—a personal note on silence, withdrawal, and the rhythm of creation—

In a world obsessed with staying online, staying active, staying visible,

sometimes the most honest thing you can do is disappear.

Not out of defeat.

Not because you’ve run out of things to say.

But because the noise got too loud to hear yourself think.

There’s a strange kind of clarity that comes with stepping away.

It doesn’t arrive with fanfare. It’s not romantic.

It comes like a sigh, like a quiet knock behind the chest, saying:

“That’s enough. Let it settle.”

I’ve always been a quitter—at least in the way the world defines it.

I quit when I need to feel again.

I quit when I can’t find the pulse in what I’m doing.

I quit when continuing would mean lying.

And that’s never been about giving up.

It’s been about giving space.

See, creativity isn’t just what you put out.

It’s also what you hold in.

It’s how long you let the storm churn inside you

before you name it a song, a sentence, a brushstroke.

We live in a time that mistakes motion for meaning.

We’re told to post, share, speak, perform.

But not everything needs to be seen to be real.

Some things—most things, maybe—need to be left alone for a while.

Like sediment in wine. Like wounds in silence.

During the months I didn’t post, I wasn’t empty.

I was full. Overflowing, even.

But it was a kind of fullness that needed stillness, not exposure.

I consumed. I disconnected.

I read things slowly. Walked without purpose.

Listened to music and didn’t analyze it—just let it rot and blossom in me.

I had days when I felt dull, useless, invisible.

And I let those days be what they were.

Because real ideas—the good ones—don’t come from force.

They arrive after the noise has settled.

After the obsession with being prolific fades,

and you’re just a person again, sitting in a room,

remembering why you ever wanted to make anything at all.

So if you’re here reading this,

this isn’t just a blog post.

It’s a hand extended from the quiet.

It’s me saying: I didn’t leave. I just listened.

And now that I’m back,

I’ll be creating like someone who knows the value of pausing.

If you ever find yourself overwhelmed,

burnt out, uninspired, unworthy—

maybe it’s not the end.

Maybe it’s just time to

let it settle.