The Session That Was Mostly Silence

 

The room felt different that day.
Not heavy - just quiet in a way that made everything softer. She sat down gently, pulled her knees up a little, and let out a long, uneven breath.

I waited.

Not the attentive, ready-to-interpret kind of waiting - just... being there.

She looked around the room like she was trying to find the right place to set her thoughts, but nothing quite fit. Her hands folded and unfolded. 

Another breath.

Silence.

Minutes passed like slow ripples.

There was no story that day.

No update.

No breakthrough.

Just the kind of silence that sits between two people who both know something is shifting, even if neither of them can name it yet.

The Quiet That Speaks

Silence can feel uncomfortable for many people, but in therapy, it often holds the most truth. Her silence was empty - it was full. Full of things she wasn't ready to say and feelings she was just starting to notice and the grief that had lived unspoken for years. 

She wasn't hiding.

She was listening - not to me, but to herself.

To whatever had been too loud or too quiet inside her for too long.

A Small Moment of Connection

At one point, she looked up at me, eye damp but steady. She didn't speak. She didn't have to.

I nodded - a small, warm acknowledgement that said I'm here. You're not alone in this quiet.

Her shoulders softened.

Her breath settled.

Sometimes that's the whole session. And sometimes, that's exactly what's needed.

Healing Without Words

Not every session is a story or revelation. Some are simply a place to rest - to stop performing, stop explaining, stop holding everything together.

Silence can be a pause in the chaos. 

A doorway

A preparation. 

And often, the sessions that look the quietest are the ones where the deepest internal work is quietly beginning. 

Next up in this series: The Child Who Found Safety in Routine - a gentle look at how predictability in the therapy room becomes a foundation for trust and healing.