The quiet ways we protect our relationships – and sometimes lose touch with ourselves.
Have you ever walked away from a conversation wishing you had said something?
Perhaps someone made a comment that hurt you, but you smiled and let it pass. Perhaps you disagreed with the decision at work but decided it was easier to stay quiet. Or perhaps someone close to you asked if everything was okay, and you answered, “I’m fine,” even though you weren’t.
Most of us know these moments.
Sometimes we stay silent because we don’t want to upset someone. Sometimes we’re afraid of being judged, misunderstood, or rejected. And sometimes we’ve learned, through experience, that speaking up doesn’t always end well.
Silence can feel like the safest option. And often, it is.
But what happens when staying silent becomes so familiar that we stop noticing we’re doing it?
How We Learn to Stay Quiet
A few years ago, while working on my master’s thesis about organisational silence, I became interested in a question that has stayed with me ever since: why do people sometimes hold back what they think and feel?
Exploring this subject introduced me to the many ways silence can develop in the workplace. But it also sparked a more personal curiosity.
Why is it that, in some situations, we feel free to express ourselves, while in others we carefully choose our words, soften our opinions, or say nothing at all?
Think about the small adjustments we make every day.
We laugh at a joke we don’t find funny. We agree with a plan we don’t really want. We say something doesn’t matter when, actually, it matters quite a lot.
None of these moments necessarily means we’ve betrayed ourselves. Life involves compromise, consideration, and choosing our battles.
But sometimes those small adjustments become a pattern.
We become so good at noticing what other people expect that we begin to lose sight of what we want.
And that can happen almost without us realising it.
Photo by Edmond Dantès
The Need to Belong
Human beings need connection. We want to feel accepted, understood, and valued by the people around us.
But relationships can also bring difficult choices.
What if being honest disappoints someone we love? What if disagreeing makes us less welcome? What if saying how we really feel changes a relationship we depend on?
Sometimes the fear isn’t simply about having an uncomfortable conversation.
It’s about what we might lose.
We may worry that expressing a need will make us seem demanding, that admitting uncertainty will make us look incapable, or that disagreeing will make us appear difficult.
So we hold back.
And in the moment, it may work. The argument doesn’t happen. Nobody seems upset. The relationship continues as before.
But there is a question we don’t always ask:
What happens to the part of me that wanted to speak?
When Silence Starts to Cost Us Something
My growing interest in existential psychotherapy has led me to think about silence in a different way.
Existential therapy explores questions about how we live, the choices we make, the relationships we form, and what it means to live in a way that feels meaningful to us.
One of the ideas I find particularly compelling is that being ourselves doesn’t mean living without fear or uncertainty.
Sometimes the things that matter most to us are also the things we find hardest to express.
Telling someone we’re unhappy might change a relationship. Saying no might disappoint someone. Admitting that we want something different might force us to face decisions we’ve been avoiding.
Of course, silence is not always the wrong choice.
There are situations where speaking openly is genuinely unsafe. There are people who have good reasons to protect their privacy or wait for a better moment. And there are times when choosing silence is an expression of care, not fear.
But what if we keep quiet even when we wish we could speak?
What if we repeatedly dismiss our own feelings because someone else’s comfort seems more important?
What if, over time, we stop asking ourselves what we really think because we’re so used to adjusting to everyone else?
Perhaps this is where silence can begin to feel like self-betrayal.
Photo by Timur Weber
Not because we failed to say something on one particular occasion, but because we’ve gradually stopped making room for our own experience.
Being Yourself Doesn’t Mean Saying Everything
We often hear that we should be authentic, speak our truth, and stop worrying about what others think.
It sounds simple. But real relationships are rarely that straightforward.
We can care deeply about someone and still disagree with them. We can value honesty and still need privacy. We can want to be understood and still feel frightened of being vulnerable.
Being authentic doesn’t mean expressing every thought the moment it appears.
Perhaps it means something quieter.
Noticing when we say yes but mean no. Recognising when we feel hurt, even if we’re not ready to explain why.
Allowing ourselves to have needs, preferences, and opinions that differ from those of the people around us.
And understanding that our feelings deserve our attention, even when we decide not to share them.
Sometimes finding our voice begins long before we speak. It begins when we allow ourselves to listen.
Finding Your Way Back to Your Own Voice
If you’ve become used to staying quiet, you don’t have to begin by confronting someone or making a dramatic change.
You might simply start paying attention to the moments when you hold back.
Notice when you say, “It’s fine,” but feel something different.
Notice when you agree because you genuinely want to, and when you agree because disagreement feels uncomfortable.
Notice whose reactions you find yourself anticipating before you’ve even decided what you think.
And perhaps ask yourself a few gentle questions.
What am I protecting by staying silent?
What am I afraid might happen if I speak?
Is this silence a choice I’m making, or a habit I’ve learned?
You don’t need to have immediate answers.
Sometimes these questions lead us towards a conversation. Sometimes they help us recognise a boundary. And sometimes they reveal that a particular relationship or environment doesn’t feel safe enough for openness.
All of these discoveries matter.
Because finding our voice isn’t necessarily about becoming louder, more assertive, or more outspoken.
It’s about recognising that our experience matters too.
Silence can protect us. It can give us time, space, and safety.
But when it becomes the only way we know how to maintain connection, we may begin to lose touch with ourselves.
Perhaps the question isn’t simply whether we should speak or remain silent.
Perhaps it’s whether our silence still belongs to us.
References & Further Reading
van Deurzen, E. (2012). Existential Counselling & Psychotherapy in Practice (3rd ed.). SAGE Publications.
Main – Photo by Giedrė Songailienė
About the Author: Giedre Songailiene
