I don’t know when it happened exactly, but somewhere between trying to keep up with the world and trying to keep myself sane, I realized—I was craving silence. Not the awkward kind of silence that makes you want to reach for your phone or switch on Netflix. I mean the kind of silence that feels like a deep breath. The kind that doesn’t need to be filled. That just is. And it fills you in return.
The older I get, the more I find myself pulling away from the noise. Not just literal noise, like traffic or loud music or crowded rooms, but also the noise of expectations, comparisons, deadlines, small talk, and the never-ending pressure to be doing something productive or impressive. It’s exhausting. And I don’t know about you, but I’m tired.
So these days, I stay in more. I say “no” more. I choose myself more.
And it feels… good. Quietly, deeply good.
The Beauty of Silence
Silence used to scare me. I always thought it meant something was wrong—like I was being boring, lazy, or antisocial. If things got too quiet, I’d panic a little. Reach for a playlist, text someone, scroll aimlessly. Anything to fill the void.
But now, silence feels sacred. It feels like space to hear myself again. To notice how I’m really doing—not just what I’m telling other people or posting online. It’s in the quiet that I feel my emotions the most honestly. Sometimes it’s uncomfortable. But it’s also healing.
When there’s no noise, there’s room to feel. And that, I’ve realized, is something I’d been avoiding for a while. Because feeling is heavy. But it’s also human. And I want to be human again, not just “fine.”
There’s something almost magical about the silence of early mornings before the city wakes up. Or those moments in the shower when your mind finally lets go of everything it’s been clinging to. Or when you turn off the TV and just sit. Breathe. Exist.
It doesn’t sound like much. But it fills me up in a way noise never could.
Solitude Isn’t Loneliness
Let’s talk about solitude. Because it often gets confused with loneliness, but they’re not the same at all.
Loneliness feels like you’re missing something—or someone. Like a hunger for connection that’s gone unfulfilled. Solitude, though? Solitude is chosen. It’s soft. Intentional. Empowering. It’s being alone, with yourself, not away from others.
I used to think I needed to be constantly surrounded by people to feel okay. To feel seen. But being around others all the time sometimes made me feel more invisible. Like I had to perform some version of myself that didn’t really fit.
Now, I look forward to spending time with myself. No expectations, no roles to play. Just me, as I am. Reading a book. Writing in my journal. Watering my plants. Listening to music. Cooking something simple. Drinking tea slowly. Sitting by the window and doing absolutely nothing.
These small acts of being alone have become rituals. And they’ve taught me that I’m actually pretty good company.
There’s something quietly powerful about realizing you don’t need constant stimulation or social plans to feel whole. That you can enjoy your own presence. That your life doesn’t need to look busy to be meaningful.
Staying In and Opting Out
Staying in used to feel like missing out. Like I was being left behind. Everyone else seemed to be out doing fun things, meeting new people, having “main character” moments. And I felt like the extra who didn’t get invited.
But over time, I’ve learned that FOMO (fear of missing out) fades when you realize you’re not actually missing anything that matters to you. Sometimes we say yes to things just because we don’t want to feel left out. But if you don’t even enjoy those things, are you really missing out—or just missing yourself?
I used to force myself to go out even when I was drained. Now, I check in with myself first. Do I really want to go? Or do I just feel like I should?
More often than not, I’d rather stay in. Not because I hate people or don’t like having fun. But because I value my peace more. I’d rather have a quiet evening to recharge than a night out that leaves me socially hungover.
My couch, a good book or show, soft lighting, and comfy clothes? That’s my kind of party.
And when I do go out now, I go because I want to—not because I feel obligated. That simple shift has made a world of difference.
Slowing Down to Feel Full
This season of my life feels slower, quieter, gentler. And that’s exactly what I need.
There’s so much pressure to be “on” all the time. To hustle, grind, network, achieve. But honestly? I just want to rest. To breathe. To live without always trying to prove something.
Slowing down doesn’t mean I’m falling behind. It means I’m choosing presence over performance. Depth over distraction. And that’s not easy in a world that glorifies doing the most.
But every time I slow down, I find a little more of myself. And that’s something I never want to lose again.
Rediscovering the Joy in Simple Things
The more I stay in, the more I rediscover the joy in things I used to overlook.
Like how peaceful it feels to clean your space while listening to your favorite playlist. Or how grounding it is to stretch in the morning with the sunlight streaming through the curtains. Or how good that first sip of coffee tastes when you’re not rushing.
It’s the little things that are filling me up lately. The ordinary, quiet, everyday kind of joy.
I used to chase big moments—the highs, the milestones, the next exciting thing. But lately, I’m finding the most comfort in the in-between. The calm. The soft rhythms of a slower life.
There’s a sweetness to simplicity that I never appreciated before. But now, I crave it.
Protecting My Peace
A big part of this shift has also been about protecting my peace. Not just physically, by staying in, but emotionally, too.
I’ve started being more mindful about what I consume. What I watch, read, scroll through. Who I follow. Who I let into my space. Not everything or everyone deserves access to your energy.
Silence and solitude have helped me see what drains me and what fills me. And I’m learning to choose more of what fills.
Boundaries used to feel like walls. Now, they feel like doors I get to close when I need rest. Or windows I open only when it feels safe. Saying no isn’t rude—it’s self-respect.
And staying in isn’t isolating—it’s intentional.
Reconnecting With Myself
At the heart of it all, this season of silence, solitude, and staying in has been about reconnecting with myself. Slowing down enough to ask, What do I actually want? What do I need? What makes me feel alive?
And it turns out, I don’t need much. Just some peace. Some time. Some quiet.
This version of me—the one who’s not rushing, not performing, not constantly chasing—is the most grounded I’ve felt in a long time. I still have my messy days, my overthinking spirals, my restless nights. But even in the chaos, I’ve found a kind of stillness I didn’t know I was capable of.
Because when you stop running from silence, you start hearing yourself again. When you embrace solitude, you stop feeling alone. And when you stay in—not just your home, but in your own body, your own truth—you find something solid to stand on.
An Invitation, Not a Prescription
I’m not saying everyone should cancel all their plans and become a hermit. Life is about balance. Connection is beautiful. So are spontaneous adventures and belly laughs with friends.
But if you’ve been feeling burnt out, overstimulated, or just a little lost—maybe it’s time to try a little silence. A little solitude. A few more nights in. Not as a punishment, but as a way back to yourself.
Let the world spin without you for a bit. It’ll be okay.
And maybe, just maybe, you’ll find what I did: that silence isn’t empty, solitude isn’t lonely, and staying in isn’t boring.
Sometimes, it’s exactly what you need.
Ayerhs Magazine 