So interesting. Silence is also so self-protective. While you're shutting the other person out, you're protecting yourself. It's like leaving the room and closing the door.
Yeah, there are definitely constructive uses of silence, and I wrote a paragraph about people needing to be silent simply because they're overwhelmed or don't have the words. I think it's best in those occasions to make sure it's not felt as the silent treatment, and more about your needs so that the silence isn't felt as a weapon. It's all tricky. And difficult.
Love this sentence- The genius of it, from a manipulator’s perspective, is the deniability. Nothing was said. Nothing happened. And yet the pain goes deep."
My closest friend gave me the silent treatment. For nine months. I had no idea what I had done. She wouldn't tell me. It was deeply unsettling and disturbing for all that time. When she finally told me what had provoked her cutting me off, it was so small and so easily remedied that we were both dumbfounded. So much time wasted. A year later she died of heart failure. I was so grateful we had another year of friendship, so grateful the rift was healed and she was too.
I think this story says it. So often the silent treatment is over something small—or something misunderstood—or the silence speaks to other problems. I'm so glad you made up with your friend in time for her last year. A lesson to us all: to not wait.
Recently read Jeannie Vanasco’s memoir “A Silent Treatment” about her mother’s use of punishing and erratic silence. A difficult read, but well worth it if you’re interested in the subject.
I have definitely gone silent. When I've tried to talk about difficult things, I'm found my voice literally gone. I've opened my mouth to try and explain my feelings and no sound has come out. I've found myself unable to speak. It's horrible all around.
Thanks, Marta. I've heard people say similar things: they've gone silent not to hurt, but to find their words. It seems like saying that could be wonderful in its own way. As in, I'm not trying to hurt you, I just need time to find words that will help lead to resolution and not create pain. Finding the right words is tough.
I felt like I had PTSD just reading this piece, especially, "There’s a particular cruelty in silence’s ambiguity. If someone shouts at you, the message is clear. If someone goes silent, you’re left to interpret—to wonder what you did, whether you imagined it, and how to fix it."
My partner was a master of the silent treatment for years. I'd never encountered that before and didn't know how to handle it. We worked through it, thankfully. (It seems he thought silence was better than argument.) I hope to never experience that again.
So interesting. Silence is also so self-protective. While you're shutting the other person out, you're protecting yourself. It's like leaving the room and closing the door.
Yeah, there are definitely constructive uses of silence, and I wrote a paragraph about people needing to be silent simply because they're overwhelmed or don't have the words. I think it's best in those occasions to make sure it's not felt as the silent treatment, and more about your needs so that the silence isn't felt as a weapon. It's all tricky. And difficult.
Love this sentence- The genius of it, from a manipulator’s perspective, is the deniability. Nothing was said. Nothing happened. And yet the pain goes deep."
Thanks, Liz!
My closest friend gave me the silent treatment. For nine months. I had no idea what I had done. She wouldn't tell me. It was deeply unsettling and disturbing for all that time. When she finally told me what had provoked her cutting me off, it was so small and so easily remedied that we were both dumbfounded. So much time wasted. A year later she died of heart failure. I was so grateful we had another year of friendship, so grateful the rift was healed and she was too.
I think this story says it. So often the silent treatment is over something small—or something misunderstood—or the silence speaks to other problems. I'm so glad you made up with your friend in time for her last year. A lesson to us all: to not wait.
“Death is the silence, in this language of violence.”—SF’s own Michael Franti in Disposable Heroes of Hiphoprisy.
Dang, I needed this quote when I wrote this. Thanks!
Especially wounding to autistic people and a very deliberate form of harm. This is really well written.
Recently read Jeannie Vanasco’s memoir “A Silent Treatment” about her mother’s use of punishing and erratic silence. A difficult read, but well worth it if you’re interested in the subject.
Jeannie was on our podcast! I meant to mention her book here, so maybe I'll do a follow-up.
That's how I found out about her book!
This hits home. Your writing has a knack of making me feel less alone. Thanks, Grant.
Love hearing that, Nin!
I have definitely gone silent. When I've tried to talk about difficult things, I'm found my voice literally gone. I've opened my mouth to try and explain my feelings and no sound has come out. I've found myself unable to speak. It's horrible all around.
Thanks, Marta. I've heard people say similar things: they've gone silent not to hurt, but to find their words. It seems like saying that could be wonderful in its own way. As in, I'm not trying to hurt you, I just need time to find words that will help lead to resolution and not create pain. Finding the right words is tough.
I felt like I had PTSD just reading this piece, especially, "There’s a particular cruelty in silence’s ambiguity. If someone shouts at you, the message is clear. If someone goes silent, you’re left to interpret—to wonder what you did, whether you imagined it, and how to fix it."
My partner was a master of the silent treatment for years. I'd never encountered that before and didn't know how to handle it. We worked through it, thankfully. (It seems he thought silence was better than argument.) I hope to never experience that again.