by Francois Martin Hunter
When you imagine therapy, you might picture someone crying, venting, or working through intense emotions with a box of tissues nearby.
What you might not picture, but what often defines the work, is silence.
Not awkward silence. Not empty silence.
But intentional silence.
As a counsellor (and as a human who’s spent time in therapy myself), I’ve learned that silence can be one of the most powerful parts of any session.
And yet, silence doesn’t always feel easy.
Especially if you're LGBTQ+ and have grown up navigating unspoken rules, suppressed identities, or spaces where silence was rejection, sitting in stillness can feel uncertain.
Sometimes even unsafe.
But here's what I've come to understand: silence in therapy isn’t abandonment.
It’s invitation.
Silence Says: “You’re Safe to Feel”
In therapy, silence often arrives after something important is spoken.
It’s the moment when you’ve named something painful, or insightful — and your therapist doesn’t rush in to fill the space.
They trust you.
They’re saying, “Take your time. I’m here.”
For many of us, that kind of still, accepting presence is rare.
It can be deeply healing to experience it.
Silence Gives the Brain Space
Silence allows integration.
We might think we need constant conversation to heal, but in truth, our nervous systems also need stillness.
Silence helps us connect ideas, hear our own voice, and breathe a little deeper.
Sometimes the deepest shifts happen after the words.
Silence Can Be Uncomfortable...and That’s OK
If you’re someone who fills the silence out of habit (me too), you’re not alone.
It’s a protective reflex and it’s something we can learn to soften.
In therapy, you’re gently supported to explore why silence might feel threatening.
What are you afraid will emerge in the quiet?
Often, what arises is truth.
And sometimes, relief.
Silence Is Connection Without Pressure
You don’t have to perform in therapy.
You don’t have to always know what to say.
A skilled therapist will honour your pace, and silence becomes part of that care.
In fact, many of my most meaningful moments as a client were in shared silence, when words weren’t needed, but presence was.
So if you’re reading this and thinking: “Silence makes me squirm” — you’re not alone.
But what if, just for a moment, you allowed yourself to sit in the stillness?
To breathe, feel, and know that you don’t need to do anything to be worthy of support?
Sometimes healing starts not with a conversation — but with a pause.
Add comment
Comments