What is silence like?
What is silence like? I’ve been asked this a few times. I read a quote recently from a deafened person who wished she could say to her younger self, “silence will become your sanctuary”. And man, did that hit.
True silence is a presence. It’s thick and other-worldly. It floods through to fill up the space in between things. It’s an infinite cover that drapes over everything in the world. To a hearing person, this is hard to comprehend.
It’s not hearing the leaves blowing in the breeze. Or the water streaming in the shower. Not hearing the roar of a car’s engine, or the frypan sizzling on the stove.
It’s seeing conversations happening around you, as you carefully watch lips moving, filling in the sound with your mind.
It’s not hearing your own voice. Not knowing if you’re whispering, talking, or shouting. Not sure if you’ve said something aloud or in your head.
It’s not hearing the bus approaching your stop, or your order being called at a café. Not knowing if the tap is still running, until you feel water underfoot.
It’s not hearing the jackhammering roadworks, or the crying baby on the plane. It’s not having to make small talk or feel awkward in speaking gaps.
It’s something I forget.
I forget that I’m deaf, that things make noise. That the world isn’t just quiet in this moment.
I never thought I would get used to this, much less find comfort in it.
I am typing this in my garden. I can’t hear the keyboard clacking, or the birds in the trees nearby. I can’t hear my husband mowing the lawn, or the cars as they drive past.
There are times when I find this isolating. Of course. It used to be constant fear and terror. But you do grow used to the deafening silence.
And slowly, it does become your own sanctuary. Tucked away.