The Power of Silence in the Healing Process

There was a time when I enjoyed silence – I would lay on the floor in my college dorm and simply think. I could take a walk and enjoy myself – enjoy nature, enjoy the breeze. The silence was peaceful, and it was healing. 

While my daughter was in the ICU with a new life long diagnosis, silence became suffocating – if I was left alone while Paige was in surgery, or if I couldn’t fall asleep because of adrenaline – silence became an enemy. The thoughts would come – everything that I was avoiding would hit me like a brick. The memories of Paige before hospital, the stress John and I were going through, the fear of losing Paige, the fear of the unknown – It would all come rushing – and I didn’t know what to do with any of it.

It was on one of these days I sat and wrote the following poem – when I realized how uncomfortable silence truly was. Yet I then realized that the silence was part of the healing process – I had to feel, I had to think. In order to get over the mountain, I had to begin the climb.

They say to sit in silence,
To process all the wrong 
I’m sitting here - in silence 
Yet my mind doesn’t have peace at all
I’m scared of the silence,
I’m afraid of the quiet
It feels so surreal -
It takes me places I don’t want to go 
Yet in that silence
Changes are made
Healing begins,
And silence begins,
To feel quiet again
"Good Pastures", pg. 69

Every so often, I need time to feel. In a busy life filled with to-do lists, phone calls, and taking care of Paige, it’s easy to avoid reflection. The first time Paige was assessed physically, I was Dr. Mom—answering questions and noting new tasks. I couldn’t feel sorrow that Paige was a year behind her age. I couldn’t feel emotions when I saw her struggle to sit up or hold her head up. So, the next week, I sat, remembered, and cried. I knew if I didn’t process it, it would rear its ugly head in other ways, like a mental breakdown or constant anxiety.

Similarly, Paige was half paralyzed – all day, her right side went paralyzed off and on (see my video of her disorder here). Paige couldn’t do what she wanted to do. I do all my normal things – I tell her it’s ok, I hold her left hand and give it kisses. I pretend like nothing’s wrong. One time her right side started working again, and she smiled – my tears started flowing. I held my girl and cried. I couldn’t bear to see her paralyzed but held it in for her sake until I couldn’t take it anymore. I was surprised at how much it hurt – I had forgotten the effect it was having on me daily.

Uncomfortable silence – it’s supposed to heal. It gives you time to think. One of the things I’ve learned in the past two years is to not be afraid of pain. To not be afraid to grieve. You will feel it, at some point or another, and certain ways are healthier than other. Embrace the silence, so that one day – it will start to feel quiet again.