A Silent Safety - Nanette M. Holloway

Growing up, my silence seemed safe amid the expectations of verbal responses in varied social situations and school. Friends and family were safe and provided comfort from the chaos of new situations and too many people, even as a young child. Groups of any kind were overwhelming, and I preferred to talk with one person at a time.

A Small Community

The community I grew up in was small, and everyone knew everybody. Littlerock, California, a town of 3,000. meant that our schools and class sizes were small. Most students attended Kindergarten through eighth grade, and we all knew each other. Another detail that contributed to a safe environment for one who was shy and timid.

But the silence was far beyond timidity. I was a selective mute. My preference was a silence that seemed to keep me safe.

Groups like Girl Scouts were difficult, and I gravitated toward one friend. 4-H was short lived. Again, too many people and too much stimulation.

When our class graduated from eighth grade, we were bused to the larger town of Palmdale and completed high school from there. The student body was bigger, but I clung to my familiar friends from Almondale—the middle school in Littlerock.

Off to College

After graduation from high school, I went on to Christian college in Oklahoma. The classes were much bigger, and I knew no one. Depression set in and so did isolation.

Thankfully, just before classes started, I met Kay. She was like a ray of sunshine, and far from quiet. I immediately felt comfortable with her. She was a kindred spirit.

Initially I lived on campus, but after the first semester, moved in with my dad.

The second semester I invited my previous brother and sister wings to my house for a get together. Kay and I baked all kinds of goodies in preparation for the crowd (every once in awhile I got brave). Everyone arrived. Then one person said, “Whose house is this and who put this party on?” I silently raised my hand, and felt my face grow hot. I knew I was in trouble. I had succeeded in making myself invisible. How could I ever escape this prison of silence?

Later, my roommate of three years and I had a fight. She called me a cipher, which means a zero, or nonentity. I was silent once again. She knew me well and hit the nail on the head. That is exactly what I wanted.

When I was growing up, there was no help for selective mutes. Thankfully today many resources exist for those who prefer too much silence. New initiatives are in place to help youth who are depressed and sad. The Hopeful Futures Campaign may offer help. If you suffer in a world of silence seek help.

God did many miracles for me concerning my faux silent safety of selective mutism. More on the subject soon. 😊