Shut Up and Listen

Once upon a time, there was a little girl. She and her mother were good pals. The little girl had a lot of energy, more than most little girls, and sometimes this made her mother very tired. Sometimes, it made her so tired that she got throbbing pains in her head and wanted to send the little girl to preschool in Norway. So she invented nap-time. One day the little girl and her mother were hanging out at home. The little girl had been particularly hyper that day, and her mother was fantasizing about a quiet bedroom and some much deserved R&R. She suggested nap-time to her daughter. The little girl, wise beyond her years, responded, "Mom, the only reason you want me to take a nap is so that YOU can take a nap." The mother responded, "Exactly. Go to bed." I know it's hard to imagine, but that little girl is in fact me. Although I am somewhat more mature I still have a hard time shutting up. I am aware of the fact that this may be overwhelming to those around me. Nevertheless, there are many benefits to being quiet, which I recently learned in an experiment... Yesterday, I decided to observe an afternoon of silence. From lunch until the end of dinner I did not speak to anyone. To me, this was an integral part of treatment. Because I know that I am skilled in conversing, I often feel pressure to be funny and keep conversation (especially during meal time). Whenever I have a new thought or emotion my first response is to share it with someone else. This can be helpful when I need to be held accountable for my actions and as a part of my recovery. It can, however, hamper my ability to sit with my feelings, respecting and observing them. Talking all the time necessitates a lack of listening, and one of the most powerful aspects of group therapy programs like this is the ability to learn from others. For all these reasons I decided to shut up for six hours, and it's one of the best decisions that I've made yet. First of all, I had a beast to conquer: the possible move to PHP was driving me mad. I felt the need to create some sort of "game plan" to deal with it and desperately signed up for a meeting with my therapist to talk through how I was going to "handle" the transition. To meet with her, I would have had to cut my silent time short. About an hour into the experience I decided to forgo my meeting with my therapist and extend my silence, a scary decision that I am proud of having made. I had been fretting about the move to PHP with the other patients. Every time I mentioned it I felt fear, anxiety and negative thoughts course through my mind and body. In the Hindu religion, the act of chanting alone conveys power to the words, regardless of whether you understand or believe them. I was granting the same power to my nerves about the PHP program by talking about it. Silence forced me to sit with these feelings, so I furiously journaled through them. I examined them, understood them as different than my thoughts, and came out six hours later feeling ready and willing to make the transition. I would never have accomplished that task if I had been inclined to speak through it. And still, my silent treatment wrought other beautiful observances. Before silencing I asked the other therapists and patients for advice on how to get the most of my quiet time. They suggested that I regularly check in with how I'm feeling and note the body language of those around me; that I paraphrase what others say in order to check my comprehension; that I look at my feelings when I want to speak, observing the link between the thoughts and feelings that arise; and that I breathe (because, according to that therapist, when I speak I become visibly energetic and out of breath. Haha!). I took all of this advice. While silent I found that I didn't have to say every thought that came to my mind; often, these ideas were eventually delineated by someone else. I thought it a shame that it was only when I didn't speak that I felt the urge to observe others- the desire to interact often deterred from the value of my actual observing from, and learning from, those around me. Another interesting effect was that being silent distracted me from urges to stay standing and moving around during break periods, which draws a lot of attention to myself. I wanted to be a wallflower. Meal times were difficult, forcing me to sit through the "awkward silences." Lo and behold, the silence wasn't so awkward, and was actually kind of nice, and the others got through their meals (or didn't) and life went on. Simply knowing that I didn't have to talk made me feel so much lighter. In reality, the whole experience was vastly liberating. I felt and watched and listened and learned, and emerged full of new energy. Just what I needed! While not all remotes have a mute button, they do have a pause. My silent time felt like pausing one aspect of myself, zoning in, and looking at all the little squares that make up the whole image. It was so powerful that I think I'd like to make it a bi-weekly or monthly thing, and I may consider observing a period of silence the next time I've got a big decision to make or challenge to work through. P.S.- I confess that I did break the silence once. I farted in one of our group therapies and had to excuse myself. I'm telling you, this refeeding thing is a whole new beast... ;)