Alexa? Stop! Why We Avoid Silence and How We Can Learn to Embrace It
Does anyone else feel an unreasonable level of rage when they can’t find their headphones?
You’re convinced you put them back in your bag and now you’re elbow-deep in your backpack's mucky midnight zone. Ugh, what even IS that? You check your coat pocket. Not there. Desk drawer? Nope. You retrace your steps like a crime scene investigator, finding other things you’ve lost along the way, but a bike lock key isn’t going to help you listen to ya dream pop playlist now is it?
And seriously, if one more person asks, “When did you last have them?” you will lose it. You are, after all, good at losing things.
And then, just as the irritation reaches boiling point, there they are. Where you last had them. In the jacket you wore yesterday. But maybe the real frustration here isn’t the headphones themselves - it’s what they represent.
An addiction to sound.
To noise.
To never being alone with our own thoughts.
Alexa? STOP.
Silence is unsettling.
It’s why we fill every pause in a conversation with half-thought-out words. Why we scroll mindlessly while watching TV. Why we blast music, stick on a four hour podcast, or declare we “need background noise” as we get on with our day.
We talk about slowing down, mindfulness and presence, but we’re constantly going, go, go - mentally, digitally, audibly.
This may be why so many of us struggle when things go quiet.
New Ears Resolutions
I decided to do something different for my New Year's reso this year. To give silence a try. No music while working. No podcasts while walking. No carefully curated playlists while running.
Just…silence.
I wanted to investigate why silence seems so scary and what the space around it brings up for me and so many others.
The same silence of a mid-conversation standstill. We all know it well; that painful moment when the…Talking. Just. Stops.
The pause is longer than a Joe Rogan podcast and the mind races to fill the space.
The same silence that follows an argument with a loved one, taking you back to a time when you were given the ‘silent treatment’ as a child for, well, being a child.
The forgotten-their-lines silence, the silence that follows disappointment, fear, anger, sadness. The sitting an exam silence, the silence of an empty library. The two minute silence following/remembering an awful event. The sparkless dinner date silence…the silence of a waiting room, the imagined silence of a post-apocalyptic world or a lifeless planet.
Does silence remind us of our immortality?
It’s why many people struggle to meditate, right? They can’t stand the silence. Except, I think they mean that they can’t stand the sound of their own thoughts.
Suffering in silence
For those who deal with anxiety, silence can feel less like an intentional pause and more like a moment of overthinking and self-doubt getting louder and filling the space with what ifs and remember-that-thing-you-said-in-2014s.
In this fast-paced, hyperconnected world, silence does feel unnatural. We’re used to constant stimulation, be it scrolling, talking, watching, listening. Silence interrupts that rhythm, leaving us alone with our thoughts. Sometimes, that’s the last place we want to be.
The Experiment: silence in situations
Having something in my ears is a safety net. Walking down the street, headphones in, I feel like I’ve built a little force field around myself. A universal sign for please don’t talk to me, don’t ask me for directions or try to sell me a dodgy broadband deal.
It’s also a work thing. I thought I concentrated better with music. Give me a lo-fi playlist, and I’m full steam ahead, hoping everyone is well via email and ticking off my to-do list all before the next track starts (a challenge I frequently set myself).
But it was time to explore a place where I didn’t need music to function.
Working in silence
At first, it was weird. I sat down to work, and my brain went into withdrawal.
"Wait. Where’s the music? Where’s the background noise? What am I doing here?"
Admittedly, it took me a few days to shake off my rigid routine, fleeting between Radio 6 and my ‘music to work to’ playlist. However, I did the very human thing and adapted over time. When I did? Wow, did I get going. Like, really got going. The usual distractions faded, and I was completely absorbed in what I was doing.
Maybe silence isn’t the enemy of productivity but a secret weapon…
Walking in silence
This was really bloody nice, actually. Birdsong. The distant hum of traffic. The tail end of people’s conversations as they passed by, little reminders that we’re all basically the same, existing and chatting. I felt that I had more creative ideas on these walks, topics to write about, nice ideas for a poem, what I should say back to that text I was avoiding. Walking + silence = curiosity + creativity.
The walks felt shorter, too. Probably because I wasn’t face down in my phone, endlessly skipping through my Liked Songs, which I’ve overplayed to the point where I’m not even sure I like any of them anymore…
Running in silence
It’s a NO from me.
The sound of my own breath was unbearable. I felt more out of breath like I was suddenly aware of my mortality and the fact that I might keel over at any second.
0/10 would absolutely not recommend.
Sleeping in silence
I’ve never been a nighttime podcast person. I sometimes leave a nice meditative music playlist running in the background while I nod off, but fortunately, I have never been super reliant on sound to soothe me to sleep.
For those that do, I did some research. Experts suggest gradually reducing the volume over time. Try switching from voices to nature sounds or white noise. Or - radical idea - try sitting with silence for just a few minutes before bed.
Meditating in silence
I’m a guided meditation junkie (perhaps not the same ring to it as Dizzee Rascal's declaration of devotion to bassline in 2013).
Give me a soothing voice telling me to inhale, exhale and picture a glowing light and I’ve got that on repeat. A meditation teacher late last year told me to ease into more stillness - to start guided and then, like a dove, be set free into the terrifying abyss of meditative quiet.
So, I gave it a go. Three weeks of sitting in near-silence, and - again, over time - I adapted. I even came up with a meditation (shared at the end of this post), which convinced my noisy mind that this wasn’t actually silent meditation because there's always going to be some kind of noise.
Is silence trying to tell us something?
I’m a big believer in things presenting themselves to us when we are ready for them. This could be a book, a chapter of a book, a podcast, or piece of poetry, a person, a challenge, a change. A book I was reading while exploring the silent space, shared this quote by French philosopher Blaise Pascal.
"All of humanity's problems stem from man's inability to sit quietly in a room alone.’’
In the era of smartphones and social media, it's easy to forget that he wrote it in the 1600s.
This quote resonated deeply with me because in my weeks of giving myself silence treatment, I realised that I, like many others, treated silence like an awkward guest at a party - desperate to fill the space, to smooth over the quiet with words, noise, or mindless distractions. But what if we actually listened to what it had to say instead of resisting it?
Because silence does speak.
It tells us when we need to slow down, when we’re overstimulated, when we’ve been running on autopilot, stuffing every moment with background noise because we’re scared of what we might hear in the quiet.
It reminds us that connection isn’t just about words. Some of the strongest bonds aren’t built through endless conversation but through being able to sit in silence with someone and not feel the need to fill it.
It nudges us towards clarity. It gently guides us towards the thoughts that get buried under constant distraction. And while it can feel unnatural at first, sitting with silence can be one of the most grounding things we do.
Silence is where ideas form. It’s where creativity happens. It’s where we sit with ourselves, however uncomfortable that might be.
Finding the balance between noise and nothingness
I won’t claim silence has transformed me into some zen master who has shunned sound forever. I’m back playing music and listening to a good podcast, and I still get mardy at Google when she mishears me.
Albert Einstein was known to listen to music while working, often playing the violin himself, and considered music a crucial part of his thought process. It’s said that he would likely have been a musician if he hadn't been a physicist. His wife described how he would often break from his work to play the piano and jot down notes, suggesting music helped him with his scientific thinking.
I quite like this way of doing it.
The silent sweet spot is being intentional and reflective about when to invite sound into the day. Now, I work in silence for the first hour before switching on BBC Radio 6, letting the music fill the space before easing back into quiet focus later on.
And the best part? Silence doesn’t feel like a void anymore. It’s just sort of… there. It's a space that isn’t empty or awkward but actually kind of nice (sometimes).
Quick tips for conquering the quiet
If the idea of total silence freaks you out, start small. Turn down the background noise rather than cutting it out completely.
Work in silence for the first hour of the day, then bring in the noise when you choose, not out of habit.
Notice the sounds around you: birdsong, distant chatter, your own thoughts (not as terrifying as they seem, promise).
Rethink the awkward silence. It is just a space. Let it be there. Let it breathe.
Try something new. Flotation tank? Meditation? (See below) Sitting in a café without reaching for your phone? Experiment with it - silence might surprise you.
My ‘simply silent’ guided meditation
Sit quietly with your legs crossed and back straight. If that’s not comfortable, sitting upright in a chair works just as well.
Take three full deep breaths - in through the nose, out through the mouth.
Already, your mind is wandering. That’s okay. Let it. Just notice.
Now, focus on the sensation of your breath. Where do you feel it most? The air entering and exiting your nostrils? The rise and fall of your belly, your shoulders, your chest?
Sit with it. Stick with it.
It’s never fully silent, is it? Listen out for three different sounds - the washing machine, the hum of traffic, birdsong, even just the quiet creaks of your home.
Follow each sound all the way through until it fades, then wait for the next one to arise.
A little like your thoughts - coming and going, like noises and sounds.
If you get distracted (you will), notice it, be kind to yourself (“Hey, it’s okay, the mind wanders!”), and gently return to listening.
Do this for ten minutes. And if you don’t have ten minutes? Do it for half an hour.
Written by Chelsea Branch
Chelsea, 34, is a writer exploring the psyche, relationships with others and ourselves, and the messy, beautiful journey of being human. She is currently juggling her online marketing business, blogs, multiple Google Drive folders with book ideas, a TV script, and poetry—all the things writers will get around to doing. Through her relatable ramblings, she hopes to bring laughter, hope, and healing. Find her on Instagram @chelseabwrites.
