I Like Silence in My Relationships
Sometimes I need space. More than space, I need silence. I need to exist in a moment in time without any expectations. Without feigning interest when I simple have none in the moment. And that’s difficult not to take personally.
That’s a difficult concept to come to terms with if silence is something you’re uncomfortable with. Because that silence can serve as a breeding ground for the voice in your head you tend to drown out with noise, distractions, and a busy schedule.
In silence, that voice no longer whispers to you of fears, doubts, judgements, criticism. In silence, that voice crescendos hysterically beyond recognition.
It’s within the depths of such silence that feelings of inadequacy arise.
Within the depths of such silence do one’s insecurities begin to stir.
Until silence becomes deafening. Insufferable. Suffocating.
Because you don’t know what to do with yourself when you’re not busy doing. Because it’s difficult to just be with yourself and accept that that’s enough — you’re enough. That your mere presence is enough to take up space. Without having to earn it.
It’s said that silence speaks volumes, but sometimes silence is just: silence.
Sometimes silence is just existence.
There’s a certain level of comfort that’s required to sit in silence with someone.
There’s a certain level of intimacy that’s foundational to being able to sit in peace with someone. Unburdened by the need to fill in the gaps.
Not just when another person is involved though, but with oneself first and foremost.
I enjoy my silence, but this wasn’t always the case. Silence used to terrify me. Silence felt threatening because the thought of being alone with my own mind filled me with sheer and absolute terror. I would do anything to avoid being left alone with myself. Until I had no other choice but to be left alone with myself. Until no matter how hard I’d try to avoid it, the inevitable held a mirror to me. Until silence, I had realized, took on a new role. It unburdened me of all the weight I’d been carrying. A problem shared is a problem halved, and in that silence, even the weight of the world suddenly felt a little less uneasy than it had before. Because in that silence, that noise had an outlet; it had somewhere to go, beyond the borders of my psyche. The more I’d resist that silence, the more energy I’d expend in doing so, the more terrifying a monster I was making it out to be.
In my silence, my mind is far from blank. My thoughts run rampant within the confines of my mind, and they are free to come and go as they please. In that freedom, they are equals. None better or worse than the other. None bearing more weight than the other. None turned into a mountain when they need not be. In that silence, my thoughts run free and in turn, free me of them. From the weight of them.
But that silence is a muscle and like any other, takes time, will, and energy to train. Which is why I’m well versed with how terrible, terrifying, and unfavourable sitting in silence might feel. But it’s also why I’ve become unwavering in protecting my silence. Because it’s silence that begets my peace of mind. It soothes. It regulates, recharges, restores, renews me. Fills my cup. Replenishes my energy levels and bandwidth.
Sometimes I need silence. I need to exist in a moment in time without any expectations. Without feigning interest when I simple have none in the moment. Without any pressure to ask, share, or engage in conversation. Without worrying whether the other person will take it personally and take my need for silence as my being cold, distant, or passive aggressive.
I don’t expect others to join me in silence. I’d love if they do, and yet I appreciate just as much their understanding that I have this need even if it’s one they themselves don’t understand.
