How comfortable are we with silence? Are you somebody who will happily sit for hours and enjoy the peace and tranquility of a silent place? Or are you somebody who will immediately switch the radio on the minute things go quiet?
What about in the therapy room? (and I think we can ponder this either from a therapist or client perspective). Do silences bring with them, anxiety? Do you find yourself thinking “Has this gone on too long?”; “Should I speak?”; “I can’t think of anything to say!”; “Aaargh!”?
I think most people can probably relate to that at some time or other. I particularly remember feeling that way in my early experiences of working with clients. I think my anxiety was about not feeling ‘enough’ and that this silence would lead me to be ‘found out’ by the client. What those thoughts did, of course, was draw me away from the present moment. I became so anxious about what was to come next that I probably missed a great deal of what was happening in the here-and-now.
Silence often takes place in my own therapy. My therapist has taught me that I don’t need to have a response straight away, and nor does he. I can now give myself permission to sit with what I am feeling and see what emerges. This gives me an opportunity to communicate with myself, find out what is happening for me, and also to notice what is being communicated, unspoken, in the therapeutic relationship. I have also grown to be comfortable when silence emerges with clients. In my view it can be a vessel for trust and connection, when its value is recognised, and we remain present, in the moment, noticing our own responses and what we can see occurring for a client. There is also value in discussing silences, how they are experienced and what meaning they hold for the client. Far from being a hindrance or awkward exposure of my impostor status, silence is our teacher and an invisible facilitator of therapeutic movement.
Ancient Chinese philosopher Lao-Tzu told us that “silence is a source of great strength”. I do think it has the power to strengthen our relationships with each other and with ourselves. I think it also provides energy, shifts energy, and allows us to notice where our energy is focused, offering us the opportunity to refocus if we feel stuck, or in need of redirection.
I am not somebody who leaps for the radio when things fall silent, so my understanding of the value of silence in therapy is somewhat shaped by personal attitude to silence in general. But I do want to encourage anybody, not just in therapeutic relationships but anywhere, with anyone, or even by yourself – just notice what happens when things go silent; notice where your thoughts go, what happens to your breathing and where your energy is. So much of what is happening in our bodies and our psyche goes unnoticed as we rush from one thing to the next. Let’s experience the unexperienced, both in therapy and beyond.