There Is Nothing Wrong With Quiet

The older I get, and the more seasoned I become as a social worker and counselor, the more I find myself paying attention to how we respond to other people’s silence.

I hear it often from the young people I work with. They want space. They want to be quiet. They want to spend a little time in their own world. And sometimes, the people who love them interpret that as something else.

You are misbehaving. You are being rude. You have an attitude.

But what if, in that moment, they simply want to be quiet?

Over the past few months of working with children and teenagers, this has come up repeatedly. And it has made me think about how far that interpretation follows us into adulthood. Into our relationships with coworkers, our families, our friends, and our partners.

Someone becomes quiet, and we start filling the silence with our own explanations.

Are you upset with me? Did I do something? Why are you acting differently?

Sometimes, before we have even given the person room to exist in their quiet, we have already made it about us.

I say “we” because I am challenging myself here, too.

I want to become more mindful of respecting people’s space. I want to create the kind of relationship where someone knows they can come to me when they need something, without feeling that I will poke and probe until they talk before they are ready.

And yes, someone reading this might think, Isn’t that common sense? You had to learn that from your clients?

I understand the question. But knowing something and practicing it when our own feelings are involved can be two different things.

When we love someone, we want to know what is happening inside them. We want to help. We want to feel close. And silence can be an awkward place to sit, especially when we are not the person choosing it.

It leaves room for uncertainty. It gives our minds somewhere to wander.

Learning to sit beside someone without requiring them to explain their quiet takes practice. I am learning that caring about someone does not entitle me to enter every space they occupy.

Including their silence.

A few months ago, my little sister and I were driving together. Usually, our drives are full of conversation. We talk on the way to our parents’ house. We talk when I am driving back toward Jersey with her. There is usually something to catch up on, laugh about, or discuss.

But on this particular drive, she was quiet.

And so was I.

We drove. We reached our destination. When it was time to drop her off, there were hugs, goodbyes, and “I love yous.”

There was nothing wrong with that drive.

I have had quiet drives with my father, too. We can share the road, share the car, share the time, without needing to fill every mile with conversation.

There is nothing wrong with quiet.

I want to remember that in the smaller moments, too. If you want to sit beside me by the fire and poke at the wood without saying much, we can do that. We can be in the house together, each doing our own thing. We can enjoy each other’s presence without making conversation a requirement.

And a person should not always have to make a formal announcement to receive that space.

Sometimes, the quiet itself is something we can notice and allow.

I hear both sides of this in my work. A young person wants to spend time alone on their iPad. A sibling feels disappointed because they want someone to play with. A parent worries that their teenager’s silence is defiance.

Those feelings can exist at the same time. Someone can want connection, and someone else can need a little room. The disappointment deserves understanding, but so does the need for space.

The same thing happens between adults. A partner becomes quiet, and suddenly the questions grow heavier: Do you still love me? Are you thinking about someone else? Are you pulling away?

I wonder how often we ask another person to keep talking because we are uncomfortable with what we do not know.

Of course, there are times when quiet deserves a check-in. Someone may be struggling, and a change in how they engage may be worth noticing. I want to remain attentive to that.

But I do not want offense to be my first response.

I can ask, “Would you like company, or would you like some space?” I can let someone know I am available. And I can give them time to answer without turning my concern into another demand.

I want to be confident enough in my relationships to allow room for quiet. To trust the connection we have built, while continuing to make it safe for the other person to speak when they are ready.

Because silence can be a boundary.

And I am learning to respect it without requiring someone to defend it first.

So here’s to the quiet drives. The shared rooms. The moments by the fire when nobody has much to say.

You can sit beside me.