As I reflect on the months gone by, one thing has become increasingly important to me:

Silence.

Not emptiness. Not loneliness. Not inactivity.

But intentional moments of quiet that allow us to stop, breathe and reconnect with ourselves.

In education, so much of our day is filled with noise. Conversations, questions, meetings, bells, emails, phones, corridors bustling with activity, and the constant responsibility of responding to the needs of others. It is a profession founded on relationships and communication, but that also means periods of true quiet can be surprisingly rare.

Dr Saundra Dalton-Smith, in her work on the seven types of rest, identifies sensory rest as one of the essential forms of restoration. Sensory rest provides relief from the constant stimulation of modern life. It allows our nervous systems an opportunity to settle and recover from the relentless demands placed upon our senses.

As educators, we often think about rest in terms of holidays, evenings or sleep. But sensory rest reminds us that sometimes what we need most is not necessarily more sleep, but less stimulation:

Less input. Less noise. More space.

Over the last six months, I have become much more intentional about creating periods of silence in my own life. Not because I wanted to achieve anything in particular, but because I recognised a growing need to turn my attention inwards rather than constantly outwards.

What I discovered surprised me: Those quieter moments became deeply restorative, helping me to replenish energy that I didn’t fully realise had been depleted. They also did something else. They created space for creativity.

Without the constant stream of information, opinions, notifications and distractions, small sparks of new ideas began to emerge. Thoughts were able to develop. Reflections became clearer. Solutions that had previously felt elusive seemed to arrive more naturally. It reminded me that creativity doesn’t always arrive through doing more. Sometimes it arrives when we finally become still enough to hear it.

As a new academic year begins, I find myself wanting to hold on to this lesson. Not just for weekends and holidays, but during the working week itself. Because while silence can feel like a luxury in education, it is often available in the smallest moments if we choose to notice it.

The minute before pupils arrive. The pause between meetings. A walk across the playground. The kettle boiling in the staffroom. The few moments spent looking out of a classroom window before moving on to the next task.

These brief pauses can become opportunities to practise something I often return to:

Stop. Breathe. Reflect.

Stop what you’re doing.

Take a slow breath in.

Take an even slower breath out.

Reflect on how you’re feeling in that moment.

Not how you think you should be feeling. Not what needs to happen next. Simply noticing where you are right now.

Our breath has an extraordinary ability to anchor us in the present moment. It brings our attention back from the worries of tomorrow and the regrets of yesterday. It reminds us that we are here, now.

I am often reminded of the beautiful lyric from Alexi Murdoch’s song Breathe:

“Don’t forget to breathe.”

Such simple words, yet how often do we do exactly that? Not literally forgetting, of course, but breathing so shallowly and rushing so quickly through our days that we lose touch with the calming rhythm that is always available to us.

Sometimes the most important thing we can do is pause long enough to remember.

Don’t forget to breathe.

Silence also has a role to play beyond our working days. Weekends, holidays and those precious periods of downtime offer longer opportunities to lean into quietness and sensory rest.

This doesn’t necessarily mean sitting in complete stillness or striving for some idealised version of mindfulness. Silence can simply be an inward shift of attention. It can be choosing activities that nourish rather than stimulate.

These could be: Curling up on the sofa with a book. Sitting quietly in the garden, noticing new growth and the subtle changing of the seasons. Watching the light shift across a room. Listening to birdsong. Enjoying a cup of tea without simultaneously checking emails or scrolling through social media.

These moments may seem small, but they create space. Space to think. Space to feel. Space to hear our own thoughts again.

In a profession where we spend so much of our time focused on the needs of others, silence offers us an opportunity to reconnect with ourselves. It provides the sensory rest that Dr Dalton-Smith describes so powerfully and reminds us that wellbeing is not always found in doing more.

Sometimes wellbeing is found in creating enough quiet to restore our energy, spark our creativity and hear our own voice again.

As summer gives way to autumn and the rhythm of the school year begins once more, perhaps we might all experiment with noticing the silence a little more.

Seeking it out in the gaps between commitments.

Protecting it during weekends and holidays.

Allowing ourselves moments to stop, breathe and reflect.

Because sometimes the most valuable thing we can do is pause long enough to listen.