Imagine for a moment you are an astronaut, confined to a small space station while floating high above the earth’s atmosphere. You’ve been working nonstop for months, essentially around the clock, and while you care deeply about the mission you’re serving, you are beat. There are no real breaks here. You’re getting constant commands. You’re disconnected from the people and comforts that usually help ground you. Heck, the idea of being ‘grounded’ feels literally thousands of miles away. You’re starting to lose it.
The psychologists back on earth who are monitoring your physical and mental state notice that you’re struggling. You’re making more mistakes. You seem more irritable. You’re not sleeping well. Your motivation is slipping. They’re worried about you.
So they prescribe a new protocol: Silence No. 9. Thirty-seven minutes of no music, no conversation, no external input at all. Just you, with enough internal space to recalibrate.
I came across this idea earlier this year and was immediately drawn in. An intervention for burnout that wasn’t about doing more, but about removing input? It felt almost too perfect.
And as it turns out, it probably is. I went looking for the original research—deep dives into NASA reports, old case studies, recent publications (yes, there were other things I should have been doing)—and couldn’t find anything that really substantiated it. No clear protocol. Just a very compelling story.
But what struck me is that even if the story isn’t real, the premise underneath it is.
The story of Silence No. 9 was built on the idea that burnout doesn’t come just from exhaustion. And this is a fact we do have plenty of evidence to support. Burnout happens more often when we are doing something meaningful—something mission-driven, you might say. That’s why it shows up so often in healthcare workers, parents, and people whose work is deeply tied to their values.
When we care about what we’re doing and we’re doing a lot of it, we orient ourselves constantly outward. We stay tuned to the next “command”—a directive from a boss, a need from someone we love, an opportunity calling our name. Over time, that can turn into a kind of hypervigilance, a constant scanning for where we need to step in or step up. The result is often a low hum of anxiety—an agitated energy that slowly drains us.
If you’ve experienced burnout, you know it can feel like a particular kind of hell. For some, it’s like being both on and off at the same time—your foot on the gas and the brake. It’s exhausting, even when you worry you haven’t actually accomplished anything. How can I feel this depleted when I’m just… flailing?
And just like the Silence No. 9 idea hinted at, at the heart of burnout is often a kind of alienation from yourself. You’re doing what seems important, but you feel strangely absent. Like you can see yourself, but only through a small, round window into the distance.
So the idea of silence as a way back into yourself makes sense. The recovery process is often about quieting the noise.
Quieting the noise doesn’t have to mean literal silence. Sometimes it means stepping away for a period of time—hard, but necessary. It might look like a contemplative practice: walking, breathwork, sitting still long enough to notice yourself again. It might be therapy, a protected hour where no one can reach you. Or it might be calling in support and delegating so you have space to think.
At the center of burnout recovery is creating enough distance from constant input that you can hear yourself again.
It’s about turning down the outer volume so your body’s signals can come back online.
It’s about realizing that when your attention stops scanning for something to attach to, it can actually settle.
These things are hard to do in the context of a typical, noisy life. That’s why the astronaut metaphor worked: it imagines a deliberate pulling away from the thrum of everything, an intentional stretch of time where you go quiet and turn inward.
And while Silence No. 9 may not be a real NASA protocol, the value of silence itself is well established. There’s a growing body of research showing how important quiet is for the brain. Some studies suggest that extended periods of silence can support memory and cognitive function, while even brief moments – as little as two minutes – can reduce heart rate and stress hormones.
Silence gives the body a chance to settle and the mind a break from searching and scanning. It creates the conditions where you can remember that there is a you at the center of all that activity.
But if you read this and decide to seek out more silence, don’t be surprised if it feels worse before it feels better. In my experience, getting comfortable with silence takes time. There’s an initial stretch where the mind is still restless, still scanning, and still loud.
If you can stay with it through that first layer of discomfort, something shifts. And what you slowly find is not empty space, but yourself.
Questions for Reflection:
- Where might you be noticing signs of burnout and what might that be signaling to you?
- What’s your relationship like to silence? What could that be telling you?
- What are practices that you might like to try to orient back to yourself as your center?
