalidation.

I often wonder if the silence on the other end is not invalidation at all of position or opinion but unvoiced disagreement.

The silence is the fear of holding an opposing point of view, and the consequence of speaking it. After all we have, all been taught to “pick your battles”.

Not agreeing isn’t the same as not listening.
Respect doesn’t require alignment, but it does require honesty, and the courage to stay in relationship even when we see the world differently.

Cancel culture and one-way conversations concern me. Let’s face it, if the comments are off, it’s not a conversation, it’s a broadcast in a branded Canva square. There is too much opinion sharing from behind a keyboard. Keyboard courage strips away the nuance, accountability, and the human connection, it takes away the very conditions that make dialogue transformative: presence, tone, timing, body language, the relational feedback loop, and the risk that comes with it.

In the end, we’re not exchanging ideas, we’re issuing statements. And when no one’s really listening, even the truest thing can sound like noise.

I’ve seen it in business too. I challenged a price increase on declining service with my gym recently. They heard me, or their automation did. But no dialogue followed. In fact, I got a customer service response from a “no-reply” email address – what is that about? No discussion then, just a binary: accept it or leave.

Is that the way this is going?

If we are not willing to have the conversations, how will we ever improve?

What If You Are Wrong?

There’s a strange kind of power in admitting and embracing ignorance, but only if there’s a soft landing on the other side.

I sense-checked my writing on masculinity in modern culture with a core group of male and female friends, and what I learned wasn’t what I expected.

Those conversations showed me that I was wholly unqualified to write about the subject, not because I don’t care, but because the urge to write had been triggered by an emotional response to something I’d witnessed. A moment that felt deeply unfair.

What I realised was this: I work with great men who are doing their best to show up and do what’s “right” by the people in their lives. But their experience isn’t mine. They don’t need me to interpret it or speak for them. They’re aware of their reality and are more than capable of shining a light on it, when and how they choose.

In fact, that goes for all my clients. They are all talented, high achievers that do not need my overt advocacy. They are all more than capable of taking ownership and standing in their own personal power, what they appreciate is a place where they can order their thoughts and question their thought processes - the same type of sense checking that I was seeking when I sought out their opinions.

I was reminded that there is great value in having a space to talk about things openly, without judgement, without positioning, just with the intention of understanding each other better and drawing from each other’s observations and interpretations.

It also reminded me how vital it is to have feedback you can trust; people around you who let you ask, reflect, receive critique. It’s not always easy to hear, my friends offer both hard and soft landings, but they challenge my thinking and share their opinions honestly, not to shame, but to support improvement and growth; that intention is everything

This is what real connection looks like: a two-way relationship where we don’t fix each other, we witness each other.

We say we want conversations, but culturally we’ve become allergic to discomfort, nuance, and not knowing. We trade dialogue for diatribe. We punish the learning process. Then we wonder why no one speaks.

We’ve weaponised “wrong.”

There’s a difference between accountability and humiliation; between disagreement and dismissal. When we respond to difference with moral superiority, or flatten complexity into good/bad, right/wrong, we leave no room for humility, for development, or for the messy, human process of figuring things out as we go.

The Murkiness of Truth in a Digital World

Once upon a time, truth was binary. Right or wrong. True or false. Good or Bad. A source was valid, or it wasn’t. I remember GCSE History.

But now? We live in the era of “my truth.”

Curated realities, manipulated information, and opinion packaged as evidence. Look no further than the comment sections of political threads, or influencers with half a million followers claiming papaya leaves cure asthma. Algorithms serve up confirmation bias masquerading as fact, and the loudest voice is often mistaken for the wisest.

We’re not just learning to discern content, we’re learning to discern intent, and that takes emotional intelligence, self-awareness and critical thinking.

We can no longer just accept what we hear. We have to feel what we hear. Does it resonate? Does it sit right? Does it smell of truth or manipulation?

We need to consider source bias, intent, and perspective to modern life. Information alone doesn’t make us wise. Wisdom lies in having the ability to use knowledge, experience, and reflection to make sound decisions, especially when life is messy, uncertain, or morally complex.

It’s not about having all the answers, but knowing how to listen, discern, and act with integrity. True wisdom balances insight with empathy, reason with ethics, and confidence with humility.

The Identity Trap

I can’t be anything other than who I am.
A middle-class woman of a certain age.
Which means I will have blind spots.

To grow, I need access to perspectives that challenge me. Voices that aren’t mine. Viewpoints that make me uncomfortable. That’s how education happens. Not just by reading, but by relating.

If we silence those voices with shame, sarcasm, or dismissal, we’re not building an inclusive world. We’re building an echo chamber.

Reclaiming the Right to Speak

Maybe we stop making people wrong for not knowing everything yet. Maybe instead of cancelling, we try curiosity. Maybe disagreement isn’t danger, it’s dialogue waiting to happen.

If we don’t what we’re losing, slowly, quietly, collectively, is courage. The courage to raise our hand, to float a half formed thought, to risk looking foolish in the service of learning, to say, “Here’s what I think, even if I’m wrong”, and the courage to hear someone else say the same.

We may not control the society we live in, louder, faster, sharper by the day, but we do have the power to change our personal environments.

We need more homes, workplaces and communities where people are allowed to evolve out loud, where opinions are explored, not weaponised. Where “being wrong” doesn’t equal being erased and disagreement isn’t treated like betrayal.

I want my microenvironment full of people who flag their feelings, say what they mean, even when it’s messy and imperfect, because that’s how we all get better.

Even if that means getting it wrong.

What do you want from yours?

Let’s Make Each Other Better

So no, I didn’t publish the original piece as planned. But I’m publishing this one. I could have gone ahead and put my opinions into the world, but to what end? For what purpose?

What I am modelling is what it looks like to reflect, to ask, to risk discomfort and to recognise in myself where I’ve been part of the silence I want to dismantle.

This experience reminded me:

• Disagreement is not disrespect.

• Being questioned isn’t the same as being silenced.

• A pause to reflect isn’t weakness, it’s discernment.

• You can hold a different opinion and still hold the relationship.

• Silence doesn’t mean someone has nothing to say, it may mean they’re waiting for safety.

• Saying “I hear you and I don’t share that view, but I’d like to understand yours” isn’t confrontational. It’s emotional maturity.

• Difference isn’t a threat. It’s the beginning of better thinking, if we let it be.

None of us need rescuing, but we do need room to be real.

To be seen.

To be accepted.

To be given space to think out loud without getting shut down or put on a pedestal so high that we can't fall off it. To be challenged kindly, not corrected or shamed publicly.

I’ve always found advocacy for others easier than advocacy for myself. This year, in my little world, the need for self-advocacy is on the rise. Obviously one of my incoming lessons for 2025! So I will embrace standing up for myself from my own direct experience, for now.

Obviously, I’ll keep showing up for my clients, but not as a mouthpiece, as a mirror. Someone who listens intently, tries to understand, reflects, and respects the lens they live through.

There is strength in not knowing. There is growth in disagreement. There is integrity in saying what you think and being willing to evolve.

Let’s create spaces where we’re allowed to be in process, not just polished products.
Where imperfection isn’t punished. Where honesty is met with curiosity, not condemnation.

That’s where better thinking begins.

Now, over to you:

Where is your fear keeping you silent?

What kind of space are you building?

Who are you willing to hear?

And what are you still learning to say? 

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