When Life Goes Quiet: Why I Stepped Back, and What I Learned in the Silence

There are seasons in life when everything feels loud, full of movement, full of momentum, full of us trying to keep up with our own expectations. And then there are seasons where the volume drops without warning.

Lately, I’ve been living in the quiet.

If you’ve noticed I haven’t been as present here on Misfits, it’s not because I stopped caring or lost my purpose. It’s because life shifted under my feet, and I needed a moment to catch my breath, a moment to rediscover who I am in the middle of unexpected change.

I’ve always believed in showing up authentically, even when that truth isn’t neat or pretty. And the truth is: I’ve been moving through a deeply personal transition that shook parts of me I didn’t expect. A sudden divorce has a way of rearranging your emotional furniture, even when you try to keep everything aligned.

But here’s the part that matters most:

I didn’t disappear. I paused. I recalibrated. I healed.

I stepped back not because I was broken, but because I was becoming.

In those quiet weeks, I learned something I didn’t know I needed to learn: that silence can be a teacher. When the world fades to a softer volume, you finally hear the truths you’ve been avoiding:

Where am I hurting? What do I need? What am I ready to release? Who am I becoming now?

And maybe the hardest one…Where have I been abandoning myself while trying to love someone else?

Those answers came slowly, gently, sometimes painfully. But they came.

And while I won’t go into every detail, I will say this: I walked away from that season with more clarity, more self-trust, and more courage than I’ve ever had.

I realized I’d been fighting for love with someone who wasn’t equipped to fight beside me. Not because I wasn’t worthy, I know my worth. But because emotional maturity is a choice, and not everyone makes it.

A woman stands contemplatively by the water's edge, silhouetted against the shimmering surface, surrounded by the natural frame of leaves.

"Silence is not a sign of weakness; it’s often the beginning of rebirth."

Sometimes people don’t leave because they don’t care. Sometimes they leave because caring requires a depth they’ve never built, a vulnerability they’re terrified to access, a version of themselves they’re not ready to meet.

That’s not my burden to carry. And it’s not yours either.

What I know now is this:

You can’t fix someone who is committed to escaping themselves. You can’t shrink yourself to make someone stay. You can’t beg for a love you already give.

So I released it. I released him. I released the version of myself who kept trying to hold everything together.

And in doing so, I returned to myself.

Now, as I step back into this community, this community built on truth, tenderness, and the celebration of the beautifully imperfect, I’m coming back stronger, softer, clearer.

I’m coming back because the quiet didn’t break me. It built me.

And I want to share what I learned with anyone else who is navigating their own silent season, the ones who feel guilty for stepping away, or lost in transition, or unsure of who they are becoming.

If that’s you, let me offer this:

You’re allowed to step back. You’re allowed to rest. You’re allowed to disappear for a moment while your heart catches up.

Silence is not a sign of weakness. It’s often the beginning of rebirth.

Thank you for giving me the space to grow. Thank you for still being here. And thank you for walking this messy, honest, imperfect journey right alongside me.

We’re just getting started.

With love, 🖤

Franks