Quiet. It’s such a simple thing. No noise, no sound, no voices or interaction. But, oh, how I fight to avoid it! It can be threatening to some, overwhelming to others, yet some find solace in it. It’s a place where I can explore and learn about myself without distraction, if I just put the damn phone down. Once I become acquainted with quiet, it draws me back into itself, hoping to become even more intimate friends, lovers perhaps.

It’s a place where my shadows come forward to be placed in the light. A place where my deepest fears become known. Quiet is were I meet myself, face-to-face, with no where else to turn. Avoiding distraction and meeting myself in the quiet is where I heal. It’s where I find my darkest places and my greatest passions. Quiet is where everything can be found, known and understood. It’s where creativity flourishes and flows. It’s a place that I push as far away from me as I can because it’s scary and unknown. But once I cross into the unknown, I can know. I can know myself. I become friends with my darkest memories, finding that they do not define me, but are a part of my experience. I can separate from the pain and allow it to be there, where it can be a memory, not an active lesion that oozes and spills out pain.

Quiet is where I face my demons, the ones I created and the ones who showed up.  Demons that are big, loud and scary!  When they show up, they cause physical pain, mental anguish, and even torture.  I just want to run!  Run as far and as fast as I can, to the hills and far, far away.  I see them approaching and scream, “RUN, FOREST, RUN!”

BREATHE!  I stop, put my phone back down, remove the distraction and make the conscience decision to settle my heart instead.  I choose to sit with these demons, in the quiet, and give them voice, allowing them to feel. The demons begin to morph.  They aren’t as big as I remembered, in fact, they become small children. There is one sitting right in front of me. I see her small quivering lips, tear-filled eyes and the worry lines across her forehead. She’s too little to have worry lines. I reach for her, pull her tear-streaked face into me, and embrace her with all the love and compassion I have. This is no demon. This is a scared, sweet little child. She is a tiny me. The tiny person I used to be who was desperate for love, acceptance, nurturing, approval and belonging. As I look around, I can see they are all me in various forms. In the quiet, I can sit with her and provide all her needs. Look her in the eye and remind her, she is safe, she is loved, she is accepted, and she does belong. I hold each child with all the strength I have because as each child finds peace, my heart settles more and I am at peace.

Quiet.  It’s such a simple thing.