How Working in an Open-plan Office with Poor Sound Insulation is Like Flying Every Day

But, without the Exotic Destination!

I was recently moved to a new project team at work, that is located a different building. As a highly sensitive introvert, I’m not particularly keen on change, but it’s not been too great an adjustment as far as the work and people go. However, since the move I have been coming home utterly exhausted each day with barely enough energy to make myself a sandwich for my evening meal. I can put some of this down to the extra work I’ve been having to do to extend myself as a 'pretend extrovert', to come across as outgoing and enthusiastic while I learn the ropes of the new position. It’s always easier to fade into the comfort of the background once the introductions have been made and the novelty of the ‘newbie in the office’ has worn off.

But there’s more going on here than that – I’m realising I’m in an environment that is not good for my high sensitivity. The building I am in now is old with poor sound-proofing and awfully loud air-conditioning and with its with low ceilings and small floors all extraneous noise is bounced around and amplified instead of absorbed. To most people, our floor is probably not all that noisy – I’m working with a group of software developers who are not terribly boisterous and this suits my introverted style perfectly.

However, because of my sensitivity, the noise level is loud enough  for me that I hear everything – great if you’re an antelope on the savannah listening for predators, but a pain in an office environment.  I’m constantly aware of the drone of the air-conditioning, the regular clickety-clack of the photocopier, computers whirring, doors opening and closing, the elevators moving up and down and the beep they make when they arrive at our floor, the beep of the microwave and clinking of dishes in the kitchen, people talking on the other side of the room (not just a murmur – but hearing every word of the conversation), someone clicking his pen while thinking about a problem, the tapping of fingers on keyboards, the clock ticking on the wall, the sound of someone hanging up their coat on the coat stand, pages being stacked and stapled several desks away, the rustle of food wrappers as people eat their lunch...

Others in the office don’t seem aware of the problem. They appear to tolerate a higher noise level and probably experience the noise as merely an indistinguishable background hum. They don’t notice what I notice. Unfortunately I can’t simply switch off to it. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we had lids on our ears like we have on our eyes? I can force myself to ignore the noise, but doing so takes conscious effort and uses up energy.

And so I come home exhausted every day. It struck me that it’s the some head-throbbing, body-aching fatigue that I feel after a long-haul flight. This makes total sense. When flying, one is assaulted by the drone of the engines and cabin air-conditioning, conversations of people around you, various random sounds of the aircraft, people moving about, meals being distributed, children crying, overhead lockers opening and closing – all of which seem to reverberate around your head. (Added to this, there’s the dry stuffy air of the cabin, which is also common in many offices and you remain seated for long periods of time, just as you do at your office desk). We all know that these conditions on board aircraft contribute to fatigue, jetlag and even illness in many travellers, yet we see similar conditions in our workplaces as normal and acceptable.

It is known that chronic exposure to low-level noise leads to fatigue, irritableness and even depression. Yet, bring up the subject of troublesome noise levels in an office environment and people look at you as if you’re odd. "Really? I like background noise," they reply. They also probably enjoy listening to music in addition to the background noise. Of course they do – extroverts thrive on, and are energised, by stimulation. As much as I like music, this doesn’t help me – it does drown out some of the background noise to a point, but I find that music also tires me after a while – it’s still non-stop auditory input. And sensory overload is the highly sensitive’s enemy.

Earplugs to the rescue

So, my solution? Earplugs. I don’t care what I look like wearing them, my sanity is at stake - I’m tired of being tired and sleeping all my precious free-time away. I tried a pair of foam plugs to start with, and wow, what a difference! By turning down the volume of the background buzz, I immediately felt calmer, less stressed and more alert. The foam ones hurt a little from the pressure they exert on the ear canal by expanding back to their original shape, so I have ordered a pair of moulded plugs. It definitely works though, I’m already finding my energy levels are improving and I don’t feel so wiped out when I get home. Why? By blocking out all the extraneous noise that uses up so much of my subconscious attention, I have more energy to apply to things that I do want to pay attention to. Instead of processing every sound, that processing energy can now be diverted to the tasks at hand or stored up for use later. It’s that simple!

It’s not all bad

What do I like about my deep processing of sound? That I can walk along a busy city street and from out of the cacophony of traffic and people noise, I can pick out and zero in on the chirping of a tiny sparrow sitting on a window ledge six storeys above my head. It’s as if I’m the only one who knows he’s there and he’s singing just for me.

A final thought – why don’t people whisper anymore?

What happened to the courtesy of whispering? When I was a child, my parents taught me that it was rude to disturb people around me and that if I wanted to talk to someone when others were near, that I should whisper.  In the modern office, several conversations can be going on at once, all at normal-to-loud volume, sometimes by people standing right next to a person trying to get on with their work. Why is this okay? What happened to mutual respect and speaking in hushed tones around other people?

How a Quiet Person’s Need for Time and Space Alone Can Unwittingly Sabotage Potential Relationships.

I recently read an entry in an advice column from a woman who had already been cheated on by a previous boyfriend, and was upset that her new boyfriend was continuing to be active on dating sites.

The first part of the response to her letter came as no surprise, we’ve heard it all before: it seemed as if she was setting herself up to be hurt again and she should consider why she was attracted to partners who were likely to hurt her.

I can certainly relate to this – I always seem to end up with guys who are unavailable in some way and ultimately end up hurting me. But why would I want to be with someone I expect will hurt me? Do I like being a victim, being hurt? I don’t think so. Yet the statement seems true, I’ve dated players and even lived with guys I knew all along were wrong for me. I don’t think I was simply desperate; I think perhaps there was something more going on. Perhaps by somehow expecting it would end, I was safe in the knowledge that I wouldn’t have to give up my freedom for too long. Is my attraction to men who are unavailable and likely to hurt me, actually a failsafe method of protecting my own freedom and independence? Am I in fact really afraid of not having enough space and time to myself if I get involved in a long-term committed relationship? How does one balance the desire for companionship when you are the kind of person that needs to be alone more than you need to be with people?

The second part of the response, though, made me think: he may need a lot of attention from people where there is no risk of them getting close enough that he might be hurt by them. He may be quite vulnerable and afraid of committing and getting hurt himself.

There is a guy in my life who I get along really well with and care about a lot and the feeling is mutual, but whenever we approach moving things to a relationship, he says he isn’t ready and yet he’s active on dating sites. Am I being a fool? Is it just me he doesn’t want to be in a relationship with, but is being too polite to say so? He doesn’t strike me as a player, he has a gentle soul and I can sense that he has been hurt before. He is a private person, quiet like me, and I recognise that same need in him for alone time. So perhaps he is ‘keeping his options open’ indefinitely, not in the hopes of finding someone better, but instead so that he can protect his own need for space and time to himself?

And so as he refuses to commit to a relationship and I refuse to be anything more than being friends unless he commits, we keep each other at a distance and in turn protect our own needs for time and space alone. The sad thing is that in doing so we might be missing out on something that has the potential to be a very rewarding relationship in that we are being motivated by the same needs.

Joining the Quiet Revolution

In June 2006, I left a snow-covered Christchurch, New Zealand and travelled to Marin County, California to attend the annual United States HSP gathering. It was one of the most uplifting and inspiring events in my life. When I returned to New Zealand I was inspired to do something to help HSPs in New Zealand learn about their trait and to come together for support and friendship. 

I created a website and slowly built up a following and hosted a small gathering in Wellington in 2008. However, the time commitment, expense and pressure from my then-partner (he suspected me of being involved in a "cult") eventually led to me giving up the website. Fortunately one of my followers was keen to carry on what I had started and I transferred the site to her.  It has since become the HSP Network (Australia & New Zealand).

Life was pretty good for a while after that, I got a new job that I enjoyed immensely and suited my quiet persona, my partner and I moved into a bigger home together and we adopted two "children" - two Flemish giant rabbits. Everything seemed right. I felt I had finally succeeded in "beating" my quietness and blending in with the rest of the world.

But, you can't really change who you are at your core. Eventually my partner, though introverted himself, started to complain that I didn't talk enough and that he needed his freedom. Things at work changed and I was moved from a team of fellow quiet intellectuals, to a team of loud extroverted comms people. My partner left, I moved to a new house and my rabbits passed away.

I'm again facing the familiar work bias that I "won't be able to do the job because I'm not outgoing enough" and I simply can't face the singles scene again. But, I have the freedom to really be myself now. I love my new home - I spend many wonderful happy silent hours pottering in my garden, creating in my hobbies room and being single Mum to my new rabbit.

Back at the Walker Creek ranch in 2006, I remember talking to a woman called Susan. She was attending the gathering to research a book she was writing on introversion. We had some interesting discussions with others in the group about the battle for acceptance from peers, employers and life partners, we quiet people go through.

Just a few weeks ago, I came across an excellent talk on the power of introverts. It hit me a few moments after the talk ended that this was the same Susan I met in 2006! I immediately went out and bought her book, Quiet, which I highly recommend. And so I feel inspired again.

There is still very little information and understanding in New Zealand about sensitivity and introversion, so I hope that in some way, my blog might spread the word and help quiet New Zealanders find answers, acceptance and pride in themselves. 

I'm joining the Quiet Revolution.