What Four Days of Silence Did to My Brain
The Neuroscience of Stillness, and Why the Brain—and the Soul—Crave Quiet
When my children were five and seven, we were two years into a new life in Chicago. I was running a newsroom that never slept, raising two deeply attached kids, and trying to build a new network from scratch in a city I didn’t yet know. I didn’t have the luxury of introspection—I had a job to do and a family to hold up. So, quietly and without ceremony, I turned off the volume on my own inner voice.
Not because I didn’t care what she had to say, but because I didn’t have time to negotiate with one more person—and that included myself.
Then, a friend of my daughter’s mentioned that her family regularly went on silent retreats in Oshkosh, Wisconsin, at a Jesuit retreat house. Four days. No speaking. No screens. Just stillness on the edge of Lake Winnebago.
I remember people laughing, “You? Silent for four days?” But something in me needed it desperately. I couldn’t yet name it—but I was starved for depth.
And I found it there.
In that stillness, one phrase echoed over and over in my mind: “There’s so much noise.”
And with that noise came the realization: all the constant busyness—the endless logistics, errands, mental checklists—wasn’t just exhausting me. It was keeping me from becoming the version of myself that God wanted. The woman He was whispering into existence—I just couldn’t hear Him. It reminded me of decision fatigue, this constant state of micro-decisions and reactive urgency that crowds out our deeper discernment.
Yes, I understood that the housekeeping and the errands were necessary. But in that quiet, I saw them for what they had also become: a spiritual distraction. A way to stay just busy enough to never really listen. I wasn’t leaving space to hear God—or to uncover the more creative, more aligned solutions that would only emerge if I gave myself room to receive them.
And here’s where it gets deeper for many of us, especially as Latinas: we inherit this rhythm. We’re taught early that being responsible, productive, helpful, sacrificial—that this is what makes us worthy. We conflate care with self-erasure. Our days become full of good things that still somehow pull us further away from God things.
Psychologists call this cognitive overload—where the prefrontal cortex becomes overwhelmed by too many simultaneous inputs, limiting higher-order thinking and long-term planning. But culturally, this goes deeper. For Latina women, the overlay of marianismo—the idea that we must be selfless, nurturing, and quiet—conditions us to serve constantly while never pausing to ask: What does God want to birth in me?
Silence gave me that pause.
It was like diving deep into the ocean—away from the chaos of the surface, closer to God. Each moment of uninterrupted silence allowed me to descend further into calm, clarity, and spiritual presence. With every breath, I felt myself swimming deeper into something sacred. I wasn’t being yanked back to the surface by demands or distractions. I could stay there—beneath the noise—long enough to finally hear what I had been missing.
But here’s the thing: the world doesn’t let you stay there. Every ping, every platform, every obligation tugs you back up. The constant interruptions of our modern lives—notifications, conversations, comparisons—force us to come back to the surface over and over again. They keep us suspended at a shallow depth, spiritually and mentally. And over time, we start mistaking the surface for the whole ocean.
Year after year, I found myself longing to return.
And last November, I did.
This time, it was a Jesuit retreat house in Atlanta. The setting was different, but the depth was familiar. Once again, I was able to tap into that quiet, sacred space within myself—and more importantly, hear God. Not in a thunderclap, but in the slow, steady whisper that only silence can carry.
What I remembered there, and what I had forgotten, is that stillness isn’t indulgent—it’s essential.
God’s message the first retreat, was to learn to value the stillness; the second time was different. In the stillness and silence, he help me accept that there was a process I needed to let unfold. I went wanting answers for what my next chapter in life would be. Complete and utter clarity. Instead he let me know and accept that his message would be incomplete and I made peace with that. Because it is in the process that we live and discover. I couldn’t hurry the process. I needed to just live. For someone who loves neat story endings and conclusions, I walked away at peace feeling the incompleteness was ok. Little did I know he was preparing me for a decision I made two weeks later, which I will share at a later date not now.
What Four Days of Silence Does to the Brain
Extended silence—especially in a spiritual context—has profound neurological effects:
🧠 Increased gray matter in the hippocampus and prefrontal cortex improves cognitive control, emotional resilience, and self-awareness. These brain regions are vital for learning, memory recall, and regulating our impulses—making silence not just soothing, but rewiring.
🧠 The default mode network (DMN) turns on when we’re not focused on tasks. It’s the brain’s built-in reflection system, linked to insight, memory consolidation, empathy, and creativity. It’s what allows us to mentally time travel, imagine outcomes, and process meaning. Silence supercharges it.
🧠 Cortisol levels drop. Our sympathetic nervous system (fight-or-flight) calms, and the parasympathetic system takes over, bringing the body into restoration. Blood pressure normalizes. Digestion improves. Sleep deepens. It’s a total physiological reset.
🧠 Creative problem-solving spikes. With less input, the brain shifts to divergent thinking—the kind needed for originality and innovation. This is why many of our best ideas come not when we try harder, but when we stop trying and make space.
🧠 Interoception—the sensing of internal signals—strengthens. We become more attuned to our bodies and our intuition. Some describe it as gut instinct. Others call it discernment. Mystics and saints have long known this space: the place where God’s whisper is no longer drowned out.
Stillness is not about shutting the world out—it’s about tuning your inner world back in.
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Why Silence Is Especially Hard for Women—Especially Latinas
For many women—and particularly for Latinas—our worth has been tethered to how much we do. How much we give. How much we serve. How much we produce. In our culture, being busy is often worn like a badge of honor. We are raised to be capable, dependable, sacrificial. It’s not just celebrated—it’s expected.
And while those qualities are beautiful, they can become a prison if left unchecked.
In previous research for my book on Latina leadership and confidence, I found that many Latinas internalize their value through external output. And science backs this up: socialized gender roles and bicultural pressures create chronic identity dissonance—a tension between who we feel called to be and what others expect us to perform.
Psychologists call this over-functioning, where women feel they must constantly prove their worth through hyper-productivity. Over time, this leads to burnout, resentment, and disconnection from our own desires. We become successful, but not fulfilled.
Silence interrupts that pattern. It reminds us that our worth is not in our doing—but in our being.
In stillness, there is no one to impress. No performance. Just presence.
And that, for many of us, is the most radical thing we can allow ourselves.
The Beautiful Role of Boredom
We fear boredom like it’s failure. But boredom is not the enemy—it’s the beginning of breakthrough.
When the brain is under-stimulated, it doesn’t shut down—it activates. Studies show that boredom sparks divergent thinking, a key function of creativity. In boredom, the mind begins to make new connections, recall old ideas, and form original thoughts.
That’s why your best ideas often come in the shower or on a walk—not while staring at your inbox.
Stillness is not empty. It’s fertile.
What You Can Do
You don’t need a four-day retreat to begin (though I hope you find one).
You just need to start small—and start now.
10 minutes of quiet in the morning before the world enters your mind
A walk with no agenda
A journal with no filter
A prayer with no words—just listening
The world will try to pull you back to the surface. But every time you return to stillness, you strengthen the part of you that remembers how to breathe underwater.
Because your creativity lives there.
Your clarity lives there.
Your calling lives there.
And so does your peace.
Personal Note:
After so many years in the nonstop world of news and media, I’m still practicing much of what I suggest here. That’s why I say—this writing is first and foremost therapeutic for me. And I share it with you not because I’ve mastered it, but because I know many of you are walking through the same things. Others have encouraged me to share my writing to serve others and so I hope it does. So as you read this, please know: I am still a work in progress; it’s incomplete. I have invited you along the way. And I hope these words offer you the same permission they gave me—to slow down and listen deeper.
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About the Author
Teri Arvesu Gonzalez is the founder of The TAG Collab, a consultancy that helps mission-driven companies align purpose, brand, and strategy from the inside out.
With a Master’s in Management and Leadership and more than 25 years of experience leading newsrooms, launching initiatives, and driving transformation across Miami, Chicago, and national corporate teams, she brings deep expertise in storytelling, culture-building, and operational alignment.
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