Adam, a student in his second year at secondary school, is about to enter his Thursday period-six lesson. His first-year report included seven versions of the phrase “Adam is hardworking, but he is very quiet and should try to contribute more”. His Monday was packed: lots of collaborative discussion, three lessons based on group work, and not a single episode of working in silence. In fact, the only peace that came during the school week that followed was when Monsieur Screamondo roared in his French lesson: “I am sick of the behaviour of this class - you will spend the next 10 minutes working in complete silence!”

Back to Thursday. “Right, everyone,” Mrs Groupey begins the lesson, “I’d like you to get into groups of your choice and discuss what you think makes an effective advertising campaign.” As the noise level instantly increases, Adam glances around, his anxiety levels rising to match the volume.

An authorial confession: Adam and I share many similarities. I encapsulate all the stereotypes of an introvert: I like to think deeply; need time to process information; am fairly useless at parties - and staff meetings; and I have a small group of close friends. The fact that I am a long-distance runner, as well as a writer, completes the cliché.

I also know that I am very much not alone in being an introvert in education.

My classrooms are full of students who are the recipients of that pesky conjunction “but” in their discussions with teachers: hardworking but quiet. They are full of introspective qualities, yet are frequently measured on their ability to contribute vocally. They regularly ghost through their day in schools, diligently working in what can often be loud and distracting conditions. Unlikely to volunteer an answer, they find that some teachers don’t even acknowledge their presence, nor indeed know their names.

Despite the misconception that extroversion is an essential part of the teacher toolkit, I have also been privileged to meet and learn from wonderful introverted teachers and leaders. These teachers have classrooms that radiate with understated passion and they build transformative relationships with their students. Their mechanisms of dealing with distractions in the classroom are subtle but powerful: they use their quieter temperaments to skilfully defuse situations that could easily escalate.

These leaders have that wonderfully rare human quality: they listen more than they speak. It is their humility and desire to learn that marks them out from other leaders and inspires others to follow them.

Yet, I also know that I have always felt a pressure to suppress this desire for quiet in the classroom. I completed my teacher training in England, and if I had a penny for every time group work, collaboration and discussion were mentioned during the year, I would be considerably richer than I am now.

Being hardly the most discerning of educational customers, I was initially a group-work evangelist. In my early observations of learning, I would scoff at lessons that contained little group work - “what, no roaming students, no extended dialogue in groups?” I would watch the clock when a teacher was talking and feel horror if they spoke for longer than a minute.

When I was eventually let loose on unsuspecting teenagers, I puzzled over why behaviour worsened after my protracted group-work sessions. I would peer anxiously at the outcomes in student jotters and wonder why none of those wonderful collaborative moments translated into anything meaningful.

That is not to say that group work is redundant - far from it. Young people, now more than ever, need to be trained in social skills and group dynamics. As with any pedagogical practice, however, group work needs to be carefully orchestrated and planned if it is to have a positive influence on learning.

Since returning to teach in Scotland, I have felt some of this pressure to create collaborative episodes again, particularly in the work that I do with younger students. One of the four capacities of the Scottish Curriculum for Excellence is the desire to generate “confident individuals”, yet many of our students are quiet, shy, reserved. Is confidence really a prerequisite for success in our modern society?

This is not another polemic about how group work should be consigned to the pedagogical dustbin. Given the ubiquity of the desire to focus on collaboration and the ensuing rise in noise in our schools, however, it is important to examine the vital role solitude and quiet can play in education.

Let’s go back to Adam and his peers. How much space is there for these young people to find any quietness? The seductive and loud allure of mobile phones and social media are clearly the most obvious barriers. Long gone are the hours of daydreaming (or indeed boredom) and frolicking in nature that characterised my own Highland upbringing. Instead, young people compete for attention, for likes, for loud validation of their actions.

Multitasking is the default setting of modern society, reflected most clearly in the dwindling attention spans of children. Anyone who has run a school trip in the past 10 years will know just how much time young people spend on their phones. Anyone who works in a school will also be aware of just how widespread issues with anxiety and depression are among young people.

They are often overwhelmed; they are keen for some space and sanctuary from the technological noise that seems to follow them everywhere. Are our schools providing some sense of escape from this? In a society that just seems to get louder and more stimulating, the classroom should be - at least some of the time - an environment in which silence and quiet is revered. Young people need opportunities for discussion and communication, but they also need to understand why silence is necessary. It is a conversation we need to have with our students: why will silence help them with their learning?

In the interpersonally complex world of the classroom, giving space and opportunity for students to genuinely think is vital. I know I was terrified of silence in my classroom at the start of my teaching career - of letting a question linger or allowing space for young people to reflect on why an answer was particularly effective. Thinking, however, requires time and space. Without it, learning can only be superficial.

We control and manage the noise level in our rooms; when we are expecting our students to grapple with challenging concepts we have explored together, when we want them to practise, quiet, it’s worth stating again, is vital.

We also need to move away from silence in lessons being seen as something restrictive and punitive. Instead, it needs to be celebratory: a chance for young people to demonstrate all the wonderful learning they have explored together. I go so far as to deem it “sacred silence” with my classes, and can display mock horror if anyone seeks to shatter the attention span of their peers by breaking it.

We all know just how fragile those attention spans are. There are three phrases that reverberate around any school: “pay attention”, “now focus” and “I need everyone to listen”. In no other profession are phrases such as these employed so liberally and so ineffectually. Every teacher is painfully aware of how much energy, time and persistence they invest in trying to get their students to focus. They do this because focus is critical. Without it, no learning can take place.

Less frequent, however, are conversations with young people about each of the above qualities. How often do we unpick what listening is with our students? Do we role model it effectively in our own classrooms? Body language, eye contact and the way we use language are all vital in showing young people how to respond to each other. Training students to offer summaries of discussions, and of each other’s answers, can also help to cultivate an atmosphere of real focus.

Using more celebratory language for quiet and concentration can also be powerful in the classroom. Championing students for brilliant listening, for sustaining focus and concentration through challenging tasks, encourages others in the room to do the same.

Are we considering how we manage our students’ attention - and just how much we are asking them to think about? Our focus is far too often on what students are doing, but much more important is reflection on the thinking that is taking place. John Sweller’s cognitive load theory is helpful in this regard. In very simple terms, we all have a limited cognitive capacity (the amount we can consider and retain), so it is essential that we do not introduce too much for our students to think about. The way we use PowerPoint presentations - the type and volume of information we include on them - is one indicator of how we’re doing in this regard.

Not only do we need to consider how quietude can help our young people thrive, but we also need to reflect on how much it can benefit teachers. Teaching is an interpersonally exhausting experience: we are delivering energy-sapping performances for hours every day. This is often followed by busy breaks and lunchtimes in which we are locked into more communication and dialogue. As teachers, we need to prioritise our own restorative time: time when we can take stock, pause and allow ourselves the quiet we need to start all over again the next day. It is why we need to be strict about our own boundaries and leave work (and emails) behind at the end of the school day.

Wellbeing is, of course, unique for every individual and a checklist approach is not going to help teachers. But all of us - regardless of our place in the extrovert-introvert continuum - need to ensure that we give ourselves time for quietness. For some, that might mean meditation practice; for others, a walk outside in nature. As a parent, I understand how challenging it can be to find this time, but we need to be appropriately selfish. If we don’t give ourselves permission to prioritise time for ourselves, we run the risk of burnout.

We also need to be motivated to take charge of our own improvement as teachers. Professional development in schools often appears to be designed for more extroverted temperaments. But meaningful reflection requires all the qualities of quietness highlighted in this article. Being given the space and time to engage with research or evaluate our practice over time through enquiry, as individuals, can often be more powerful than bringing in a charismatic speaker to deliver collaborative, whole-school training as a one-off.

Schools should be places where personalities of all types are valued and celebrated, where young people are prepared to walk confidently into their futures, regardless of their dispositions. This requires us to make the space to acknowledge, celebrate and plan for quiet in our schools. Doing so could help young people to channel their unique qualities and achieve whatever it is that they desire from life.

Jamie Thom is a teacher of English in Scotland and previously worked in schools in England. His book, A Quiet Education, was published this week. He tweets @teachgratitude1

This article originally appeared in the 21 February 2020 issue under the headline “Turning the volume down from 11”