Silence

Over the years, I’ve heard many people say something like this after trying therapy:

“They just sat there and stared at me. I didn’t know what to say. I felt exposed and uncomfortable.”

Often these are people who came for support but left feeling even more alone. And when that happens, something sacred—the trust between client and therapist—can break before it even begins.

This experience is far more common than it should be. And I want to talk about it—not to criticise other therapists, but to shed light on something important:

There’s a huge difference between therapeutic silence and feeling emotionally abandoned.

What is therapeutic silence supposed to do?

In some forms of therapy, especially traditional psychodynamic or psychoanalytic approaches, silence is intentional. The therapist steps back so that the client can access deeper layers of thought, feeling, or unconscious material without interference. The idea is that the space invites reflection or insight.

But this approach doesn’t work for everyone.

For those who carry trauma, relational wounds, or histories of emotional neglect, unattuned silence can feel like re-experiencing those very wounds. Instead of helping them go deeper, it can leave them frozen, hyperaware, or ashamed.

Silence without presence can feel Like absence. Silence itself isn’t the issue. It’s the quality of the silence that matters.

In person-centred therapy, the focus is always the client—not the therapist’s technique, theory, or internal process.

Carl Rogers taught us that the core conditions for healing are empathy, unconditional positive regard, and congruence. These are felt conditions. They’re not just concepts—they are lived, moment by moment, in the presence of another human being.

So when silence occurs in a session, it should serve the client. Not the therapist’s idea of what should happen. Not their discomfort with emotion. Not their silence as a strategy.

If a therapist is silent, it should be because they are deeply with the client—not because they’ve gone inside themselves or defaulted to a model.

The moment becomes about you – the client. Your experience. Your energy. Your pace.

That’s what person-centred work honours.

It doesn’t demand that you perform insight.

It offers you space that’s safe enough for insight to arrive in its own time.

When a therapist is grounded, attuned, and emotionally available, silence can feel deeply held. It can be a moment where both people breathe, where something unspoken is honoured.

But when a therapist remains quiet without offering warmth, presence, or any felt sense of safety, the silence can feel like abandonment.

And the nervous system always knows the difference.

Holding space is not the same as saying nothing. Holding space is an active process. Even without speaking, the therapist is listening deeply—with their body, their intuition, and their heart. They’re noticing subtle cues: posture, breath, energy shifts. They’re connected to the moment.

In contrast, silence that comes from detachment, uncertainty, or theoretical rigidity doesn’t feel safe. It feels cold. Or judgmental. Or indifferent.

And for someone who’s spent a lifetime feeling unseen or misunderstood, this can do more harm than good.

If you’re a therapist, consider this a gentle check-in:

• Are you with the client in your silence?
• Do they know you’re there, emotionally and energetically?
• Can your stillness be felt as care—not as waiting for them to “perform” healing?

Attunement matters. Trauma-aware presence matters. Even in silence, the room should feel relational.

As the client, you deserve to feel safe.

If you’ve had a therapy experience that left you feeling exposed, judged, or abandoned, it wasn’t your fault.

Therapy should never feel like emotional abandonment. You deserve a space where silence feels like safety—not like being left alone with your pain.

Trust your body. If something felt off, it probably was. And there are therapists who will sit with you in a way that feels steady, kind, and present.

Healing happens in the presence of safety. Not forced silence. Not long stares. But felt, relational safety. That’s what good therapy—especially trauma-informed therapy—offers.

We must recognise that survival itself is an achievement.

When we strip everything back to the human, we are hardwired to prioritise survival above all else—that’s the job. The nervous system is not betraying us; it’s protecting us. Every freeze, every shutdown, every hyper-alert moment was your body’s way of keeping you alive, even when connection wasn’t safe.

Whether we speak or sit in silence, the real work is in how we hold one another.

And sometimes, just knowing you’re not alone in the quiet is the most powerful thing of all.

Final Thoughts – The Nervous System Doesn’t Lie!

Healing happens in the presence of safety. Not forced silence. Not long stares. But felt, relational safety. That’s what good therapy—especially trauma-informed therapy—offers.

Whether we speak or sit in silence, the real work is in how we hold one another. And sometimes, just knowing you’re not alone in the quiet is the most powerful thing of all.