I Didn’t Know I Needed Peace—Until It Changed My Life

There was a time when silence made me itchy. Like, physically uncomfortable.

I was the girl who filled every quiet moment with chatter. If no one was around to talk to, I'd crank the background music, keep the TV humming, or conveniently "need" to run an errand... which really meant tagging along on someone else’s just to avoid being alone. I’d talk to fill the gaps. I’d make plans just to keep the calendar full. Because somewhere in my twenties, I absorbed the belief that being busy meant I was doing life right.

Then I got married.

No one tells you how living with someone you choose to love will make you admire the qualities you struggled to embody your entire life.

Something shifted for me—quietly, subtly, but deeply. My partner’s presence changed me. Watching him move through the day with ease, not rushing, not over-explaining, not performing… just being. That brought me peace. I needed peace.

For the first time, I didn’t feel the need to try hard, impress, or entertain to earn love or worth. I could just be. Relaxing into myself, into the one-bedroom apartment I got to call ours, and turning it into a home—that brought me peace.

I wasn’t chasing anything anymore. I wasn’t trying to be the biggest, the boldest, the best. I was just me. Living my life. And I absolutely loved it.

Getting married didn’t cage me—it settled me. It calmed that restless, gypsy lifestyle part of me that always needed to be on the move. I didn’t know I needed that until I had it.

And for the first time, when everything slowed down, when the noise stopped, when the calendar wasn’t packed—I realized I didn’t know how to just sit with myself. Not because it was boring. But because I was half-expecting something to go wrong. Something was always “up.” I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But nothing happened. Nothing crashed. And for once, I wasn’t overwhelmed or overstimulated. I was at ease.

And that... was new. That... was peace.

Now? I get anxious if I don’t get at least two solid hours in the morning and at night to just be quiet and with myself. No phone. No talking. No hustle. Just moving at my own pace—letting my nervous system breathe, my thoughts stretch out, and my soul remember who it is.

That time is sacred. I guard it. I cherish it. It’s not “me time”—it’s me-coming-home-to-me time.

More than that, it’s become my measure of connection.

I look for who brings me peace—because that peace makes me feel more like me than any version I ever lived. And that is the version of me I want people to see.

Because silence doesn’t mean absence anymore. It means presence.

And I wish I’d known that sooner.