The Quiet Strength Behind My Smile

People often assume that because I’ve worked in luxury spas and hotels for almost two decades, I must be naturally confident and outgoing. They see my smile, the easy way I talk with guests, the friendliness I show to students, and they assume I’m someone who loves social interaction. What most people don’t know—because it’s not obvious at all—is that I’m actually an introvert still learning to manage my social anxiety one day at a time.

It surprises people when I say that, because yes, I do have many friends. And yes, connecting with people somehow comes naturally to me. I can become close to people quickly, and I treasure the relationships I’ve built over the years. But inside, every interaction still feels like a small mountain I have to climb.

When the Spa Door Opens

I co-own a small spa in the countryside, a place that many clients describe as calm, warm, and comforting. But even in this peaceful space that I helped build, there’s still a moment—every single day—when my nerves react faster than my mind.

Whenever I hear the door open, I still feel my heart skip a beat. There’s this tiny second where my body stiffens, where I inhale a little too sharply, where I remind myself quietly, “Okay, breathe… you got this.” And then I walk out with a smile.

That smile is real. I’m genuinely happy to see people. I love helping guests relax, take care of themselves, and feel better than when they walked in. But the truth is, the bigger my smile, the more nervous I am. It’s not a fake smile—it’s just my way of managing the nerves and turning them into warmth.

Why Social Events Still Feel Difficult

Despite the nature of my work, I still avoid big social events as much as possible. Parties, gatherings, even small celebrations—these things take a lot of mental energy from me. It doesn’t matter whether I know the people or not; being in a group drains me faster than most imagine.

I love people, but facing many of them at once feels overwhelming. I can manage it, of course. I’ve done it many times. But afterwards, I feel like I ran a marathon. I need quiet to recover. I need silence to breathe again.

Friends sometimes get confused. They see me smiling and talking easily, so they don’t understand why events feel so exhausting. But every introvert knows that there’s a big difference between connecting deeply with someone one-on-one and navigating groups of people all at the same time.

Why I Identify as an Introvert

Another reason I identify strongly as an introvert is simply because I truly find comfort in being alone. Isolation doesn’t scare me—in fact, it brings me joy. I can stay in my room for days, even a month, and I wouldn’t mind at all as long as I have a pen and paper, a good book, or just a computer with an internet connection. That kind of quiet feels like a gift to me. I don’t initiate conversations with people I don’t know because I’m genuinely afraid of being rejected—it sounds dramatic, but that fear is real. Even at home, when my family welcomes guests, I quietly escape to my room or find an excuse to avoid meeting them, because once I greet them, I know I’ll feel obligated to stay and talk. I’ve been this way for as long as I can remember—not because I dislike people, but because solitude simply feels natural to me in a way social situations never have.

The Online Classroom With My Japanese Professionals

My ESL students tell me I seem cheerful and relaxed on screen. I’m grateful they see me that way, but what they don’t know is that whenever I see a full class schedule for the day, I take a long, slow breath to steady my nerves.

I love teaching. I enjoy witnessing my students’ progress, hearing about their work, their families, and being part of their learning journey. But meeting new students still makes my stomach twist a little. Even familiar students make me nervous sometimes—not because something is wrong, but because connection itself requires emotional energy.

Still, I show up. I smile. I give my best. And each time I finish a lesson, I feel grateful for all the courage it took just to start it.

So How Did I Survive the 5-Star Hotel World?

When people hear the truth about my introversion, one common question always follows:
“Then how did you survive working in luxury hotels where you had to talk to people all day?”

I’ve asked myself the same question many times. And I think I’ve finally understood the answer.

I survived because the work had purpose.

Helping people relax, heal, and feel cared for gave me a sense of meaning strong enough to overcome the fear.

I survived because of empathy.

Being an introvert made me more observant, more attentive, more sensitive to what guests needed. I didn’t have to talk loudly—I just had to listen deeply.

I survived because calmness is a strength in the spa world.

I wasn’t the most outgoing therapist, but I was steady. I was gentle. I could bring quiet comfort without needing many words.

I survived because I’m quietly resilient.

Introverts are not weak. We simply recharge differently. But when needed, we show up, do our work with intention, and give from the heart.

So, I didn’t succeed despite being an introvert. In many ways, I succeeded because of it.

The Inner Battle No One Sees

People often think bravery looks loud and dramatic. In my life, bravery is quieter.

It’s opening the spa door even when I feel the familiar flutter in my chest.
It’s smiling at a new customer even when my hands feel cold.
It’s logging in to my online class even when part of me wants to hide under a blanket.
It’s attending a gathering even when I’m tempted to make excuses and stay home.

My anxiety didn’t disappear just because I gained experience. My introversion didn’t fade just because my job required interaction. These parts of me are still here—and they’re not weaknesses. They’re reminders of my humanity, my sensitivity, my need for balance.

What Many Don’t Realize

People often tell me, “You don’t seem introverted.”
But that’s because introversion doesn’t look the way people expect.

It’s not being antisocial.
It’s not being unfriendly.
It’s not being shy every time.

Introversion is simply how I process the world—deeply, quietly, meaningfully.
And social anxiety is simply the challenge I carry with me, like a soft tremor under the surface.

The smile I give people is real.
The kindness I share is real.
The connection I build is real.

But the courage behind all of that is real, too.

Choosing to Show Up, Again and Again

Today, I wear many hats—spa co-owner, therapist, manager, ESL tutor—and every day I face situations that push me beyond my comfort zone. Some days are easier than others. Some days require more strength.

But I’ve learned not to judge myself for the nerves. I’ve learned to honor the effort it takes just to show up. And I’ve learned to appreciate the quiet bravery that introverts like me carry within.

I don’t need to be loud to make a difference.
I don’t need to be the center of attention to contribute.
I don’t need to be fearless to keep moving forward.

I just need to keep showing up—one breath, one smile, one step at a time.

And somehow, that has been enough.