In the darkest night of her life, when all paths seemed closed – she had lost her job, her husband had left her, and she had just found out that a close friend had betrayed her – suddenly something inside her said: “Wait.” It wasn’t a voice, nor a thought. A strange stillness. Like when, at a noisy party, someone suddenly cuts the music. That silence, sudden and meaningful.
Sara had planned to end everything that night. She wanted to cut herself off from everything and everyone, go somewhere no one knew her, change her name, start from zero. She had packed her suitcase. Bought a one‑way ticket to a city where she knew no one. At 3:30 in the morning, she sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the suitcase. The train was at six.
“Wait.”
Where did that word – or feeling – come from? From her mind? From her heart? From somewhere beyond both? She didn’t know. She only knew that when this “Wait” came, her body grew heavy. She couldn’t get up. She couldn’t pick up the suitcase. Not because she was afraid, but because something inside her said, “It’s not over yet.” She slept that night. In the morning, she cancelled the ticket. A few months later, she found a new job – not better than the previous one, but more suited to her true self. Years later, she would refer to that night as “the night something woke up in me.” She never managed to put an exact name to that thing. But she knew it existed. And she knew that if it hadn’t existed, she wouldn’t be here today. On her chair, by the window, with the tea in front of her, and the notebook full of lines that others never read.
Sometimes in the relentless noise of life, a feeling suddenly deep inside us invites us to silence. Right at the moment when all paths seem blocked, or when we are stuck at a fateful crossroads, or when we are so exhausted we don’t know what to do – suddenly our heart becomes strangely assured. As if a voice from the depths of our being whispers: “Go this way,” or “There’s still time,” or “Wait.” What is that voice? Where does that feeling come from?
Psychologists have given it various names: “moral intuition,” “inner wisdom,” “the observing self” [19]. Philosophers have called it “conscience” or “innate nature.” Mystics have spoken of “inspiration” and “unveiling.” The day we opened our eyes to the world, our parents had many dreams for us. Our teachers told us what is good and what is bad. Society drew red lines and set paths for us. But we also brought our own capital with us – that which was intertwined with our very nature, that inner sense that no one taught us. The subtle point is that we are born merely with a “potential for goodness,” not with “full‑blown goodness.” Viktor Frankl, the founder of logotherapy, whose book *Man’s Search for Meaning* is among the best‑selling psychology books in Iran, believed that the search for meaning is the most fundamental human motive, and that this meaning is discovered at every moment of life through action, experience, or suffering [21]. Like a seed destined to become a mighty tree, that seed has the “possibility of being a tree,” not the tree itself. It needs water, light, good soil, care. If we abandon it, it either dries up or weeds grow beside it. Our inner sense is the same. It is present at birth, but fragile and in need of nurturing. The more we listen to it, the stronger it becomes. The more we ignore it, the weaker and quieter it grows, until sometimes we think we don’t have it at all.
How can we tell whether we are in tune with that inner sense or not?
First sign: The tendency toward connection
No one enjoys prolonged loneliness – not the chosen, creative solitude, but forced, chronic loneliness. We all want to talk with someone, be with someone, matter to someone, share pain with someone, share joy with someone. This is not a passing whim or a character flaw. This is the inner voice calling us toward others, because humans are inherently social beings. Neuroscience research has shown that the feeling of social belonging activates the same reward pathways in the brain as money or food [22]. If you are suppressing this tendency – for example, saying “I don’t need anyone” – you may have turned your back on your inner voice.
Second sign: The search for meaning.
Deep down, we always feel that something is off. We have money, comfort, entertainment, health, yet still something is missing. A sense of emptiness, a void. Viktor Frankl believed that the “will to meaning” is as fundamental as the “will to pleasure” (Freud) and the “will to power” (Adler) [21]. If you silence this search, it ends in depression and emptiness.
Third sign: Pleasure from doing good
Have you noticed that when you help someone – without anyone watching, without expecting thanks or repayment, just for the sake of helping – a deep pleasure stirs in your heart? That is no accident. In a study of 400 students, researchers found that altruistic acts were associated with significant increases in happiness and mental health [23]. Our internal machinery is wired to reward doing good. If you don’t find that pleasure in yourself – if helping others feels like a tiresome duty rather than a source of energy – you may have replaced your inner voice with other voices (competition, greed, fear).
Fourth sign: The sense of gratitude
People who spend a few minutes each day thinking about things they are grateful for – and not just thinking, but writing, sharing, reviewing in their hearts – sleep better, show better physical health, build deeper relationships, and are more resilient in the face of hardship [24]. This sense of gratitude is a sign that your inner machinery is still alive and can distinguish the pleasure of “having” from the pleasure of “wanting.”
These four signs are like four indicators on a car’s dashboard. If any of them is low, it doesn’t mean the car is broken; it means you need to tend to the engine (the inner sense). And the engine is oiled by “stopping and listening,” not by running faster.
Core exercise of this subchapter: “The question of the week
This week, every night before sleep (preferably in the dark, without your phone), ask yourself this question and write the answer in one sentence (only one sentence, no more): “Today, at what moment – however brief – did I feel that what I was doing was exactly what I should be doing?”
Note: The “right moment” is not necessarily a moment of happiness or success. It could be a moment when:
– You said “no” to someone and felt a weight lifted off your shoulders.
– You gave selflessly and felt “this was mine to do.”
– You were stuck in traffic but instead of getting angry, you watched the birds.
– You made a mistake and admitted it, without making excuses.
If on a given day you find no such moment, write: “Today there was no moment.” But still write. Honesty with yourself is more important than filling the page.
At the end of the week, put the seven sentences together. Look for patterns:
– Did your “right moments” occur more in connection with others or in solitude?
– More at work or at rest?
– Were they predictable (e.g., at the same time each day) or random?
This pattern is a rough sketch of your “inner voice.” Now ask: “Is my daily life designed to maximise these moments or minimise them?”
Sensory exercise: Holding a specific posture
Do this exercise on three separate days. Each day, hold one of the following postures for 5 minutes (timed). Not for a photo, not for show, just to experience the feeling that posture creates.
Posture 1 (Power):
Stand with feet shoulder‑width apart, hands on your hips (elbows back), chest forward, chin up. Breathe deeply. Similar to a hero’s stance in movies. But don’t think “I’m striking a hero pose.” Just place your body in this posture and watch the feeling.
Posture 2 (Humility):
Stand with shoulders rounded forward, head slightly lowered, hands by your sides or in front pockets, feet close together. Short, shallow breaths. Like someone waiting for bad news.
Posture 3 (Balance):
Sit on a chair without a backrest (or cross‑legged on the floor). Keep your spine straight but not stiff. Hands on thighs, palms facing up. Eyes half‑open, gaze fixed on a point about two metres away. Natural breath. This is a simple meditative state.
After each posture, write: “In [name of posture], I felt that…” and complete the sentence. After three days, review your answers. Then ask: “In my normal daily life, which of these three postures is my body closest to?” And then: “In which posture was my inner voice most audible?”
For those in a hurry:
Four signs of alignment with the inner sense (called “indicators of self‑actualisation” in positive psychology):
1. A tendency toward deep connection with others (not just superficial collectivism).
2. A search for meaning beyond pleasure and wealth (the will to meaning).
3. Pleasure from helping others without expecting anything in return (pure altruism).
4. The ability to appreciate simple, small things (gratitude).
If you find these four signs lacking in yourself, your inner voice has been muffled, not erased. How to revive it: 5 minutes of absolute silence every day (no external stimuli), and ask one question: “What did I do today that felt ‘right’, even if no one approved of it?” Continue this exercise for 30 days. After one month, measure the four signs again. The change will be noticeable.
For those who want to go deeper:
– Book: *Man’s Search for Meaning* by Viktor Frankl (Persian translation by Mahin Milani). Nashr-e Ney. (Part two)
– Book: *Logotherapy* by Viktor Frankl (Persian translation by Mahin Milani). Nashr-e Darsa.
– Article: “The relationship between altruism and mental health in students” by Reza Pourhossein, Fatemeh Ghorbani. *Journal of Clinical Psychology*, 2017, No. 11.
Open question for this subchapter:
Now you tell me: If you were to spend just 5 minutes alone with yourself every day (no phone, no book, no TV, no activity, not even structured meditation) – what are you most afraid of? The silence itself, or what you might hear about yourself in that silence? And if what you hear is unpleasant, would you prefer not to hear it, or to hear it and then change?
