I’ve become a woman of little words lately. In person, in writing, and every way in between. Even in yoga, as I teach my usual class early in the morning, the savasanas in between have become complete utter silence. Not that I’ve said much before, but now, I can feel the silence.
And with silence, I have noticed the less I want to be heard, to be noticed, to be the best, to be the centre of things. In turn, the pressures of comparing myself to others have eased, allowing myself to grow in my own pace and humming to the tune of my own drums. And the less I say, the better I feel.
While I am not immune, fear of loneliness when on my own is also something I have stopped entertaining long ago. Sure it is never easy after a break-up or a loss, but over time, my ability to stand alone only gets stronger.
Perhaps it’s circumstance, or perhaps it’s part of growing up that I’ve become a quieter version of myself.
Slowly fading away is the need to be surrounded, moving away from the social butterfly that I never really was. Some have questioned this, mistaking my reserved nature with sadness or coldness. Even anger.
But my silence is far from misery. It is me becoming comfortable in my skin. It is me finding what I need within myself instead of looking elsewhere.
It is my search for peace.