Silence That Screams

Being alone. I’m alone a lot of the day or night. My husband works long hours and is on call every day, so his schedule varies a great deal. Oh, it isn’t so bad on nights when he works while I sleep, but the rest of the time, the quiet is deafening.

It’s lonely. Not all the time, but more often than not, there are days and weeks when I would just love to have a real one-on-one conversation with another person. I don’t have a job outside the home.

A Choice

I gave up my career to be home with our child as he grew up, and I have no regrets about it. I was always available to our son, and that is priceless. I was always busy with him, his friends, school, or sports, and those activities kept me more than busy. At times, it made life dicey to keep under control, and that was just fine.

Our son has flown the coop, as expected, leaving an empty nest. Well, not completely empty. Lola, my Chihuahua, is always with me, usually underfoot, but she’s a terrible conversationalist. I don’t speak her language, and she doesn’t speak mine, so there’s that.

Empty Nest

I never understood the void the lack of people in my life has left for over 20 years. I never realized that each day, different things happened to make the screams of silence tolerable or unheard, hour by hour. And now that I have them in abundance, the sound of dead silence is shocking. I only have this strange hum in my ears that isn’t quite sound, and not quite the stillness of noise.

For weeks, even months after our son moved to Colorado for work, I would get phantom pains from imagining him coming in and out of the house. I’d have flashes where I found myself expecting his entrance at the usual times he had before. It was unnerving. I would instantly catch the feeling and feel an overwhelming sense of loneliness. I managed to talk about it with my husband, and that’s when he suggested I revisit my drawing and writing.

I did both during adolescence and in my college years, but an ill-fated first marriage, to someone who didn’t appreciate my divided attention, forced me to give them up. It’s been over 25 years since I put pencil to paper. I pondered my spouse’s idea, and in April I started drawing again. I also started a memoir blog. That’s when an acquaintance’s author friend read the postings and said I should be writing. So I started writing at the same time.

Something New But Old

At first, it was hard to come up with creative ideas to draw, and the writing was no easier. I started drawing random things and soon realized I loved drawing body parts and humans in general. I pulled out an old folder from storage and saw that what I was drawing now was the same as before. It seems I love those subjects more than any others. I am horrible at botanicals or scenery, by the way. I draw what I find beautiful, intriguing, or curious.

I have more than 450 pieces completed now, seven months later. I can’t stop. I don’t want to do anything else. I can’t understand or imagine how on earth I made it this many years without that kind of expression. I mean, it is who and what I am. My feelings, my happiness and pain, on paper or canvas. I can’t breathe without my art any longer.

A New Adventure

My friend, the author, suggested I start by writing for contests. So in April, I did that as well. I began with poetry. I was shocked that it was my first attempt or choice, considering I had hated poetry most of my life.

Within a week or two, I was published, another shocker. It has been steady ever since. I write every single day except Sundays, and I have been published over a dozen times, both online and in print. I now have five books I have been published in, with three more books in publication.

Quiet Lingers

Even with all of this, the silence is jarring. I write in a quiet environment, or I get distracted. I draw with music playing to fuel my creativity. And yet it’s still quiet and lonely. I need other humans. I need conversation and companionship. Even having my two treasured outlets for creativity at hand doesn’t prevent the consequences of being completely alone while using them.

Don’t get me wrong. I value my solitude, too. There are so many times I crave that alone time. I need those slivers of reflection to think about my goals, the topics I want to write about, and the peace that quiet gives me. Too much quiet, though, and the cries of silence begin to shriek at me. The very real realization that I get lonely screams volumes. And that’s when I need a warm body to talk to.

Chatting or texting doesn’t cut it. Social media isn’t a solution for me and may even perpetuate loneliness. In those times, I need to speak with a person or people, to interact socially with other humans.

We are losing that more and more every day. Now, with the advent of artificial intelligence, we rarely even get to speak to a human on the phone.

I think we sometimes need a wake-up call about things that may do more harm than good. Quiet solitude is great and necessary, but never underestimate the power of real human interaction.

No hobby, social media, or texting fills that need. It must be deliberately sought out. A little loneliness reminds us to be grateful for our friendships and loved ones, but too much can lead to withdrawal from social interaction and even depression.

Get out there. Call your people and get together for some diversion. Grab some coffee. Do lunch. Whatever it takes, make the silent screams stop.

(Published on Substack, November 2025)