You Never Let Silence Finish

My therapist once leaned back, folded her hands, and said

“Your problem isn’t fear. It’s that you don’t trust silence.”

I nodded like I understood, even though my brain was screaming, What does silence want from me?

“You fill every quiet moment with noise so you don’t have to listen to yourself.”

That sentence stayed with me for years. Especially at night. When the apartment was silent. Too silent.

Last night, in that silence, I finally listened. And I heard breathing. Not mine.

Heart pounding, crept through the hallway, and whispered, “Who’s there?” The breathing stopped.

Then a voice replied, “You never let me finish my sentence.”

The lights flicked on. It was my therapist—sitting on my couch, holding a clipboard. She smiled warmly and said

“And that is why we don’t interrupt silence.”