There’s a kind of silence that feels like absence.
And then there’s the silence that feels like arrival.
I used to fill every moment—moving, reaching, explaining, proving.
Stillness made me anxious.
It felt like failure. Like I was falling behind.
Because the world teaches us that movement is meaning, and slowness is laziness.
That productivity is virtue, and presence is indulgence
But that was never my truth.
That was the performance I’d absorbed.
And slowly, I’ve been unlearning it.
Stillness is not emptiness.
It’s where I hear the voice underneath all the noise.
It’s where I remember that my worth isn’t something I manufacture—it’s something I inhabit.
When I stop chasing, I start listening.
And in that listening, I remember who I am.
Not the image. Not the hustle. Not the role.
But the steady, quiet pulse of the self that doesn’t need permission to exist.
In stillness, I don’t disappear.
I return.
To breath.
To body.
To soul.
To what I truly want.
To what I already have.
To what I no longer need to carry.
The world will always ask me to do more.
But stillness reminds me: I am not here to be consumed.
I am here to be whole.
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✨ What might you hear if you let the silence speak?
✨ Next: Part IV: What My Body Knows
🏛️ Back to: The Truth of Being
⬅️ Previous: Part II: The Performance I Let Go
The Truth of Being
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