An Inner Silence That Grows as We Age

I read the story and died laughing. I totally get some of the lines. Oh dear. Does this mean age plays a part in getting how older narrators feel? Yet, this isn't quite a laughing matter. It's a whole psyche of mental health and wellness of older women comes into play. 

This is 'The Silence' by Zadie Smith, published in The New Yorker on June 30, 2025.

The narrator 56-year-old Sharon used to work in a busy hospital ward for mothers with postpartum psychosis. She sorted out the administrative duties at the ward and checked in on the patients. Then the silence grew within her. She decided to retire from her job before she became a danger to her patients. 

Behind her mask, though, the silence bloomed. Not speaking to a consultant was no loss, but she was meant to speak to the nurses and the families and the two women who worked in the office with her, and all of that became increasingly difficult. She struggled for a year, telling no one, until the silence took on such a dimension that it became an impediment to her work, even a danger to the patients.

She didn't care anymore about her husband who was on benefits or her two grown unemployed daughters. She booked a ticket on a budget flight out to Krakow in Poland. She thought about doing many things. In the end, all she wanted to do, was to stop by the Wawel Chakra and place her head against the wall of the Krakow Chakra. Okaaaaay.

The author said that this story is inspired by Grace Paley's (1992-2007) stories, especially 'My Father Addresses Me on the Facts of Old Age'.

The narrator is embracing the silence within her. I'll take it as this is a time for her to reflect on her life, how happy she is and what would keep her happy. She has contrasted her quiet and silence with how loud and noisy younger people are. She used to be like this too, chattering and talkative. She has deep emotions about being 56, and only growing older. 

I'll take a bold step and assume that the narrator yearns for a different life, or at least experience something new, something touching before returning to the life she knows. I definitely pause and make these sorts of reflections too, annually. As the years pass, even as a young teenager, I didn't want to be one of those who make decisions against what I want, only to wake up years later and decide this isn't what I want.  

Do I understand this growing inner silence? I do. I get it loads. Age, yes. Aging, sure. I'm not too certain it's a matter of wisdom and maturity. 

From dust you have come and to dust you shall return, and somewhere in the middle of that process her boundaries had become fluid, and now it appeared that Sharon might literally do anything. What would her pastor say if he saw her? Perhaps that she had been invaded by demons, which was what he thought about the women on the ward. But it turned out pastors knew some things and not others. Daughters, too: they knew some things and not others. Husbands and consultants, also.