What Silence Reveals: Meeting Myself in the Quiet Spaces

Recently, life has invited me into a deeper relationship with silence.

First, through facilitating a retreat that incorporated two full days of intentional silence.
Then, through taking part in 20talk20, a mental health fundraising event where I was invited to surrender all distractions for 20 hours — inside a 2m x 2m square, with nothing but my, chair, meditation cushion, swag, journal and a pen.

Both experiences asked something of me that felt simple, yet profound: to meet myself without distraction.
Without numbing.
Without pushing anything back down.
Without the familiar noise of daily life that so easily fills the cracks.

And here is what I noticed — what I remembered — when I allowed myself to fully enter that silent space.

Silence Has a Way of Revealing What We’ve Been Avoiding

When I drop into quiet — truly quiet — an awareness begins to rise.
Not all at once, not dramatically, but like a soft tide returning to shore.

Old emotions, subtle thoughts, inner tensions…
all the things I didn’t have time to notice suddenly have room to breathe.

And instead of turning away, I practice meeting them.
Gently.
Curiously.
Honestly.

Silence doesn’t demand anything.
It simply removes what gets in the way.

Writing as a Bridge Between My Inner World and My Outer Awareness

One of the first things my awareness reaches for in these moments is my journal.

I write.

I write until it makes sense.
I write until I’m no longer afraid of what I’m feeling.
I write until the words soften and my breath deepens.
I write until there is nothing left to say.

In the 20-hour silent sit, my journal became my anchor.
My way of clearing internal space.
My way of letting emotions and insights flow through rather than lodge themselves within me.

Writing, for me, is a way of witnessing — of holding myself with compassion while I move through whatever is arising.

The Nervous System Responds to Stillness

In both experiences — the retreat and the silent sit — I noticed something beautiful:

At first, my nervous system felt tight, contracted, restless.
My mind wanted to reach for something — anything — to fill the space.

And then, slowly, with presence and breath and honesty, something shifted.

The contraction softened.
The internal noise quietened.
My awareness expanded.
My whole body began to feel more spacious, grounded, open.

Silence became a balm.
A returning.
A remembering of who I am beneath the rush of daily life.

Silence Is a Teacher — A Kind One

These moments have shown me that silence is not empty.
It is not a void.
It is not something to fear.

Silence is a teacher.

It offers us a doorway into parts of ourselves that long to be met — not fixed, not judged, not solved — just witnessed.

When I meet myself in these quiet spaces, I feel myself coming home.
To my presence.
To my truth.
To the softness that lives underneath everything.

A Practice Worth Returning To

If there is anything these experiences have shown me, it's this:

Silence is a practice.
A devotion.
A sacred meeting with ourselves.

And every time I choose it — even for a few minutes — I find that something in me unclenches.
Something softens.
Something opens.

In the quiet, I remember who I am.