Silence and life’s ticking clock

I was in my colleague Leena’s apartment in Finland when I saw the news of a plane flying into one of the twin towers in New York. I watched the TV with a mixture of horror, fascination and impotence as the second plane crashed into the other tower. It’s hard to believe that last Friday marked a 25-year anniversary of that dreadful day. I have been to New York a few times, and went up the twin towers a few times on those visits. I have visited New York three times since the 9/11 attack.

The last time was in 2018 when Jane and I were able to visit the 9/11 memorial and museum. It is a humbling place. The memorial has a strong, powerful emotional impact on one’s sense of self, and where we all stand in the historical passage of time. I felt something similar on our recent visit to the Auschwitz camp in Krakow.

In both places, one of the things you become aware of, is the silence. In Auschwitz that wasn’t surprising. The camp is away from any major town or city. The 9/11 memorial, however, is just a few hundred yards from the bustling streets of New York. In a world that can often be filled with noise, distractions and challenges, embracing moments of silence can be a powerful part of mindfulness.

Silence can also form an important part of therapeutic conversations. The late psychoanalyst, Andrea Sabbadini, argued that silence is a form of communication in its own right. Writing in 1991, he used the lovely description that silence was a ‘container of words’. Much earlier it was William Penn, the American statesman and philosopher who said, ‘Let silence be there - let’s not disturb the sound of silence as within the sound of silence there are more words than spoken speech’.

However, it was Sabbadini who described there being ‘different silences’ which can have ‘different meanings’. This can clearly be problematical in therapeutic encounters. Different types of silences can also be problematic in non-therapeutic encounters. Last week I enjoyed an absolutely uplifting experience when I visited a group of my colleagues providing psychotherapeutic care. It is always  great to go and spend time with colleagues, and I’m always grateful for the time they give me.

Last week's visit was no different. I had a warm welcome, and following a tour of their facilities (once again car parking for colleagues was an issue), we retired to their seminar room for a group discussion. I was left on my own while colleagues were rounded up and tea and coffee brewed. Sitting there, in the silence, I gradually became aware of the clock ticking away on the wall. To start with, the sound was slightly hypnotic and reassuring. It was the passing of time, one tick at a time. After a while, however, that same tick began to sound quite menacing.

Now I’m very comfortable with silence. I don’t undertake any clinical therapeutic work these days, but even in my everyday encounters, I’m very happy to embrace silence. So, I cannot account for my uncomfortableness at sitting there listening to the clock ticking. There will be a reason for sure, and on reflection, I was probably in the right place, with folk with the right skills to help me understand my lived experience. However, I think we had a much better conversation.

One of the things that they wanted to talk about was the use of the term ‘service user’ when talking about the people we work with. It was a great challenge, and one that I have heard several times recently. I prefer person and people, but I think we are a while away from this becoming the norm. Labelling people can often have unintended consequences and raise challenges for people. I shared with them an experience of writing a paper about people who were given the label of having a borderline personality disorder. The publishers refused to allow us to use the Miss Nomer in the paper's title, insisting we use misnomer instead. It didn’t make much sense to us, judge for yourselves here.

Finally, I welcomed seeing the introduction of a minute’s silence at the 9/11 remembrance services this year. It recognised not only the 2,977 people who died on the day, but also the more than 9,000 people who have died of 9/11 related illnesses since. It feels important to remember that those 2,977 people went to bed on the 10th September never imagining they would be dead the following day. Let’s all try and live, love, and make the most of each and every day; nobody knows what is around the next corner of life.