On Silence

 

I’ve always been afraid of the silent treatment. It’s meant abandonment, rejection, domination, subjugation. The wielder says without saying “You are not worth my words.” And so I’ve spent so much time devaluing silence – or vilifying it. I jump to fill in the cracks with apologies, puns, inert observations … anything to get myself back into the good graces of the one who was holding the power.

 

But the power of silence doesn’t lie in its potential for relational warfare. It’s often necessary (here I refrain from saying necessary evil) for reflection, rejuvenation, respect. It is a tool that I am just now learning to use correctly. When I need to gather my thoughts, or when I am tempted to weaponize my words, I fall into silence. When the world is heavy with grief and despair, silence can be a soothing salve that helps me center myself. When I want joy to linger, laughter to reverberate, I let silence fill the space as a pianist would.

 

There is a time for coming to voice. As a woman, I fight and am thankful for the chance to speak my mind – whether my voice is alone or as part of a chorus. But the power in speaking extends to the power of offering the space for silence – whether to hold another’s grief or joy, whether to make room for understanding, or to just luxuriate in the absence of my own worry. My silence isn’t a weapon. It’s a gift as much as my words are. May I remember the value of quietude.