When the Child Does Not Speak
Silence Is Not Necessarily Empty
The adult has sat down.
The room is quiet. The door is closed. There are sheets of paper and coloured pencils on the table. The child knows that the adult wants to talk. Perhaps someone has said that this is a safe place. Perhaps the adult has taken time to explain that the child may say whatever they wish.
Then comes the question.
“Is there anything at home that makes you afraid?”
The child looks down.
They shrug.
“No.”
The adult waits.
“Are you sure?”
The child nods.
The conversation stops there.
Afterwards, the adult is left with more questions than answers. Was the concern unfounded? Was the question asked too soon? Was the child afraid? Did the child understand what the adult meant? Or was there simply nothing to tell?
Silence offers no certain explanation.
Yet it easily gives rise to strong interpretations.
Some adults think that the child has said no and that the matter is therefore closed. Others become even more convinced that something serious must have happened. The child’s lack of response is understood as a sign of fear, loyalty, or repression.
Both reactions may be premature.
A child may be silent because there is nothing to tell.
A child may be silent because there is far too much to tell.
Between these possibilities lies a large and unresolved space.
The adult must be able to remain there without turning the silence into a story of their own.
The Silence We Want to Fill
Human beings are not particularly good at tolerating empty spaces.
When a question is not answered, we begin to think. We create explanations. We try to find meaning in looks, movements, and pauses.
The child looks away. Perhaps they are hiding something.
The child laughs. Perhaps the laughter conceals discomfort.
The child becomes angry. Perhaps we have come too close to the truth.
The child says no. Perhaps they do not dare to say yes.
All of this may be possible. But the opposite may also be true.
The child looks away because they are bored.
They laugh because the question seems strange.
They become angry because they feel suspected.
They say no because the answer is no.
The adult’s concern can make it difficult to keep several possibilities open at once. The more strongly we fear that the child has been exposed to violence or abuse, the more easily every reaction may fit the suspicion.
If the child speaks, it confirms the concern.
If the child remains silent, the silence confirms the concern.
If the child denies it, the denial is interpreted as defence.
There is then no answer the child can give that changes the adult’s understanding.
The child becomes trapped in a story they did not create.
Meeting silence responsibly therefore requires restraint. The adult must ask themselves:
What do I know?
What do I believe?
What do I fear?
And what has the child actually expressed?
This distinction is essential. Suspicion may be necessary in order to protect a child. But suspicion is not the same as knowledge.
Silence Can Have Many Languages
Silence appears to be an absence. Yet it may contain very different experiences.
Some children remain silent because they are afraid.
They may have been threatened. They may believe that someone will be harmed if they speak. Perhaps an adult has said that the child will be sent away, that the family will fall apart, or that no one will believe them.
Other children remain silent out of loyalty.
The person who harmed the child may also be the person who prepares dinner, offers comfort, gives presents, or says goodnight. The child may love and fear the person at the same time. They may want the abuse to stop without wanting the person to disappear.
Some remain silent because of shame.
What happened may feel like something that says who the child is. The child may believe that their body is dirty, that they participated, or that others will look at them differently if they know.
Others do not have the language.
They may know that something felt wrong, but lack words for the body, sexuality, violence, or boundaries. What happened may have been made part of ordinary life. If the child has never learned that an act is unlawful or abusive, they may not know how to speak about it.
Some children have memories that come in fragments.
A smell. A sound. A room. A sensation in the body. But not a coherent story that can be given to an adult in the correct order.
And some children remain silent because the adult is the wrong person, the time is wrong, or the setting does not feel safe.
Silence is therefore not one thing.
It may be fear, protection, confusion, lack of words, mistrust, control, or simply the absence of anything to tell.
The adult must not demand that silence reveal what it means.
When We Have Moved Too Quickly
A child who does not open up may be a sign that the adult has moved faster than the relationship can bear.
We may have a serious subject we want to approach. The child may experience only an unfamiliar adult in an unfamiliar room.
The adult knows why the conversation is taking place. The child may not.
The adult knows the case, the reports of concern, and what others have said. The child sees only a face asking questions.
If contact has not been established, even open questions may feel threatening.
“Tell me what things are like at home.”
For the adult, this is an invitation.
For the child, it may feel like a demand.
What does she already know?
What does she want me to say?
Who will she tell?
Will Mum become angry?
Will I have to move again?
The child cannot answer freely if the terms of the conversation are unclear.
Contact must therefore come before content.
This does not mean filling the conversation with artificial small talk. Children also notice when adults use pleasant questions as a technique before they “really” begin.
Contact is about something more fundamental.
The child must experience the adult as predictable.
The questions must make sense.
It must be permissible to say, “I do not know.”
It must be permissible to correct the adult.
The child must not be punished for the answer.
The adult must be able to tolerate both the words and the silence.
If the child withdraws, it may therefore be wise to ask less about the event and more about the conversation itself.
“What is it like to sit here and talk with me?”
“Is there anything you are wondering about why we are meeting?”
“Is there anything that makes it difficult to answer?”
In this way, the child’s silence is not treated as resistance, but as information about the encounter.
The Child Trying to Retain Control
Children who have experienced violations may have learned that other people decide over their bodies, their space, and their boundaries.
When a new adult begins asking questions, the child may recognise something of the same powerlessness.
Once again, an adult wants something.
An answer.
A story.
A confirmation.
Silence may then become the child’s final area of control.
You can decide where I sit.
You can decide when the conversation begins.
You can decide which questions you ask.
But you cannot decide that I must answer.
From the adult’s perspective, the silence may be frustrating. From the child’s perspective, it may be an important boundary.
If we meet this boundary with pressure, we may repeat an experience the child already knows: that no does not matter.
The adult may say:
“You do not have to answer everything.”
But if the same question is repeated in different forms, the child quickly discovers that this is not true.
“Has anyone hurt you?”
“Is there anyone you are afraid of?”
“Has anyone touched your body?”
“Is there something you do not dare to tell?”
The adult may experience these as different questions. The child may experience them as a refusal to accept no.
Allowing the child to retain some control does not mean surrendering adult responsibility. If there is serious concern, the adult must still seek advice and act.
But the conversation should not become a struggle over who owns the words.
Sometimes the most trust-building thing an adult can do is to respect that the child does not wish to speak right now.
“I Don’t Know”
Children often answer:
“I don’t know.”
Adults may hear this as evasion.
“Yes, you do. Try to think.”
“You must remember something.”
“There is no wrong answer.”
But “I don’t know” can mean many things.
I do not remember.
I do not understand the question.
I do not know which answer you want.
I have no words.
I do not dare to know.
I do not want to answer.
Or simply:
I do not know.
When the adult does not accept this answer, the child may begin to guess. They may want to satisfy the adult, leave the room, or avoid having the question repeated.
We then receive more words but less truth.
Respecting “I don’t know” is therefore not giving up. It protects the reliability of the conversation.
The adult may help without pressuring:
“Is the question difficult to understand, or difficult to answer?”
“Would you like me to ask in another way?”
“It is all right not to know.”
Uncertainty is then permitted.
A child who is allowed to be uncertain does not have to fill the empty space for the adult’s sake.
When the Body Says What the Words Do Not
A child may be silent while the body becomes restless.
The hands tighten. Breathing becomes quicker. The child pulls their legs up beneath them or moves the chair backwards. They may begin to laugh, rock, fiddle with a pencil, or look towards the door.
The adult notices.
But body language must also be interpreted carefully.
Restlessness may mean that the subject is difficult. It may also mean that the child is tired, afraid of strangers, uncomfortable in the room, or unsure of what is expected.
We may describe what we see without explaining it:
“I notice that you are holding the pencil very tightly.”
“You are looking towards the door.”
“It seems as though this became difficult.”
The child is then given the opportunity to give meaning to the expression.
Perhaps they say:
“I need the toilet.”
Or:
“I don’t like the door being closed.”
Or:
“I don’t want to talk about him.”
The adult must allow the child’s explanation to stand before their own.
The body may speak, but the adult should not pretend to read the child from within.
Not Every Child Speaks in a Conversation Room
Adults often organise important conversations by sitting face to face.
But this is not always the form the child finds safest.
Some speak more easily while drawing.
Others in the car, with both looking towards the road.
Some say something at bedtime, after the light has been turned off.
Others begin in the middle of an activity, while building, walking, or helping to prepare food.
It may be easier to approach what is difficult when the full attention is not directed towards the child.
A conversation room can feel intense. The adult watches. Waits. Listens to every word.
The child becomes the centre of a situation they do not control.
When both people are doing something together, words may come from the side.
This does not mean that every activity should be used as a hidden method for making the child speak. The child must not be lured into a conversation they do not understand.
But the adult can remain aware that language emerges differently.
Some children need eye contact.
Others need freedom from it.
Some need questions.
Others need the adult to sit beside them without demanding anything.
When Silence Needs Time
Adults often live under time pressure.
Cases must be clarified. Concerns must be assessed. Meetings must be held. Someone needs answers in order to decide what should happen next.
The child’s time does not always follow the system’s time.
The child may have spent months or years making the experience silent. We cannot expect it to become available within an hour because the calendar says the conversation has been scheduled from ten to eleven.
Trust is built through repetition.
The same adult returns.
The adult remembers what the child said last time.
A promise is kept.
The conversation ends as agreed.
The child is told what will happen next.
In this way, the child gradually learns that this relationship is different.
But time must not become an excuse for passivity.
If there is serious reason to believe that the child remains in danger, we cannot wait for a complete account before acting. Protection must not depend on the child’s ability to explain.
This creates a difficult tension:
We must give the child time.
And we must act in time.
The adult must be able to do both.
Seeking advice, sharing concern with responsible services, and assessing safety may be necessary while still avoiding pressure on the child to say more than they can.
Silence as Loyalty
A child belongs to their relationships.
They depend on parents, siblings, and other caregivers, even when some of them have failed.
Silence may therefore be connected to love.
This can be difficult for adults to understand. We often prefer clear roles: victim and offender, safe and dangerous, good and bad.
The child’s world may be more complex.
The person who frightens the child may also be the person the child misses.
The person who committed the violation may be a brother the child has played with all their life.
A parent may have failed to protect and still be the person the child calls for in the night.
If the adult meets the child’s loyalty with condemnation, the child may remain silent in order to protect the relationship.
“How can you still love him after what he did?”
This question can make the child’s feelings into another problem.
The child needs to know that conflicting feelings may exist at the same time.
“You can love someone and still know that what they did was wrong.”
“You do not have to stop missing her for us to take what you said seriously.”
When the child does not have to choose between truth and belonging within the conversation itself, words may become easier to find.
The Silent Body
Some children have not only stopped speaking. They may have learned to leave the experience while it is happening.
The body becomes distant.
Time disappears.
The child sees themselves from outside or remembers only fragments.
When the adult later asks, there may not be a story lying ready and waiting.
What happened may be stored as bodily reactions, images, or sensory impressions without a clear connection between them.
Then it is of little help to say:
“Just begin at the beginning.”
The child may not know where the beginning is.
This reminds us that silence is not always a conscious choice. The child is not necessarily withholding a complete story they already know.
Some experiences must slowly find language.
This may happen through safety, play, drawing, movement, or therapeutic work. But the adult must be careful not to interpret these expressions as direct evidence of particular events.
A dark picture is a dark picture.
It may contain pain, but it does not by itself reveal what caused the pain.
The child’s expression must be taken seriously without being turned into a confession.
When Silence May Also Be an Answer
There is a danger that we romanticise silence.
That we assume it always conceals a profound truth.
But sometimes the silence is simply a no.
The child does not want to speak with this person.
The child does not experience the problem in the way the adult does.
Or there is no hidden event behind the concern.
This must remain possible.
If we always make silence full of hidden meaning, the child can never be believed when they say that nothing happened.
The ethical challenge is to hold open both the possibility that the child is concealing something serious and the possibility that the adult is wrong.
This is what makes the work so demanding.
We must be concerned without becoming certain.
We must be open without becoming naive.
We must protect without producing a story.
And we must be able to change our understanding when new information emerges.
Being able to tolerate that we may be wrong is not a sign of insufficient commitment.
It is part of respecting the child.
The Child Must Not Carry the Burden of Proof
When adults become concerned, they may unconsciously make the child responsible for proving that help is needed.
“We cannot do anything until she tells us.”
“He denies everything.”
“There is no clear account.”
But the child’s safety cannot depend only on a verbal story.
The adult must consider the whole picture.
Observations.
Changes over time.
Information from several sources.
The child’s reactions.
The care situation at home.
Previous events.
Professional assessments.
The child’s words are important, but the child should not be the investigator in their own case.
A child who cannot or will not speak still has the right to have adults examine the concern responsibly.
This must be done without treating suspicion as truth. But it must also be done without using silence as a reason to look away.
The child should not have to find perfect words before adults take responsibility.
The Adult Who Is Rejected
It can be painful not to be trusted.
A professional may have prepared carefully, been patient, and tried to create safety. Yet the child still will not speak.
The adult may then feel that they have failed.
What did I do wrong?
Why does the child not trust me?
Would someone else have done better?
These feelings are understandable, but they can turn the conversation into a question of the adult’s competence.
The child does not owe us the story.
The child may choose another adult.
They may speak to a teacher, foster mother, grandparent, sibling, or school nurse.
Perhaps they speak only long after we are no longer part of their life.
Our task is not always to become the chosen recipient.
Sometimes the task is to help ensure that several safe adults are present around the child.
A good professional can also tolerate saying:
“It seems easier for you to speak with her. Then we will make sure she can be present.”
The child’s needs come before the adult’s need to succeed.
Returning Without Nagging
When a child does not speak, it may still be right to return to the concern.
But repetition must not become pressure.
The adult may say:
“I remember that we spoke a little about how you do not like being home alone. You did not want to say more then. That is still all right. But I wanted you to know that you can speak to me if you ever want to.”
There is no accusation here.
The child learns that the adult has not forgotten.
At the same time, the earlier no is respected.
This may matter because children often test whether the adult’s interest lasts. Some adults ask once and then withdraw completely when the child does not answer. The child may then believe the opportunity has passed.
Others ask so often that the child feels watched.
The balance is difficult.
I remember.
I am still available.
I will not nag.
But I will not allow you to become invisible either.
This is a form of enduring care.
Silence Within the System
The child’s silence does not arise only between the child and one adult. It is also shaped by the systems around them.
Children may meet many people.
A teacher asks.
Then a child protection worker.
Then a doctor.
Then a police investigator.
Then a therapist.
Each adult may believe it necessary to hear the child’s story. But for the child, repetition may become burdensome.
If the child does not tell the story in exactly the same way each time, they may be seen as unreliable. If they remain silent, adults become frustrated. If they tell more to one person than another, questions arise about why.
The child’s words become the subject of assessment, while the child may lose track of who knows what.
The system must therefore also learn to tolerate limits.
Not everyone needs every detail.
Information must be shared responsibly.
The child must receive explanations.
Conversations should be coordinated so that the child does not constantly have to begin again.
Protecting the child also means protecting them from the collective adult need for information.
When the Adult Should Be Silent
This essay is about the child’s silence, but the adult also needs to know how to be quiet.
Not the indifferent silence that turns away.
Not the frightened silence that refuses to ask.
But the receptive silence.
The silence that says:
I am waiting.
I am not pressuring you.
I am paying attention.
I can tolerate not receiving an answer right now.
This is not passivity. It is a space the child may enter.
But the adult’s silence must be warm. An expressionless face and silent body may feel rejecting.
The child needs small signs of presence.
A nod.
A calm look.
A sentence:
“I am here.”
Silence is then shared rather than left for the child to carry alone.
Not Empty, but Not Clear Either
Silence is not necessarily empty.
But neither is it a text the adult is free to read as they wish.
It may contain fear.
Perhaps loyalty.
Perhaps a lack of language.
Perhaps control.
Perhaps none of what we imagine.
Silence therefore requires humility.
We must listen without pretending to hear words that have not been spoken.
We must remain attentive without turning every sign into evidence.
We must be able to wait without failing to protect.
We must be able to act without first demanding a complete account from the child.
And we must tolerate that we may never know everything.
For the adult, this may feel unresolved. We want closure, answers, and certainty.
The child’s life does not always follow this wish.
Some stories come late.
Some come in fragments.
Some are told to others.
Some are never assembled into a whole.
Yet the child can still be met with care.
The child can receive safety without having to explain everything.
Their boundaries can be respected.
They can have adults who remain attentive, seek advice, and take responsibility.
They can experience that silence does not make them invisible.
Remaining Close to What Has Not Been Said
When the child does not speak, it is tempting to choose one of two paths.
Either we withdraw:
It was probably nothing.
Or we press forward:
There must be something.
Both paths may lead us away from the child.
The third path is more difficult.
To remain close to what has not been said.
Not as the one who knows.
Not as the one who gives up.
But as a human being who keeps the door open while still accepting adult responsibility.
The adult may say:
“You do not have to tell me anything now.”
And at the same time think:
I will continue to pay attention.
I will seek advice if my concern remains.
I will not put words into your mouth.
But I will not pretend that I did not see your distress.
This may be among the most difficult tasks in work with children.
To act without certainty.
To wait without becoming passive.
To respect the child’s boundaries without leaving the child alone.
To tolerate silence without filling it with our own fear.
For silence may be a protection the child once needed.
It may be the last remaining area of control.
It may be a language that has not yet found words.
And if the child one day begins to speak, it may not be because an adult managed to break the silence.
It may be because the child discovered that an adult could sit beside it without forcing their way in.
That someone could see without deciding.
Wait without disappearing.
And protect without demanding a story as payment.
That someone could see without deciding.
Wait without disappearing.
And protect without demanding a story as payment.
This essay is based on many years of experience with children in difficult situations in life, and my lectures on this subject for students of different professions. The illustration was made by OpenAI/ChatGPT.
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