It's Time to Talk. But What If You Don't Want To?

Sometimes I don’t want to talk about it. Not to anyone. No one. No one at all. I just want to think about it on my own. Because it is mine. And no one else’s.

— Michael Rose

Falling this year on February 2, Time to Talk Day is one of several awareness days and events dedicated to countering the stigma surrounding mental health. We’re encouraged to open up to family, friends and colleagues about how we’re feeling, and to be there for others wanting to tell us how they’re doing.

These are laudable aims, and fully in keeping with the message Fran and I share in our book and in other writing here and elsewhere. We believe that keeping the channels of communication open is the single greatest contribution we can make to improving the acceptance of mental health issues, and keeping ourselves and those we love as well and as safe as possible.

But what if you don’t want to talk about what’s going on for you? What if our friends and loved ones don’t want to talk to us?

I consider myself a good listener and a supportive friend, but I’m far less adept at sharing my problems and issues. Even with people I trust and feel safe with, I find it hard to open up. It’s easier for me to express myself through my writing. Over the past year or so I’ve explored more of how I’ve been feeling in my weekly blog posts than ever before. Nevertheless, there are things I choose not to share publically. I discussed some of these in an article titled Write without Fear, Edit without Mercy: Eight Questions for the Honest Blogger. There are valid reasons for not sharing publically, of course. I recall mental health writer and coach Julie A. Fast counseling against writing about intensely personal issues and situations while you are in the middle of them. It’s wise advice.

A friend invited me recently to choose a song from my past that meant a great deal to me, and blog about how it made me feel. It was an invitation to be vulnerable and she offered to do the same, but I felt utterly unequal to the task. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust her. I did and do. More fundamentally, I realised that I didn’t want to go there, either publically in a blog post or even with her privately. As I explored my feelings about the request, I realised that part of the reason I didn’t want to share was that the memories were intensely personal, and that part of their value to me was precisely that they were private.

I think we’d all agree there are things we want to keep to ourselves but where do we draw the line? Who gets to decide what we “should” share, and what we’re permitted to keep private? And what about the people we trust? Aren’t we supposed to open up to those we hold closest and most dear? Isn’t that a good thing to do? A healthy thing?

The premise of Time to Talk Day and similar initiatives is that sharing is good for our mental health. It can help to talk things over, and it allows us to ask for support, or to offer support to those we care about. If we don’t know our loved one is struggling, how can we help? If we keep our struggles to ourselves, how can anyone help us?

Talking is only one way of handling things, though. It can be an important tool in our wellness toolbox, but it’s more important that we have tools — and use them — than feel we must ask for help every time we start to struggle. My Wellness Recovery Action Plan (WRAP) includes a number of strategies that work for me. Keeping in touch with friends is crucial to my wellbeing, but when I’m starting to struggle I’m more likely to go for a walk or explore what’s happening in my personal journal than discuss it all with friends. It’s good knowing there are people I can talk to, but that’s not always what I want or need to do.

There might be any number of reasons why we’re unwilling or unable to talk about what we’re going through. The same is true for our friends and loved ones. Unless we know the person well, those reasons may be unknown to us. And that’s okay. That has to be okay.

We might feel that what we’re going through is too dreadful, shocking, personal, embarrassing, or shameful to share with someone else. On the other hand, we might feel we’re stressing over something too mundane or unimportant to bring to someone else’s attention, especially if they’re struggling themselves. This is something I often feel. I hold back from sharing with others because I imagine they have enough to deal with, without me adding to their burdens.

If it’s something we’ve struggled with repeatedly or for a long time, we might feel our friends will be bored at hearing the same old story. We might be bored with it ourselves, or sick of talking about it. If we discussed it with friends in the past and nothing changed, or we’ve found ourselves back in the same situation, it might seem there’s no point going over the same ground again.

Initiatives such as Time to Talk Day can give the impression that asking for help or talking about our problems is easy. As I wrote in a post for Time to Talk Day 2022, “[o]pening up to someone can be a scary thing to do. It requires a great deal of trust, and there’s no guarantee of a helpful or supportive response.”

We might be too low in energy — physically, mentally or emotionally — to reach out, even when we recognise it would be helpful to do so. This can be the case if we’re depressed, but other conditions can leave us incapable of reaching out, including chronic insomnia, stress, anxiety, or fatigue. Someone who scarcely has the energy to keep going may lack the resources to risk opening up to the wrong person.

I’m used to processing things over long periods of time, either in my own head or in my personal journal. My thoughts and feelings can seem too complex, diffuse, or vague to put into words so that someone else can understand what’s going on for me. The very effort of attempting to do so can put me off trying, especially if the situation seems one without any specific resolution or fix.

Paradoxically, a fear of clarity can also hold us back. Telling someone our problems and issues makes them real. We can no longer deny or ignore them. It’s like Schrödinger opening the box and discovering whether the cat inside is alive or dead. Discussing a situation can crystallise it out in ways that might not have happened if we’d kept things to ourselves. It’s false — and unkind — to suggest that talking things over will always lead to a positive or desirable outcome.

Telling someone brings the other person into our situation, so that they’re now also involved. That can be helpful and reassuring, but it’s also scary. We may be unsure of their reaction. Will they understand, or at least hear us without judgment? Will they jump in with fixes, or bombard us with stories and advice based on their own experience, without checking if that’s what we want?

Can they handle what we tell them? Will they keep the information to themselves? Years ago, a friend told me she felt unsafe talking to me about how badly she was doing. She feared I’d escalate things by alerting her family or emergency services. I explored some of these topics previously in A Friend’s Guide to Secrets.

Even when we trust the person to handle what we tell them, we may worry it will change our relationship permanently, over what might be a temporary problem or situation. We can’t unsay what we have said. Sometimes, I prefer to keep things to myself and deal with them in my own way, in my own time, rather than risk damaging a friendship by opening up.

That brings up another issue, which is having the right person to talk to at a given moment. Depending on what is going on for me, I might feel able to talk to this person but not that person, not because I trust them differently but simply because one is more likely to understand or help me than the other.

It’s important to recognise that a situation or topic may be too personal or triggering for someone to discuss. I once needed to share my concern about a friend’s situation, but had two people tell me they were unable to hear it because it was too triggering for them. I understood completely, but it’s another aspect of the “talk to someone” message that — ironically — is rarely talked about.

All these considerations raise questions of honesty, openness, and trust. Don’t we have a responsibility to be honest about what we’re going through? If we don’t talk, how will anyone know what we need? How can they help make things better if they don’t know we’re suffering? How can we help other people if they won’t talk to us?

In encouraging our friends and loved ones to reach out, we need to avoid pushing them into sharing more than they want or feel able to. The line between encouragement and coersion is subtle and can become blurred. It’s right to want the people we care about to be okay. It’s also natural to want to feel we’re doing all we can to help. It’s easy to cross that line, however, and push people to seek help in ways that appear valid to us, but may be unhelpful or inappropriate to the person concerned.

I can only imagine the pain of losing a loved one to suicide, but I do know how it feels when friends have hurt themselves or put themselves at risk. It’s natural to wish we’d been able to do more, but it’s easy to slip into believing we could have stopped it happening if only we’d known. And from there it’s a small step to blaming them — implicitly or explicitly — for not telling us what was going on or allowing us to save them.

The conversations I’ve had over the years with Fran and others who know the reality of living with mental health issues, including suicidal ideation, lead me to believe that pressure and guilt-tripping is only ever counterproductive, and may be counterprotective. It certainly wouldn’t encourage me to open up, if I found myself in that kind of situation.

With all that said, you might wonder why I choose to mark Time to Talk Day at all, or why Fran and I promote the value and importance of keeping the channels of communicating open. Talking is important, whether it’s talking with friends and family, or with doctors, therapists, counsellors, and other professionals. Having someone there we can open up to when we need to is powerfully protective, as is holding space so that others feel safe sharing with us, when they choose to.

It’s important to recognise, though, that talking isn’t always enough, and isn’t always what we most need. I’d like the message of Time to Talk Day to include a reminder not to put undue pressure on people — ourselves included — to talk if they don’t want to. Nor is it helpful to judge people if they can’t, if they choose to talk to other people instead of us, or if they have other ways of handling what they’re going through.

I’m going to close with a conversation I had with one of my friends in March, which in many ways inspired this post.

Martin: My latest blog went up today, about keeping secrets. I was pondering what to write about next. Possibly about some of the reasons someone might not want to talk to friends and others about how they are doing or feeling.

Roiben: There are lots of those.

Martin: Maybe too many to explore in a blog post.

Roiben: No, it’s a great idea. Especially if you can group them to enable people to stop and think. That can be a good thing to do sometimes, from both sides. Because if they are a friend, then that stop and think may help the friendship develop.

Martin: You mean from the perspective of the person sharing (or not sharing) and the person who might be there to listen?

Roiben: Yes. From the side of the listening friend so they understand why they may not be the go-to person right now, and that the space needed doesn’t mean they are not a friend. Also from the side of the person who is struggling, to help them understand why they are finding it hard to open up, as sometimes the reasons are automatically implemented as a reflex. If both sides can understand and respect the other side then their friendship will be stronger and more enduring for it.

Martin: You have given me a new perspective. Thank you.

I’m grateful to Roiben and the many other people whose thoughts and insights have contributed to my understanding. It’s an important topic, even if it has taken me ten months to bring my treatment of it to fruition.

Further Reading

Here are links to a few related posts which discuss supportive friendships, communication, and openness (or the lack of it).

• Supportive Disengagement: How to Be There for Your Friend When They Need Space
• Faking Fine: Why We Fib about How We Are
• Team Marty (Because No One Can Be Everything for Everyone)

For more information about Time to Talk Day, check out the Time to Talk and Rethink Mental Illness websites. If you or someone you know is struggling right now, we list a number of international crisis and support lines on our resources page.

Over to You

In this article I’ve explored some of the reasons we might have for not talking about what’s going on for us. I’ve endeavoured to include the perspective of those on the outside, who are willing to listen and to help but who may not be aware of what’s going on.

Have you ever wanted to talk to someone but felt unable or unwilling to do so? What were your reasons and how did you resolve them, if you did? How do you feel if you realise someone you care about didn’t confide in you about how they were feeling? Where does the responsibility lie for taking care of ourselves and others?

Fran and I would love to hear from you, either in the comments below or via our contact page.

 

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez at Unsplash.

 

How Sharing Quiet Moments Can Deepen Your Friendship

Real friendship is when your friend comes over to your house and then you both just take a nap. (Unknown)

As we approach Time to Talk Day (February 3), I can only agree with Rethink Mental Illness that “[c]onversations have the power to change lives — helping to create supportive communities where we can talk openly about mental health and feel empowered to seek help when we need it.” The book Fran and I wrote about our now ten-year friendship is founded on our belief that any successful mutually supportive relationship requires a commitment to communication. That commitment is important no matter how close or far apart you are geographically, but it’s especially so for us, given that we live on opposite sides of the Atlantic.

There’s nothing quite like having someone you feel safe enough with to talk openly and honestly about whatever’s going on for you. It can help enormously, whether you’re simply sharing what’s happening, exploring options, or asking for — or offering — assistance and advice. But support and caring aren’t always about doing things or talking things over. Sometimes there is no need for words. Sometimes there is a need for silence.

I was reminded of this last week on one of our regular evening video calls. Fran and I talked for a while about our respective days, and how we were feeling. We were both pretty low and we talked about that, but we were also really tired. I asked Fran if she wanted to end our call early so she could rest. She thought for a moment, then suggested we stay on the call but spend it resting together quietly.

Even three thousand miles apart on a video call, sharing silence is an intensely personal, even vulnerable, experience. Nevertheless, I agreed readily and closed my eyes. Fran did the same. For maybe twenty minutes we shared the space without words. It was lovely, and much needed. I wasn’t trying to think about anything in particular, or not think about anything in particular. I simply closed my eyes and sat there in my rocking chair. Fran afterwards claimed I’d fallen asleep while we were taking our little time out. I denied it at the time, but I was certainly tired enough for it to have been true!

It reminded me of times early in our friendship when Fran would call me late at night. She was in mania at the time and barely sleeping, her mind was far too active. Talking with me helped calm her down, and sometimes I’d stay quietly on the call until sleep caught up with her. It didn’t always work, but sometimes it did.

Meditation is another great example of sharing quiet time. We started meditating together after Fran read about the potential benefits of meditation in cases of depression. We signed up for a free three-week online course and meditated together on our daily calls. Afterwards, we compared notes and discussed the topics raised in that day’s lesson. It gave us a shared purpose, and the opportunity to explore topics we might otherwise never have encountered.

It’s been a while since we meditated together like that, but I got a lot out of it in the past and we might take it up again at some point. It’s worth saying that it’s not always a comfortable experience, as we describe in our book:

Meditation is by no means always an easy discipline. At times, we have found ourselves confronting aspects of ourselves we were unaware of, or thought closed. As Fran put it, “I think the meditation is bringing up things I need to face. It is making me more aware and I don’t like it. I am resisting it.” Despite the challenges, we persevered, and have completed several courses together. It is immensely supportive in such situations to have someone who understands what we are experiencing, and the context in which it is being experienced.

Fran and I spend a lot of time watching movies and TV shows together. That’s not silence as such, but we tend not to talk much while we’re watching. I used to wonder if we watched too much TV and worried that it had become a substitute for conversation, but I’ve come to value the cosy quiet times when we settle down of an evening to watch our favourite show. It confirms our commitment to each other and provides an opportunity to simply be in each other’s space and lives without needing to “do things” or “talk about stuff” all the time.

Fran’s not the only friend I’ve spent quiet time with. I’ve written previously about visiting my friend and fellow mental health blogger Aimee Wilson for an afternoon of journaling and scrapbooking. We’ve also shared quality quiet time watching movies, writing for our respective blogs, and travelling to and from events. Whatever the circumstance, it’s good to be sufficiently comfortable with someone not to feel the need to fill every minute with conversation.

In writing this post, it’s been interesting for me to think about which friends I spend quiet time with, and those I don’t. With the latter, it’s not necessarily that we couldn’t. In some cases, it’s more that we tend to meet in places or circumstances which are not conducive to silence. It’s something worth bearing in mind when you are planning time with friends. No matter the time or venue, however, we can all allow space for gaps in the conversation to emerge, without immediately needing to fill them with words.

It’s worth pointing out that I’ve been talking about what I might call gentle, peaceable, or consensual silence. We’ve all known the opposite — the awkward, even painful, silences that arise at times between even the closest of friends. If it occurs a lot with certain people, there may be something going on that needs to be brought into the light, but I’ve learned to allow even uncomfortable silences to have their place, without seeking to break or question them at the time. In my experience, they don’t always imply there’s anything wrong with your relationship. They can reflect nothing more or less than the other person’s tiredness, preoccupation with other things, or even episodes of dissociation. Allowing such times to be there without challenging them in the moment can be an act of trust and compassion.

I’m going to close with a few lines written many years ago, which I’ve quoted previously in a post inspired by Ed Sheeran’s “Castle on the Hill.” They recall a time of blissful silence shared with friends at Alderley Edge as night fell across the Cheshire Plain. It remains one of the most profound experiences of my life.

Beneath the trees
Beneath the stars
Cautiously we found each other
And a place for silence.

 

Do you share quiet time with your friends? What kind of shared silences work for you? How do you handle awkward silences? We’d love to hear from you!

 

Photo by Leo Rivas on Unsplash.

 

The Sounds of Silence

“I wish people didn’t think silence was awkward, just enjoy it. Not every space has to be filled with words.” (Anon)

That quotation was shared recently on Facebook by a good friend of mine. I posted a response (“True, silence can be awkward, of course, but it can be lovely.”) and went on with my day. But somehow, I kept coming back to the topic of silence, and to the idea of there being more than just these two kinds, comfortable and awkward.

I hope we all know the first of these; the gentle sense of being with someone and having no need for words. I say gentle, but at times it can come upon us like a wave: the simple yet so rare awareness of sharing the moment without needing to explain or talk it away.

There is a beautiful scene near the start of the submarine movie Crimson Tide. Captain Frank Ramsey (Gene Hackman) is talking to his executive officer, Lieutenant Commander Ron Hunter (Denzel Washington), as they head out of port watching the sunset.

“Bravo, Hunter.”

“Sir?”

“You knew to shut up and enjoy the view. Most eggheads want to talk it away. Your stock just went up a couple of points.”

On the other side of the coin, of course, is the tense, cut-the-air-with-a-knife silence we have probably all experienced at some time in our lives, whether in our own relationships or as a witness, perhaps in our parental home. These silences can last for minutes, or hours, or longer. If occasional or of short duration they can give the relationship a useful pause. Not everything needs to be addressed in the moment. Things can then pick up again on the other side. But, if left unaddressed for long, these kinds of silence can take root.

Then there is the distinction between silence vs. background sounds. My friend Roiben who shared the silence quotation on Facebook is severely deaf. The nature of the sound landscape in which she finds herself can dramatically affect her ability to hear and engage with people and what is going on around her.

I find absolute silence uncomfortable. I write and think best, for example, in a café or coffee shop with plenty of ambient sound. Likewise, I cannot easily fall asleep without a tv or radio on in the background. Silence allows my mind to wander and distract me from falling asleep. If there is something quiet on the tv or radio – dialogue rather than music or action movies (disaster documentaries work really well for me!) – my mind has something to focus on, from which it can gently disengage and ease into sleep. Other friends prefer quiet or silence to relax. Fran is one of them. She can meditate in silence, for example, whereas I prefer a soundtrack of some kind, whether words or music.

There is yet another kind of silence, which occurs as a pause or gap in the connection between two people. Whatever its nature, every relationship has its natural frequency and intensity when it comes to connection. It may change from time to time but it is a function of the two people involved. Expecting the same level of contact and conversation from everyone we hold dear is a recipe for frustration and hurt.

Some people manage to have friendships where they scarcely hear from each other for months, even years, and are then able to pick up again as though nothing has changed. Perhaps you have friendships of that kind. I can’t do this! I have friends – I would still call them that – I haven’t heard from in any meaningful sense for years, but I would find it very difficult to pick up these relationships again and move forward. Why? Because we each would have changed so much in the intervening time that it would be like starting all over again. Actually, it would be harder than starting out anew because there would be so much “old stuff” to unlearn and set aside. We are all changing all the time! (If you are not changing, why not?)

I do much better where there is on-going contact; be that in person, on the phone, or online in chat or on social media. I’m in touch with several friends on a more or less daily basis. There are a few where it’s more like weekly; very few where we connect less frequently than that. In that way, we keep in step with each other’s lives, news, feelings, joys and issues. Not all the connections are the same, of course. Some are rich and full, others less intense yet no less valuable or valued.

I recently attended a Wellness Recovery Action Plan (WRAP) Awareness workshop. As part of that exercise I started to work with some of my triggers. Triggers are things that can affect our wellbeing and stability in ways that are – on the surface at least – out of proportion to the reality of what has actually happened. My biggest trigger is where I sense a (real or imagined) lessening in the frequency or intensity of the connection I have with someone close to me. Maybe they are not chatting as much or as often, or seem less engaged than usual.

There might be any number of reasons for this. Perhaps they are busy, or unwell. Maybe they have things going on for them of which I am unaware. Perhaps they simply want to step back for a while from connecting with people in general, or from me in particular. These are all perfectly valid reasons and whilst I might not like it I can respect and understand them. However, my triggered response is a powerful sense of rejection and abandonment out of all proportion to whatever is actually happening. (I have no idea where this comes from, it occurred for the first time maybe a dozen years ago.) It can feel overwhelming to me and can be devastating to the relationship unless it is acknowledged and allowed to pass safely.

I am working on this issue at the moment; learning to accept and to even appreciate the spaces between meetings, messages or phone calls, or times where things appear to change for a time. I am experimenting with allowing my feelings to be there without jumping to (mostly erroneous) conclusions or assuming the relationship is in jeopardy and thus putting it in jeopardy by responding inappropriately, or demanding more from the other person than they are able or willing to provide.

I am grateful beyond words (pun intended) for the people who allow me to explore my relationship with silence in this way; those who allow me to be myself and to be honest about my hang-ups and issues; who hold space for me to work with my stuff, as I hold space for them to work with theirs. Because, ultimately, there are things that cannot be explained or communicated in words. There are things that can only be approached and appreciated in the spaces we allow into our lives. As my friend Roiben puts it:

“Some silence is comforting, to just sit with someone and know you are in company that gets you.”

And (whisper it) that is a beautiful thing.