Finding Yourself in the Silence: The Alexander Technique and Our Fear of Quiet

When we think about the Alexander Technique, we often focus on its profound ability to help us stop over-reacting to stimuli. We learn to notice the impulse to hunch over a screen, to grip the steering wheel in traffic, or to tense up at the sound of an email notification. The Technique gives us the tools to inhibit that habitual, excessive reaction and choose a more integrated, poised response.

But what about when the stimulus isn't there? Is all good then?

Let's be honest, we are all, to a large degree, stimulus junkies. We can fear boredom, avoid quiet, and fill every spare moment with input—a podcast, social media scroll, background TV. This isn't just a bad habit; it’s often a sophisticated avoidance strategy. We can, paradoxically, have a powerful and anxious over-reaction to a lack of stimulus. When the external noise dies down, we often become the stimulus to ourselves, and that can feel profoundly uncomfortable.

When we sit in silence, two things tend to happen. First, without an external focus, our attention turns inward. We might become acutely aware of bodily sensations, tensions, or a general sense of unease that was previously masked by distraction. This can feel threatening because we’re not used to simply inhabiting our bodies without a task.

Second, and perhaps more challenging, we come face-to-face with the relentless stream of our own mental chatter. This internal monologue—planning, worrying, rehashing, judging—is so constant that we often mistakenly identify it as ourselves. We think, "I am my thoughts." So, when the external world goes quiet and all that’s left is this chatter, it can feel like a confirmation of our existence. The noise becomes a comfort, a familiar, if exhausting, companion.

The real discomfort arises when that chatter also begins to settle. In moments of genuine quiet, the mental noise may subside, and what can follow is a surprising sense of anxiety, even a sense of loss. If I am not my thoughts, then who am I? This can feel like losing a part of oneself. But the Alexander Technique offers a different perspective, as I often like to say to my students, you find yourself in the gaps between the words.

Your true self—your conscious, directing self—is not the chatter; it is the awareness that listens to the chatter. It is the quiet space from which intention and observation arise. The loss of the noise is not a loss of self, but an opportunity to connect with the more authentic, quiet presence beneath it.

This is where the practice of Semi-Supine, or Constructive Rest, becomes so much more than a physical exercise. It is a dedicated laboratory for exploring this relationship with stimulus and silence. I recommend reading this previous companion piece on Constructive Rest to get the bigger picture.

When you lie in semi-supine, books under your head, knees pointing to the ceiling, you are intentionally removing a great deal of external stimulus. Your only "task" is to allow your spine to lengthen and your back to widen, guided by your gentle, non-forceful "directions" or intention.

What happens next is a microcosm of what we've discussed: 

1. The Initial Reaction: At first, the absence of doing can feel strange. The mind rebels. It wants to plan dinner, worry about a work project, or even just think, "Am I doing this right?" This is the habitual self-stimulation kicking in—the over-reaction to the lack of external stimulus. It’s the mind’s way of filling the void because the quiet feels too unfamiliar.
2. The Practice of Inhibition: This is where you apply the first principle of the Alexander Technique: you inhibit. You notice the impulse to fidget, to follow a train of thought, or to "try harder" to relax. Instead of reacting, you simply give yourself the direction to do nothing. You choose to stop end-gaining for a quiet mind and instead focus on the means-whereby, the gentle, ongoing process of allowing release.
3. Finding the Gaps: As you practice this inhibition, something interesting happens. The frantic chatter may not stop entirely, but it begins to lose its grip. You might notice brief moments of silence, gaps between the thoughts. In these gaps, you are not "thinking"; you are being. You are simply aware of the weight of your body on the floor, the subtle movement of your torso through breath, and a growing sense of spaciousness. This is you, connecting with yourself beneath the narrative. Of course, being present and aware is still a style or quality of thinking, it's a mental engagement, but not one that utilises the symbolism of language. It's the thinking quality exhibited by other animal species that are still capable of reasoning and problem solving.
4. Rediscovering Poise: In this quiet space, your directions to "let the neck be free" and "let the torso lengthen and widen" become clearer and more effective. They are no longer commands shouted over mental noise, but gentle suggestions offered into a receptive quiet. The body responds not because it is being forced, but because it is being listened to.

Semi-supine, then, is not just a tool for releasing physical tension. It is a daily practice in becoming comfortable with silence and learning that you are not threatened by it. It is a process of dis-identifying from the mental chatter and rediscovering the quiet, observant, and truly responsive self that resides in the stillness.

The next time you lie down for Constructive Rest and feel that initial itch of anxiety or boredom, see it for what it is: a habitual over-reaction to a lack of stimulus. Don't fight it. Simply notice it, inhibit the urge to escape, and return to your gentle directions. In the resulting quiet, you may just find that the person you’ve been looking for—your calm, integrated self—was waiting there all along.