Listening in Silence

It’s 8 pm and it’s quiet in my house. I live for this hour. At the same time, I want the noise to come back. I want to be busy. I want the distractions. In these few hours of solitude, I want something else. Something other than quiet.

The quiet is an echo chamber of my inability. It forces me to face my sadness and insecurity. Take me anywhere but here, the silence is too loud.

I stay.
I pray.
I push through the sound barrier like a rocket pushing through the Earth’s atmosphere.
I feel the pressure.

Force, stress, and strain, I sit in the pain until finally, noisy silence breaks.

I hear a weightless symphony.

The stroke of my pen across the page. The low hum of my dryer and the zippers on my clothes clanging against the metal. I hear the distant sound of traffic pushing against the frigid air. I hear lullaby music soothing my son to sleep.

This kind of quiet amplifies the sounds of home. This kind of silence ushers in the words I need to hear —

I’m okay.
I am where I’m supposed to be.
Shame has no hold on me.

Seek the kind of silence that teaches you to listen. Seek the kind of quiet that brings you back home.