Rebecca Barraclough

In every training I’ve ever designed, there’s a group I always think about—even when I never hear from them. They’re the learners who don’t ask questions, don’t raise concerns, and don’t show visible signs of struggling. They fly under the radar. They complete the modules, attend the sessions, and often nod along. But that silence? It doesn’t mean everything’s okay.

I know this firsthand, because I used to be one of them.

Learning Quietly Isn’t the Same as Learning Confidently

When I was eight years old, I moved from the Philippines to a tiny farming town in Canada. At the time, I only spoke Tagalog, and I was suddenly surrounded by kids who didn’t look like me, talk like me, or understand where I came from. I was placed in a classroom where English was the only language spoken—and I didn’t understand a word.

I didn’t ask questions. I didn’t raise my hand. I sat quietly, trying to observe, memorize, and mimic. From the outside, it probably looked like I was coping just fine. But inside, I felt lost and disconnected.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to learn. I just didn’t know how to ask for help.

Now, years later, as an instructional designer and learning consultant, I see echoes of that same quiet struggle in adult learners—especially during times of change, transition, or when digital tools are involved. And it’s one of the most overlooked challenges in workplace learning.

Silence Doesn’t Equal Understanding

When learners don’t speak up, it’s easy to assume they’re keeping up. After all, if something was wrong, wouldn’t they say something?

Not necessarily.

Some people are hesitant to admit confusion because they’re new. Others are worried about looking incompetent in front of peers. Some come from cultures where questioning authority—or even appearing to need help—is discouraged. And let’s not forget learners who’ve had negative educational experiences in the past. For them, silence is a form of self-protection.

If we only design learning experiences for the loudest voices in the room, we unintentionally exclude the ones who need the most support.

Designing for the Unspoken Needs

So how do we support learners who won’t tell us when they’re struggling?

For me, it starts with designing learning that assumes confusion will happen—and proactively builds in support. That could look like embedded knowledge checks that offer hints and explanations instead of just marking something “wrong.” It could mean optional review content that doesn’t feel like remediation. Or including real-world scenarios that normalize common mistakes and show how to recover from them.

I also prioritize flexibility in how people can engage. Not everyone wants to speak up during a live session. That’s why I create multiple pathways for feedback: anonymous surveys, reflection prompts, office hour sign-ups, or discussion forums where learners can share asynchronously. These small things offer safe spaces for expression—and you’d be surprised how many people open up when they’re not put on the spot.

What I’ve Learned from Listening Differently

In one of my recent roles, I was leading onboarding for a newly acquired company. The teams were quiet. Really quiet. We delivered the standard onboarding sessions, and on paper, participation looked fine. But something felt off.

Instead of pushing more training, I created an anonymous journal-style prompt in our learning portal and invited team members to share “what’s felt confusing, weird, or different so far.” The responses blew me away. They didn’t need more information—they needed context. They needed someone to explain why things had changed, not just how. And they needed to hear that it was okay to feel a little disoriented.

That experience reminded me: silence doesn’t mean a lack of ideas. It often means those ideas just haven’t found the right outlet yet.

From Resumes to Real Life

My volunteer work with Vita Education Services has deepened this understanding in unexpected ways. I help incarcerated individuals write resumes through a middle-person system. I don’t get to meet them directly or hear their voices. But I ask questions through a document, and responses come back.

These learners have been through so much. Many of them don’t see themselves as having “professional experience.” But with time, care, and patient questioning, their stories unfold: caregiving for cellmates, managing unit chores, leading peer support groups. Quiet strength. Leadership. Resilience.

Again and again, I’m reminded that people often have a lot to say—they just need a process that makes it safe to share.

Bringing It All Together

Designing for the quiet learners requires a mindset shift. It means moving away from performance-based thinking and toward compassion-based design. It means assuming there’s more going on beneath the surface and creating learning experiences that welcome all types of engagement—not just the loud and confident.

As learning professionals, our job isn’t to force participation. It’s to build trust. And that trust creates space for people to show up fully—even if they don’t speak up right away.

I’ll always be thinking of the learners who stay quiet. Because I see them. I’ve been them. And I design for them.