The Benefits of Silence

I recently visited the New Convent of Arrábida, where the Arrábida friars once lived, devoted to silence and prayer. In that space I was able to "listen" to the silence the Franciscan fathers once "listened" to.

When you listen to silence, you come to see that silence is not emptiness; it is fertile ground. It is the clearing in the middle of the forest where, suddenly, we can hear our own voice. We live immersed in notifications, news, opinions, advice — an incessant noise demanding quick answers. Silence, by contrast, demands nothing; it offers us time, firm ground, stability.

Psychologically, silence is regulating. When stimulation drops, the body leaves alert mode and the mind gains room to integrate emotions and thoughts. The breath slows, focus untangles itself, attention finds itself again. It is in that interval that self-awareness grows: we recognise the tension, identify what truly worries us and what we can already let go. Without words pressing in, what is essential appears with an almost disarming simplicity.

Being in silence is an act of courage in an age that mistakes noise for importance. It is not isolation. It is presence without distraction.

In silence, emotions can complete their cycle without getting caught in words of identification or of resistance and opposition. Anger is observed without our being taken over by anger. Sadness is welcomed without our sinking into it. Silence allows room to name our emotions, and when we do so we gain freedom of choice. The choice to act, to wait, to ask for help, to say no.

Outside noise tends to align us with other people's expectations: "I should want this", "I should be that." In silence, the energy drains out of the "should", and it becomes possible to ask, free of external pressure: "What is true for me?" The answer never arrives shouting. It arrives as an alignment: the body relaxes, the mind stops debating, the decision breathes. It is this congruence that empowers us. Because power is not speaking louder; it is speaking from a place that is whole.

Silence also improves the quality of our relationships. When we learn to listen to ourselves, we listen better to the other person. We no longer need to fill spaces with justifications; we can allow pauses, accept rhythms, ask questions that genuinely open doors. Shared silence is not an awkward void; it is trust. It is saying: "I can be with you without needing to save you or to defend myself."

The encounter with silence is not always easy. When we draw near to silence, the first encounter may be with the inner noise: lists, criticisms, memories. That is to be expected. The invitation is not to fight it; it is to allow the inner murmur to settle, like churned water that clears once we stop stirring it. Small rituals can help: switching off the phone for half an hour; walking without headphones; drinking a cup of tea without screens; sitting for five minutes observing the breath. Start with short periods of silence, repeat, and trust.

There is also a creative silence — that interval in which the imagination finds its way. Ideas emerge when they are not being chased. Solutions become visible when we stop forcing them. Silence is not a waste of time; it is an investment in clarity. It is the difference between running blindly and walking with direction, with meaning.

Silence is home. There is no need to earn it — only to grant it to ourselves. When we do, we gain a discreet superpower: the freedom to respond to the world without losing ourselves in it.

Centuries ago, the Arrábida monks knew the value of silence — and perhaps today we can learn it, feel that value for ourselves. I invite you, today, to give yourself that choice: switch off for a while, sit down, breathe, and serenely listen to the silence.