When rest finally arrives, why does it sometimes feel so uncomfortable? This personal reflection explores the fear of stillness, the quiet rise of grief, and what happens when we stop running from silence. A heartfelt take on loss, love, and learning to sit with grief.
I Craved Peace—But Got Something Else
This past weekend, I was craving quiet. After weeks of nonstop movement—some necessary, some self-imposed—I thought having nothing to do would feel like a gift. I imagined rest. Stillness. Time with my husband and our adult kids, home for summer.
But as the weekend approached, I started to feel uneasy. Like walking into a quiet room and realizing the silence might not be safe.
When Life Is Full, the Inner World Can Feel Chaotic
Even when everything looks fine on the outside, my internal world can feel like a tennis match—grief and distraction smacking me back and forth. I wanted to rest. And on the surface, I did: music, a walk, a drink, time with family. It was lovely.
But rest doesn’t always feel like relief. Sometimes, slowing down is scary.
Why Stillness Can Trigger Grief
Stillness creates space—and in that space, things rise. Things we’ve been avoiding.
Grief. Longing. Sadness. Questions we don’t want to answer.
So I scrolled. I sat through a solar panel pitch I didn’t ask for (thanks, husband). I didn’t clean, didn’t cook, didn’t move much. I just… sat. And avoided. As best I could.
There was one honest, grounding conversation with the kids about their dad. It touched something real. But mostly, I stayed away from grief. Or tried to.
And yet… I bawled at a random YouTube clip of the Hollywood Medium. So yeah. Grief was still there. Just beneath the calm. Waiting.
Small Moments That Catch You Off Guard
At one point, a photo of Lily appeared on the digital frame in my room—her smiling face, one I hadn’t seen in a while. It tugged at something deep. I smiled back and whispered, I really miss you. Then I made my bed.
Later, while meeting with a friend I hadn’t seen in a while, she said: “I always have dreams of Lily.” I smiled. I’ve heard that before—from more than one person. But I haven’t dreamed of her in a long time.
That lingered.
The Calm Surface Isn’t the Whole Story
The sea looked calm this weekend. And maybe, on the outside, I did too. But I know what’s underneath. The waves are still there. Still moving. Still waiting.
And maybe that’s okay.
Maybe stillness isn’t dangerous after all.
Maybe it’s just honest.
What About You?
Have you ever noticed emotions rise in moments of stillness?
What do you do when quiet feels like too much? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.