Silence Isn’t Empty
We tend to think of silence as the absence of something - a blank space between the ‘real’ parts of life that needs filling. But my experience over the years has shown me that silence isn’t empty. It’s full of information. Alive and communicative.
Yet silence is something that many of us have been conditioned to avoid. We have also been conditioned to stay busy - scrolling, talking, consuming, producing, doing. Certainly, the narrative I grew up with was that if I wasn’t doing something seen as productive, I was being lazy or selfish.
Constant activity keeps us away from hearing what lies underneath. It drowns out the quieter voice of our own inner wisdom. When we stop long enough to listen, it often tells us exactly what we need to know.
Why Silence Feels Uncomfortable
For many people, silence brings up discomfort. Why? Because it removes the distractions that keep us from meeting ourselves. In the stillness, we may encounter emotions we’ve been avoiding, questions we’ve been putting off, or truths we’ve been too busy to hear.
In silence and stillness, you can’t hide behind performance. You can’t outrun your nervous system. And you can’t pretend you’re fine when your body is telling a different story.
This is why so many people feel emotional when they finally stop. Without the pressure to speak or perform, something softens. When we create space for silence, we often discover that there is far more going on than we realised. People begin to notice:
the exhaustion they’ve normalised
the grief they’ve been carrying
ideas that have been waiting for space
the desire they’ve been suppressing
the need for rest
the longing for change
Alongside these discoveries often comes something else - clarity. Not necessarily answers, but a deeper sense of knowing. The mind begins to settle and the nervous system finally has an opportunity to regulate. What felt tangled can start to unravel. What felt overwhelming can become easier to hold.
I’ve noticed this time and again, both in my own life and in the people I work with. The insights that matter most rarely arrive when we’re forcing them. More often, they emerge when we stop striving and create enough space for them to surface.
An Invitation
Perhaps one reason why silence can feel so unfamiliar is that we live in a world where every moment can be filled. A notification, a podcast, a video, a message, another piece of information competing for our attention. None of these things are inherently bad, but when every gap is filled, we lose the opportunity to hear what silence and stillness might be trying to tell us.
So here is my invitation: give silence a try. Start small. A few minutes in the day without distraction. Put the phone down. Turn the music off.
It can feel like a surprisingly difficult exercise, but it's one I would encourage you to try: creating space for stillness and silence.
The first time will probably feel uncomfortable. You may only manage a minute or two before the urge to do something takes over. With time and practice, though, those moments tend to become longer, and what once felt uncomfortable can become something you genuinely look forward to.
For many of us, guilt shows up first. There is always something that could be done - chores, work, emails, life admin, the never-ending to-do list. We might wonder what our partner, children, parents, friends, or neighbours would think if they saw us simply sitting and doing 'nothing'.
But stillness doesn't have to mean sitting motionless in meditation. It can be as simple as mindfully enjoying a cup of tea, sewing, painting, knitting, gardening, or walking in nature. The key is allowing yourself to be fully present with the experience, without reaching for another distraction - no phone, no scrolling, no constant stream of information.
In those quiet moments, something begins to shift. We create space to hear ourselves again.
Silence In the Presence of Others
Once you've become more comfortable finding moments of stillness on your own, there is another invitation: being still and silent in the presence of others.
This can bring up a different kind of discomfort. We become aware of ourselves in a new way. What should I be doing? Where should I look? What if someone notices me? What if I seem awkward or out of place?
I remember attending my first silent retreat many years ago. It was a one-day retreat at a monastery with around thirty participants. The monastery remained open to visitors throughout the day, so there were people wandering around the grounds who weren't part of the retreat.
Looking back, I can see that I felt incredibly self-conscious. Instead of settling into the silence, much of my attention was on how I appeared to others. I found it difficult to simply sit with myself. The moments I enjoyed most were the guided meditation practices, because they gave my mind something to focus on.
At the time, I thought I wasn't very good at silence. What I understand now is that the retreat was showing me something important. Silence has a way of revealing whatever is present. On that day, it revealed just how uncomfortable I was with simply being, rather than doing.
Over time, that changed. The more I practised, the less silence felt like something to endure and the more it became something to return to.
Since then, I have attended other silent retreats — with smaller groups and over several days. Each time, the experience has become a little easier, and I now genuinely look forward to switching off my phone, stepping away from the demands of everyday life, and allowing myself to rest.
The insights that have emerged during those periods of silence have often been profound. They have supported my own healing journey, brought clarity when I have felt uncertain, and helped shape the way I live and work. Time and again, silence has shown me what I couldn't hear while caught up in the noise of daily life.
Silence Was Never Empty
When we give ourselves permission to step away from the noise, even briefly, we often discover that silence was never empty at all. It was quietly waiting to show us what mattered.
We don't need hours of meditation or a week-long retreat to begin. A few minutes with a cup of tea. A walk without headphones. Sitting in the garden and simply noticing what is there. Small moments of silence can become a doorway back to ourselves.
And when we learn to listen, we often discover that silence has been speaking to us all along.
