For some people, silence is where they find their peace. But for others, it can feel like an entirely different experience
Many of us grew up being told to ‘be quiet’. And, when we’re struggling, we’re often encouraged to ‘get quiet’ – as if stillness is some kind of universal remedy. But what if quiet doesn’t feel calm at all? What if, instead, it feels like your whole system is short-circuiting?
This goes beyond awkward silences in conversation. It’s the panic that creeps in when everything slows down. It’s the racing heart, the sweaty palms, the sudden need to fill the space with noise – any noise – because the quiet feels unbearable. If silence sends your nervous system into overdrive, just know you’re not alone.
Sedatephobia – the fear of silence – affects more people than you might think. Here’s what’s really going on when stillness doesn’t feel safe, and why your response makes more sense than you’ve probably been led to believe.
What is the fear of silence?
According to Dr Claire Plumbly, clinical psychologist and author of Burnout, sedatephobia isn’t a formal diagnosis. “Silence itself isn’t inherently threatening, but, for some people, it’s experienced as unsettling or even distressing,” she explains.
From a nervous system perspective, Claire says silence strips away external cues of safety, leaving us face-to-face with our inner world – and that’s not always a comfortable place to be. “If your system is primed to detect threats, silence can feel like a warning, not a relief,” she says. “That association lives in all of us, but, for some, the tolerance for silence is particularly low.”
Why can silence be so uncomfortable?
Most of us have been there: when your mind feels too full, but the idea of being alone with your thoughts seems even worse. Silence creates space, and that space can quickly fill with things you’ve been trying to outrun.
Claire explains that when things go quiet, our inner critic can get louder. Old memories, buried feelings, or fears we’ve been avoiding, can start to surface. “For those who grew up in chaotic or unpredictable environments, silence might have been the moment before things got worse – the ‘calm before the storm’, or how the family had to respond to an abusive adult by treading on eggshells,” she says. “So, silence doesn’t feel peaceful. It feels like they are listening out for signs
of danger.”
Layer on top of that our always-on lifestyles – the constant noise, stimulation, and digital distractions – and it’s no wonder silence can begin to feel ‘unnatural’.
How to recognise the symptoms
When it comes to physical cues, Claire says people often feel restless or on edge when things go quiet. “They can feel tense, fidgety, unable to sit still – with a racing heart or a sense of needing to ‘do something’,” she explains. “Emotionally, they might experience anxiety, dread, or irritation.”
According to Claire, people with sedatephobia often avoid activities that involve stillness or silence – meditation, journaling, or even sitting with a coffee without multitasking. At home, there might be a constant need for background noise: the TV on, music playing, or a radio humming in another room.
Sleep, in particular, can be a struggle. “We need to reduce noise and stimulation to fall asleep, yet for these people, silence feels unsafe, and that prevents them from switching off,” Claire explains. To cope, many turn to tools like ASMR videos, podcasts, or white noise apps to help them drift off.
In relationships, sedatephobia can show up as a need for constant conversation. At work, it might mean filling every pause during brainstorming, or avoiding solo thinking time.
The root of sedatephobia
So, where does this fear of peace come from? Is it rooted in early experiences, shaped by trauma, or simply a byproduct of modern life’s relentless pace? According to Claire, it’s often a combination of all three.
“From a therapeutic perspective, we’d explore early experiences where silence felt unsafe,” she explains. That might include times when emotional neglect, unpredictability, or trauma led the brain to associate quiet with threat.
As children, we need support to navigate big feelings. But, for some people with a fear of silence, those feelings might have been met with punishment instead of comfort – being sent to their room for crying, or told to ‘calm down’ rather than being supported to feel safe.
Claire also points out that today’s world isn’t exactly silence-friendly. “Our nervous systems are constantly hit with notifications, streaming, and background noise – to the point where many of us have simply lost our tolerance for sensory rest.”
How to get used to silence
Interestingly, Claire notes that a fear of silence can sometimes be linked to burnout, especially when we’re not getting true restorative rest, or are constantly multitasking to avoid the quiet.
Rather than pushing someone straight into silence, Claire focuses on gently building their capacity for it, starting small, and in ways that feel safe. “Compassion work is key, especially if the inner critic becomes louder when things go quiet,” she says.
For those whose fear of silence is rooted in past experiences, Claire adds that eye movement desensitisation and reprocessing (EMDR) can be a powerful tool. “Therapy plays a role in helping the body learn that silence doesn’t always equal threat, so it no longer needs to be feared.”
Lead with curiousity
Before jumping into meditation marathons, or booking a silent retreat, start with gentle experiments. Claire encourages people to soften their approach to silence, not by forcing it, but by becoming curious about what’s already there.
“Notice the sounds within the silence,” she suggests. That might be birds outside, your breath, or the hum of distant traffic; subtle cues that help the nervous system stay anchored in safety.
Show others compassion
When it comes to supporting a loved one with a phobia – whether it’s sharks, heights, or silence – remember that the person you care about isn’t being difficult or dramatic; their nervous system is likely working overtime to keep them feeling safe, and to avoid a full-blown panic response.
To best support someone with sedatephobia, Claire suggests gently offering moments of quiet companionship by simply sitting together without feeling the need to fill every pause. She also encourages framing silence as something that can be built up over time, like a skill. “With enough co-regulation and gentle support, silence can eventually feel less like a threat,” she says.
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