The Terror of Silence

When I get upset, I don't get loud. I get vewy, vewy quiet. 

It's genetic. It's also an INFJ characteristic. Ma would get quiet, too. As does Owen. My niece gets quiet (it freaked us out when she did it for the first time when she wasn't yet two). 

When I am flooded with emotion, my body shuts down. My sister-in-law commented that it's a good thing, as Owen doesn't say anything regrettable in the heat of the moment. 

I don't like to lose control. I don't like to have to amend for vicious words spoken while infuriated.

I'm also a little slow on the uptake. It may take me a full five minutes (usually longer) to realize someone is insulting me. 

Considering how a basic Judaic tenet is "do not respond," that means I can have fantasies of chapping up Olam HaBah, all without trying. 

Yet I recently realized another perk. 

When one remains quiet in the face of insult, the offender's hurtful words float in the air, echoing in all their horror. There is a very good chance the offender now hears exactly what was said, and realizes the error of such speech. The offender may flush, and mumble, then hopefully vanish in shame. 

I believe that is known in layman's terms as a "win-win." 

You see, if one quickly jumps in defensively, those painful utterances are pushed aside and forgotten by the enunciator. They smirk instead at one's feverish efforts to explain or clarify. 

Being quiet just makes perfect tactical sense. For there is one thing I have learned: Silence, in the face of insult, reflects self-discipline. Those who revel in taking others down exploit insecurities. But if I refuse to take the bait . . . they get very frightened indeed.

I constantly quote from Lord of the Rings: "I did not pass through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm." 

Muhahahahaha.