Sundays in Silence

My Sundays in Silence

There’s something sacred about my Sundays. A full-body exhale.

No phones. No pings. No need to go anywhere.

Just me, in the soft cocoon of stillness—wherever I happen to call home that day. It’s a deliberate pause. A luxurious reset. A time to unplug, slow down, and tune in.

I don’t do silence. I surrender to it.

This one day, every week, I get to untangle the knots within—without ever feeling disconnected or alone. Quite the opposite, actually. In this solitude, I feel deeply rooted in myself. And strangely enough…I grow. Quietly, steadily.

Spending Sunday in silence among others? Now, that’s a whole different playground.

It starts simply enough: No eye contact. Eyes down, gaze soft. Maybe a little tag saying, “I am in Silence”—a polite shield against small talk. But then the real work begins…The mental chatter, oh wow.

Thoughts tumble in: “Do I seem rude?” “Are they judging me?” “Why do I care so much?” Suddenly, I’m face-to-face with my inner people-pleaser, my fear of being misunderstood, my desire to belong—and not belong. It’s fascinating. Humbling. A mirror I didn’t know I needed.

And when I stay with the silence, even through the fidgety bits, something shifts. Old memories bubble up—some sweet, some sour, all revealing. Each one a messenger. Each one an invitation to feel, breathe, and release.

Alone or in a crowd, silence peels back the noise. Layer by layer. Feeling by feeling. Until what’s left is… clarity. Liberation from the noisy self. And a stillness so pure, it hums.

That’s my Sunday in Silence. Not just a habit. A homecoming.