Beloved Readers,
There’s something about January that slows us down enough to hear what we’ve been carrying. The calendar turns, the noise of the holidays fades, and the quiet feels different. I am in Colorado Springs today as I write this opening paragraph. Outside our back door lay 3 beautiful deer. As the dawn breaks this morning, I am reminded to celebrate the silence. In this space my peace is less optional, more revealing. January invites reflection whether we ask for it or not. As I prepare and train to walk the Camino de Santiago this spring, I’ve been thinking a lot about the different kinds of quiet we experience in our lives.
Some silence is sacred. It creates space to breathe, to notice, to remember who we are and who God is. Some silence steadies us. It restores. It gently reorients our hearts. But there is another kind of silence – one that doesn’t heal, but hurts. The kind that leaves you second-guessing yourself. The kind that makes you feel unseen, unchosen, or suddenly alone in a relationship that once promised connection.
A reader asked a question recently that lives right there, in that painful space. It’s a question I’ve heard whispered in coaching sessions and carried quietly by so many women who want to love well, believe the best, and still honor the truth of their own experience:
This Weeks Question:
“Could the silent treatment be a sign of infidelity? Why else would someone who says he loves me treat me so horribly? How can anyone who claims love shut me out like that?”
Just reading that, I can feel the ache underneath it. The confusion. The self-doubt. The searching for something, anything, that makes emotional sense. So before we go any further, hear this clearly: you are not unreasonable for asking these questions. You are not dramatic. You are not imagining what you’re experiencing.
When silence becomes a pattern in a relationship, your body and your spirit notice. Something inside you starts to whisper, This doesn’t match love. And that whisper matters. It’s not weakness, it’s wisdom. It’s your God-given dignity waking up.
So, could silent treatment be connected to infidelity? Sometimes, yes. When someone is hiding something, especially something that threatens the integrity of the relationship, they often pull away. They may avoid intimacy. They may shut down conversations that feel risky. Silence can become a wall they hope you won’t climb.
But here’s what’s equally important to say: infidelity is not the only explanation. And it’s not even the most common one.
Often, silence has far less to do with another woman and far more to do with a man who does not know how, or is not willing to engage in emotional responsibility. Some people withdraw to avoid accountability. Some shut down because they lack the skills to navigate conflict. Others use silence as a way to regain control, to punish, or to protect themselves from uncomfortable truth. None of this makes the behavior acceptable. But it does explain why silence can exist even when no affair is happening.
Which brings us to the deeper grief beneath the question: If he loves me, how can he treat me like this?
This is where many women get stuck, especially those who value faith, commitment, and perseverance. We’re often taught, explicitly or implicitly, that love and harm cannot exist together. And yet, in real life, they often do. Someone can feel affection for you and still treat you in ways that are deeply unloving. Someone can say “I love you” and still lack the maturity, humility, or character required to love well.
Silence, when it’s used as a weapon or a barrier, is not love. It isn’t a healthy space. It isn’t emotional regulation. It’s a refusal to engage. A withdrawal of presence right when repair is needed most. Love may need time, but it does not punish with absence. Love moves toward truth, not away from it.
If someone’s silence leaves you feeling small, confused, or ashamed, constantly wondering what you did wrong or how to say things better so they won’t disappear, that is not love, no matter how often the words are spoken.
And here’s a question I gently invite you to consider: instead of asking whether silence means infidelity, what if the more important question is what that silence is costing you? What is it doing to your sense of safety, your clarity, your confidence, your peace?
God never uses silence as a weapon. He is our example. Even in His quiet seasons, there is presence, not punishment. His nearness does not leave you destabilized or doubting your worth. Scripture reminds us, “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted; He rescues those whose spirits are crushed” (Psalm 34:18, NLT). If someone’s silence is crushing your spirit, that matters.
So if this is your story, I want you to know this: silent treatment may not always mean infidelity, but it always means something is off. Something worth paying attention to. Something worth naming. Something worth responding to with wisdom and care.
You are not asking too much.
You are not imagining the hurt.
And you are not alone.
As we look toward 2026, I want to gently offer this invitation.
What if the next season of your life isn’t about working harder to be understood, more patient, more accommodating, or more careful with your words, but about learning a new way of navigating relationships altogether?
A way rooted in truth instead of fear. In clarity instead of confusion. In dignity instead of self-erasure.
This is the kind of navigation I’m choosing as I prepare to walk the Camino this spring, step by step, attentive, honest, and grounded. Not rushing ahead. Not minimizing what hurts. But listening deeply and responding with wisdom. Join me?
If 2026 is calling you toward something steadier, truer, and more aligned with who God created you to be, I hope you’ll stay close. We’ll be exploring what it means to navigate relationships with courage, discernment, and grace together. Join us for 6 months of powerful transformation.
Dear ones, you are worthy of a love that meets you in the light.
And there is a healthy way forward.
As you reflect on this, I invite you to pause and ask yourself:
When silence shows up in my relationships, what do I tend to do—and what might it look like to respond from clarity and self-respect instead of confusion or self-blame?
(If you feel safe, I’d love for you to share in the comments. Your words may be the permission another woman needs to name her own experience.)
