There was a time when stillness was normal. Quiet moments weren’t something you needed to chase. They just existed. Riding in the car. Sitting on the porch. Waiting in line. Simply being was enough.

But somewhere along the way, that changed. You became a parent. Smart phones became ubiquitous. Access to answers became instant. Now, the moment things go quiet, it’s likely your brain goes into panic mode: What did I forget? What should I be checking? Am I wasting time? Maybe you become paralyzed with indecision: should you do the laundry, make a grocery list, catch up on work, make allllll the appointments you’ve been putting off, get the oil changed? 

If you’re parenting solo, you may feel this more than most, with so much riding on your shoulders. You may feel like being “still” is a weakness. But, that’s not the truth.

Stillness isn’t a flaw. Stillness is where healing begins. And the reason it’s so hard to access now isn’t because you’re doing something wrong. It’s because you’ve been trained to distrust it.

Robert Beeson, founder of Solo Parent, once reflected on a concept he encountered in a book: the idea of being a disciple of the internet—not in the religious sense, but in how we are shaped (quietly and constantly) by the habits and inputs we let dominate our lives.

His observation was simple: when we spend our days immersed in immediate answers, fast information, and algorithmic opinions, we begin to lose the capacity to linger, to wonder, to wrestle with mystery.

Over time, that loss starts to feel normal. But it isn’t.

And for many of us, it’s affecting how we connect, with ourselves, with others, even with God.

Single parent Elizabeth Cole shared a story about being in the car, passing by a building, and asking out loud, “I wonder what that is.” The answer was instant: “Just Google it.” That moment stayed with her because it said something about what we’ve lost.

We used to let questions breathe. Now, we automatically reach for answers.

Wonder used to be a bridge to creativity, reflection, even prayer. Now it feels inefficient. Distracting. Outdated.

But when we trade wonder for certainty, something in us grows brittle. We stop trusting the process of discovery. We stop believing that truth can take time. We start mistaking fast answers for wisdom.

Stillness is already hard to come by when you’re raising kids on your own as a single parent. You’re constantly moving, managing, fixing, responding. And when a moment of quiet does come, it doesn’t always feel peaceful. It feels uncomfortable. Foreign. Like you’re doing something wrong by not doing anything at all.

Amber Fuller, a marriage and family therapist, has said that one of the greatest losses in our always-on culture is the erosion of internal reflection. She often challenges clients to notice how quickly they reach for distraction. “We’ve stopped trusting ourselves,” she said. “Instead of turning inward, we turn to the internet. And in doing so, we weaken our own capacity to discern.”

When you’re constantly surrounded by noise, it becomes harder to hear your own voice. And that’s a dangerous loss, especially for parents trying to model presence and groundedness to their children.

Creating even ten minutes of quiet each day helps you shift from reaction to clarity, reducing stress and restoring your ability to focus.

One of the surprising gifts of stillness is that it brings clarity. When you disconnect from constant stimulation, you stop absorbing everyone else’s urgency and begin noticing what really matters to you. You’re less likely to make reactive decisions and more likely to respond from a place of groundedness. Over time, you learn to trust your own thoughts again. The pressure to keep up fades. Your sense of self deepens.

Stillness strengthens your intuition, making it easier to trust yourself, set better boundaries, and respond with confidence.

Robert once participated in a full-day silent retreat on a friend’s farm. At first, the idea felt unbearable. A whole day without speaking, scrolling, or planning? He quietly mapped out an “escape plan” in case the discomfort became too much. 

But by the end of the day, everything shifted.

He started noticing things he’d completely tuned out, the sound of birds, the pattern of ants carrying leaves, even the quiet in his own body. He didn’t want to leave.

Stillness didn’t just quiet the noise. It awakened the ability to pay attention without being directed. To receive thoughts instead of chasing them. To simply be.

And that presence is something our souls are starving for.

One of Amber’s teenagers once told her, “I’m so glad I had a technology-free childhood.” The slow Saturdays. The art projects. The space to be bored and discover something new on the other side of it. Stillness isn’t just good for you. It gives your kids a different kind of memory. One where they weren’t competing with your phone for attention. One where they learned how to listen, reflect, and imagine, because they saw you doing the same.

We’ve been trained to think that silence is empty. But silence is full.
Full of wisdom. Full of truth. Full of things you won’t hear until the noise fades.

You don’t have to rush back to productivity.
You don’t have to reach for answers.
You don’t have to fill every moment.

You are allowed to linger.

To wonder.

To rest.

To believe that stillness, far from being wasted time, might actually be where your real life begins again.