My daughter has taken on many traits from me — my morning grumpiness, my unwavering love for potatoes, and my uncanny ability to detect any foul smell from blocks away (a skill that feels more like a curse). Recently, I’ve come to realize that she has also inherited my tendency to talk in her sleep. Through the baby monitor that I still can’t seem to part with, I hear her dream dialogues: “That’s not a suitcase; it’s a baby seal,” followed by giggles, and then, “No, thank you, I don’t want to kiss the broccoli.”
We are both chatty, my daughter and I. Our days are filled with conversations about dinner plans and sharing news about her friends at school (“R.J. got into another fight with Alex, and they had to sit on the mat facing each other!”). We enjoy reminiscing about past events, like her first bee sting or how her dad and I met. Communication is how we bond; it’s our love language. So, it’s no surprise that when disagreements arise, we tend to verbalize our way through them.
I grew up in a household where children’s opinions were rarely welcomed, leading me to swing to the other extreme when it came time to raise my own child. When she resists anything — be it bedtime or leaving a playdate early — my initial reaction is to engage in dialogue.
I say, “It’s time for bed, sweetheart.”
“Why?”
“If you don’t get enough sleep, you’ll be tired in the morning.”
“Why?”
“Because everyone needs rest for energy.”
“Why?”
And it goes on. No one knows the endless cycle of the “why-loop” like a parent. I sometimes watch my partner, with his quick instincts, effortlessly leading her where she needs to go with just a few words, and I think, “Must be nice.” There’s an efficiency in silence that I occasionally envy. I pondered what it would be like to just be quiet for once.
Outside of my relationship with my daughter, my interactions with others are also defined by conversation. I often rush to fill any silence after a request, just to avoid that uncomfortable gap. A neighbor once texted, “Could you deliver granola bars to the teachers today? No one in the PTO can do it.” I had ten deadlines looming and laundry piling up, yet I still felt compelled to say yes. Frustrated, I vented to a friend, “It’s like my mouth just moves on its own. I can’t stop saying yes!”
“Or,” she replied gently, “you could just… not say anything.”
“Stay silent?” I was shocked.
“Why not? What’s the worst that could happen?”
“It’d be super awkward,” I retorted.
“More awkward than doing something you resent?”
So, I gave it a try. The next time someone asked for something that crossed my boundaries, I simply didn’t respond. It was uncomfortable, and my heart raced with the awkwardness, but I held my ground. I waited, biting my lip to prevent my mouth from betraying me. And like magic, the other person backed down. “Or, if you can’t, that’s okay too.”
It happened repeatedly. Silence became a kind of magic. It allowed the other person to reconsider their request and gave me the time to think of a more thoughtful response than a half-hearted agreement. I don’t see silence as avoiding conflict — that’s not my style — but rather as a chance to pause and breathe. I wondered if this approach would work in parenting as effectively as it did in other situations.
A few days later, my daughter was captivated by an episode of The Octonauts. She sat on the floor, eyes wide with joy, fully immersed in the show. When the closing credits began to roll, I reached for the remote.
“No, Mama, no!” she exclaimed, sounding as if she’d just received terrible news.
As she protested about how unfair I was being, my instinct was to sit down and explain why we have limits on screen time. I could outline balance and suggest we go outside to play instead. But then I remembered that we’ve had this conversation countless times. Instead of filling the air with words, I chose silence. I let her voice her feelings without jumping in with the usual rationale she could repeat in her sleep. My silence wasn’t accompanied by anger or disappointment; it was neutral. I counted to five, then ten. I noticed a shift in her demeanor. Her face softened.
“Okay, let’s go put on our shoes,” she said.
Silence, while beneficial for me, also provided her an opportunity to collect her thoughts. She had space to reconsider the situation, fostering her independence and, I hope, a sense of control over her reactions. In a world filled with constant communication — whether through texts, emails, or shouted requests — what greater gift is there than the power of silence?
Of course, my daughter and I will continue to engage in conversations (and I hope she never stops that enchanting sleep-talking). There will be weightier topics that require discussion — world issues, crushes, and conflicts with friends — and we will always seek comfort in each other’s words. However, in moments where dialogue has run its course, we can reach for a different tool in our parenting toolkit, one that allows us both the grace to rethink and reshape our responses.
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Summary:
This article reflects on the author’s realization about the power of silence in parenting and personal interactions. Instead of filling awkward pauses with unnecessary words, choosing silence can foster independence and allow for thoughtful reconsideration. The author contrasts her upbringing, where children were not encouraged to voice their opinions, with her current parenting style, which emphasizes open communication. By embracing silence, both she and her daughter can navigate disagreements more effectively, creating space for reflection and growth.
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