Writing for Silence:

When you get tired of writing for silence, but silence is the only one to listen.

We often think much more than we speak. Sometimes, brilliant ideas visit us in that limbo between wakefulness and sleep. Other times, we dream our thoughts and find solutions, only to wake up and forget what we dreamed of.

Often, we feel overwhelmed and leave our notes app cluttered with fragments of ourselves, grocery lists, half-formed projects, and that one unsent message listing every wrongdoing of an ex. Now, we turn to ChatGPT for ideas, for comfort, for therapy: free, instant, and impersonal.

But it begs the question: why do we keep creating these voids to dump our ideas and feelings into? Has it become too painful, or too expensive, to simply be human? Too lonely to share our most vulnerable moments with those we love? Have we become so afraid to face our feelings that everything must pass through a filter first?

We pour so much soul into the void.

We’ve become experts at speaking softly about the things that should make us scream. Every word has to sound smart, every opinion rehearsed, every emotion marketable. Somewhere between intellect and irony, we lost the right to just feel.

We stash brilliance in the drafts folder, bury confessions between grocery lists, whisper truth to algorithms because it feels safer than saying it out loud. We’ve mistaken restraint for wisdom, and silence for grace.

Life isn’t meant to be curated. It’s meant to be lived messily, impulsively, breathtakingly unproductive at times. Write that nonsense book draft at midnight. Take that long walk while smoking that cigarette. Let a song make you believe the world was written just for you. Those reckless, useless, unmeasured moments are the proof that you’re still alive. Don’t throw them away. Capture them. Feel them. Communicate them.

We built this illusion that intellect must always sound polished, that emotion is primitive unless wrapped in theory. But all that posturing leaves us starving for sincerity. We compete for who can articulate emptiness better instead of daring to fill it.

Loneliness taught me that no one else can be me, that no one else will give my inner world the grace it deserves. So I write, even when it makes no sense. I am no Carrie Bradshaw, but I share, even if no one reads. Because if I don’t give my thoughts daylight, no one will.

Maybe that’s what the world needs, not more discipline, but more devotion. To our ideas, our flaws, our fleeting moments of madness. The soul isn’t meant to be efficient. It’s meant to be felt.

You are precious, kind, generous, and loving. You deserve all the happiness life has to offer. Give yourself a chance. Be authentic and simply relax. At the end of the day, it’s just life; it’ll pass.

Until next time,

xoxo