Life as a mom is noisy. Beautiful, yes, but loud. Between school happenings, sibling spats, endless snacks, and laundry mountains, it can feel like every minute is spoken for. But I’ve learned something powerful over the years: I need quiet to function well. I don’t just want it; I need it. And I bet you do too.
Quiet time has become my reset button. I used to think I had to fill every moment with activity or conversation, that silence meant I wasn’t being productive. But I’ve discovered that silence is sacred. It’s where I hear myself think. It’s where my creativity wakes up, where my heart softens, and where my peace returns.
Solitude doesn’t mean escaping from the people I love. It means coming back to them better.
Sometimes my quiet time looks like a walk alone with nothing but the sound of my footsteps and the wind. Sometimes it’s five minutes in my car before going inside. Other days, it’s a quiet morning with coffee before anyone wakes up. I used to feel guilty for taking those moments. But now I see them for what they are: essential.
When I step back and unplug, I notice things I miss in the rush. I see how the light hits the trees in the morning. I hear lyrics in a song I never caught before. I think about what I actually feel instead of what I’m supposed to feel. That’s when I remember who I am beyond the to-do list.
I also notice that when I honor my need for solitude, I have more to give. I listen more patiently. I laugh more easily. I don’t react as quickly or harshly. My family doesn’t need a perfect mom. They need a present one. And quiet helps me stay present.
If you haven’t had real silence in a while, start small. Step outside for five minutes and leave your phone inside. Sit in your favorite chair with a cup of tea. Breathe. Don’t try to figure anything out. Just be.
Give yourself permission to turn the volume down on the world so you can hear the melody of your own soul again.
I’ve learned that I don’t have to earn rest. I don’t have to justify needing quiet. It’s not selfish. It’s survival. And it’s one of the kindest things I can do for myself—and for everyone I love.
The Music Mom: Eileen Carey 