WHEN SILENCE STARTS TO SING - by Favour Nwaoru

What song finds you when life gets loud? Some days, silence feels too loud. Thoughts knock against each other, restless, unformed, and I catch myself wishing I could switch them off — just for a moment. But then, I press play. And somehow, before the first verse even ends, my pulse begins to match the rhythm. The noise quiets. The air feels lighter. It’s not magic, but it’s close.<img alt="" src="/media/inline_insight_image/1000291826.jpg"/>We all go through something. Some people call it burnout, others call it stress, or sadness, or “just one of those days.” Whatever name it wears, it’s still that heavy feeling sitting somewhere in your chest — that quiet ache that refuses to leave, no matter how hard you try to reason with it. During my mental health posting, I saw the kind of silence that sits deep — not just quiet rooms, but quiet people. Those who stare past the walls, as if searching for a sound that could remind them they still exist. I wasn’t there for most of the therapies, but I could see, somehow, that music reached them in ways words couldn’t. Maybe it slipped through the cracks of the mind, humming softly where language failed.<img alt="" src="/media/inline_insight_image/1000291829.jpg"/>We don’t see much of things like music or art therapy here, but I’ve often wondered what would happen if we did. I’ve seen what rhythm alone can do — how a hum, a beat, or a soft tune can pull someone back from the edge of their thoughts. Maybe healing doesn’t always come in pills or procedures. Maybe sometimes, it comes in rhythm. Even outside those hospital walls, I think we all need that — the gentle therapy of sound. A song that doesn’t promise to fix anything, but simply says I understand. For some, it’s worship. For others, lo-fi beats at 2 a.m., or an Afrobeats rhythm that shakes the dust off the day. For me, it depends on the mood — sometimes I drown in melodies, sometimes I breathe through them.<img alt="" src="/media/inline_insight_image/1000291827.jpg"/>Between schoolwork, hospital postings, church duties, and everything else that makes up my “almost-final-year” life, I sometimes feel stretched thin — like there’s not enough of me to go around. And yet, when I plug in my earphones, the world rearranges itself. The noise fades. The rhythm takes over. And for those few minutes, I’m fine again. Music doesn’t cure the ache, not really. But it reminds you that your heart still knows how to feel — and that’s something. It turns pain into something you can listen to, not just endure. Maybe that’s why they say, la musique guérit l’âme — music heals the soul.<img alt="" src="/media/inline_insight_image/1000291825.jpg"/>We often think of mental health as something for them — the people in wards, in rags, in textbooks. But truth is, it’s also us: the students who can’t breathe under expectations, the mothers juggling too much, the quiet friend who says “I’m fine” too quickly. We’re all fighting something, and we all deserve a melody to hold us for a while.<img alt="" src="/media/inline_insight_image/1000291823.jpg"/>So when the world gets too loud — or too quiet — press play.And maybe, just maybe, the songs will hold you too.

Other insights from Favour Nwaoru

Referral Earning

Points-to-Coupons