As a high school freshman, I can recall the overwhelming excitement I felt during my first pep rally. The atmosphere was electric—an entire school erupting in chants and songs, the bleachers vibrating from the collective stomping of feet. It was exhilarating.
This sense of exhilaration resurfaced during my first visit to a dance club, one of those teen nights (I can’t believe my mother allowed me to go! My dad called it a “meat market”). Standing in line outside the venue, I felt the bass reverberating through my body, and I found myself dancing in anticipation before even stepping onto the dance floor.
Throughout college, I embraced the nightlife, frequently attending house parties and clubs. The more crowded and chaotic, the better. I blasted my music in the car, craved the adrenaline of roller coasters, and reveled in the vibrant chaos of events like Mardi Gras. Noise was my lifeblood—an indication that something exciting was unfolding.
Then, everything changed when I married and welcomed my first child. Suddenly, silence became a rare luxury—so scarce that it felt as precious as gold. There were days when I longed for just a few moments of tranquility, feeling like a wanderer yearning for riches.
Our first home was on a busy street, a rookie mistake for any new homeowner, and coincidentally, construction began to widen the road just as I gave birth to my son, Jake. For the entirety of his first year, we were bombarded by the relentless noise of digging and hammering right outside our front door. Our high-strung dog added to the commotion, barking at the slightest disturbance, while our neighbors decided this was the perfect time to start a garage project, beginning each morning with their own cacophony of construction.
And let’s not forget Jake himself—his cries could fill the house to the brim. I remember lying beside him, my own sobs echoing in response to his wails. I craved just a moment of peace.
Now, with two children and a constant stream of neighborhood kids racing through our yard, noise has become a staple of life in our home. Surprisingly, my husband’s tolerance for noise remains unchanged, perhaps because he spends most of his day away from home. On weekends, he kicks off his mornings with the news blasting at full volume, followed by music accompanying whatever activity we’re engaged in. His preferences lean heavily towards UB40, which only amplifies the noise.
I find myself increasingly irritated by the chaos. When the music or television blares, communication turns into a shouting match. If I want to be heard, I must raise my voice, and when I try to listen, I’m left straining to catch words over the noise. My husband, partially deaf in one ear, often misses what I say entirely, adding to my frustration. Our lives are busy enough without extra noise.
So, when my husband cranks up the volume, I attempt to express how it affects me. He may perceive me as controlling or irritable, but the overwhelming din often ignites a rage within me that I can’t shake off. Even innocent play can become unbearable at times, making me want to scream at the kids to just quiet down. Sometimes, I find myself retreating to the bathroom under the pretense of needing a moment alone.
If someone had told my twenty-year-old self that I would one day find loud music annoying, I would have dismissed it. How could I have known that I would lose control over the noise surrounding my life?
Experiencing the shift from taking silence for granted to cherishing it has altered my perspective. It seems that since becoming a parent, my attachment to noise has dwindled alongside my fondness for high heels, false eyelashes, and glitter. Upon reflection, perhaps my aversion to noise is less about my children and more about my own growth.
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In summary, the transition from a noise-filled youth to a quieter life of parenting has opened my eyes to the value of silence. As I navigate the complexities of motherhood, I find myself longing for moments of peace amidst the joyful chaos of family life.