Up until I was about thirty years old, I was absolutely terrified of silence. Silence was where anxiety lived. And because of that, I avoided it at all costs. I never wanted to be alone. If I found myself alone, I would manically try to find someone to fill the void, and when I couldn’t, I would turn the television on loudly, shut all the blinds, and lie on the couch in absolute stillness, trying not to make any waves or think any thoughts.
Silence was when the beasts would come out. Anything could cause an overwhelming gush of anxiety that once activated could take weeks, months, or even years to overcome. (Truth be told, I still haven’t overcome them all.) For years I wouldn’t go to bed until I was so dizzy from fatigue that I had to hold on to the bed to keep from falling because if there’s one thing that’s silent, it’s sleep.
It was a crazy life because, as I’m sure you can imagine, no one can always be around people. Silence must come. Thoughts are a necessity of life. I was trapped.
But this story, at least for now, has a happy ending. Now I can be in silence. I now know how to handle some of those anxious thoughts that come to me. I know that hiding isn’t the answer, and that we must face the silence or else it will overcome our lives.
And ironically enough, now I have no silence. My silence breakers come in the form of three little girls. I’m sure there has to have been a sixty second break in their chatter at some point over the last few years. I just can’t seem to remember when it occurred.
Now the noise is deafening. And sometimes I feel lost in it. Sometimes the noise mixes with all of the chaos that I feel circling around me, and I get dizzy trying to make my way through it. Sometimes when that happens, TJ is home, and sometimes he takes the kids out on an errand or two. He did that yesterday.
Yesterday afternoon, he decided to take the kids to a park and to get ice cream. I was exhausted, so I opted to stay home, and I sat on the couch knitting the entire two hours. And the silence was golden. Yesterday, silence was peace and deep breaths and space to move around in my life and become me for a couple of hours.
Sometimes silence is very, very good.
And then there’s the silence of now. It’s not even silent — Mickey Mouse Clubhouse is playing on television, and Mae is right by my side sipping her milk rather loudly. No, the silent of today isn’t auditory. It’s more of a space left empty. A hole.
When I dropped Magoo off at preschool for the first time and left, I remember barely being able to get out of the parking lot. It was so hard leaving when a part of me was still there. Now, I’m used to that feeling. I’m used to pulling out of that parking lot with one less chamber of my heart than when I pulled in. But what I wasn’t prepared for was the silence
As those of you who know her know, Goosie can fill up almost any room. She’s the giant person in the miniature body. And she surely fills up our home. And now that she’s gone, everything is just so… still. And calm. And quiet.
And I start to wonder if once you become a mom, silence is ever the same again. If silence ever signals anything more than a lack of what used to be here. Sometimes that hole is okay — like yesterday when I was relaxing. And sometimes it’s painful and terrifying — like today. But regardless of the response, it’s always a hole.
I don’t know the answer to that, and I presume I won’t for many years. But I do know that my favorite part of the holes my kids leave when they are at school is the joy I feel as they fill back up. Then as I look around my disaster zone of a home, and I hear the whining and crying and screaming and laughing and joyous raucous, I smile, as I pull my hair out, because chaotic as they might be, there’s no place I would rather have my kids than right in my arms.