Silence in therapy can feel deceptively simple. Nothing is happening, and yet a great deal is happening all at once.
Over the past decade, I have had the privilege of managing and supervising many early-career professionals. Across different settings, roles, and personalities, there has been one experience almost all of them have shared in the early days of their work. A deep discomfort with silence.
Oh, how quickly it is filled. With another question. A suggestion. An observation. Commentary offered simply to keep the session moving.
The anxiety of silence is very real for many clinicians. Silence can feel exposing. It can feel like a demand. It can feel like a sign that something has gone wrong, or that something important is being missed.
In supervision, this often shows up as concern about whether they are doing enough. Whether the client feels supported. Whether silence is being interpreted as uncertainty or a lack of skill. For many, silence feels like a risk.
My relationship with silence has been different. Perhaps it is my Northern European upbringing and the cultural comfort with quiet, but silence has never felt threatening to me in the same way. To me, silence often holds a sense of comfort. A kind of breathing room. A pause that allows something deeper to emerge.
I often think of this as a quiet superpower in the therapy room.
Silence creates space. Space to process. Space to reflect. Space for spontaneous thoughts to surface, often the ones that matter most. When we do not rush to fill it, we invite the other person to step forward in their own time.
Silence is not empty. It is active. It holds attention. It communicates presence. It says, I am here, and there is room for whatever comes next.
Of course, silence is not always helpful. There are moments when it needs to be broken, named, or gently guided. But learning to tolerate silence, rather than escape it, changes the quality of the work.
If you notice discomfort with silence in your own sessions, it can be helpful to pause and reflect rather than correct it. You might ask yourself what you are feeling in your body when the room goes quiet. Whether the urge to speak is coming from the client’s needs or from your own anxiety about doing enough. You might also gently reframe silence not as absence, but as participation. A moment where something internal is unfolding, even if it is not yet being spoken.
In my experience, silence is one of our greatest tools in the therapy room. Not because it is clever or technical, but because it honours the pace of the person sitting with us. It allows therapy to unfold rather than be directed.
If silence feels uncomfortable for you, that does not mean you are doing something wrong. It often means you care deeply about doing the work well. With time, what tends to shift is not the presence of silence, but your relationship with it.
Silence, when held with intention, is a gift. A gift of time. A gift of space. A gift of trust.
To Sit With This Week
- When silence appears in session, notice what happens in your body before deciding what to say.
- Gently ask yourself whether the urge to speak is in service of the client or in service of your own discomfort.
- You might try holding the silence for one breath longer than usual and notice what emerges.
Thank you for sitting with me in the clinical space this week.
Warmly,
Psychologist and Principal, My Thriving Mind