While not a ‘cure’ for the sensory overwhelm of everyday life, a silent retreat did sharpen my senses, showing me how to better inhabit each moment. Photo: Nick Fewings.
I recently took a unique solo journey I’d recommend to just about anyone: a silent retreat.
Typically held in beautiful natural surroundings, lasting anywhere from a single day to several weeks, silent retreats offer a break from the noise and distractions of daily life.
I figured if it’s good enough for monks, meditation gurus, high-performing athletes and strategic thinkers, surely a silent sojourn could reap benefits for the overwhelmed modern Mum.
Nervous I might lose my mind if forced to sit with it too long, I dipped my toe in with a 48-hour retreat in beautiful Bowral.
While I didn’t ascend directly into enlightenment (this probably takes more than two days’ annual leave), I did learn valuable lessons.
Here’s why I think you should shut up and go.
The schedule is packed … with nothing
Looking at the itinerary, I felt intimidated.
Hours-long meditation sessions were interrupted only by mealtimes. The most dynamic thing on the agenda was Yin Yoga before bed. For non-Yogis, Yin involves holding poses for long periods to target deep tissues.
To my bustling body and multitasking mind, the entire program looked like a boring form of torture. But it turns out, there are multiple ways to do nothing.
Short group sessions offered (not forced) a chance to break the silence and share your introspective insights.
Meditation sessions had options too – sit, stand, lie down or stretch. Enshroud yourself under a blanket or take a moving meditation meandering through the garden.
At times, I even retreated from the retreat – taking sanctuary in my room to journal my thoughts, which were pleasantly slow-paced.
After a hard day’s nothing, my nervous system was at near standstill. And in the absence of Netflix’s siren song, I fell into a quality of sleep I’ve not known without being required to wear an oxygen mask and count backwards from ten.
The perfect introvert-extrovert compromise
As an ‘outgoing introvert’, I like meeting new people, having good conversations and sharing a laugh, but ultimately I draw my energy from time spent alone.
For confusing creatures like me, who take their socialisation in small doses under specific conditions, a silent retreat offers the perfect middleground.
Surrounded by people, but left alone.
Though bizarre to begin with, it’s amazing how fast I found comfort in this strange socialisation sans interaction.
For the first time, I could just ‘be’ with people – comfortably, effortlessly, without anything performative.
On arrival, we gathered for dinner and were free to introduce ourselves and chat, before our host gave a few welcoming words and silence fell.
So, basically: Hello. Good to meet you. Let’s never speak again.
Experience life unplugged
Retreaters were encouraged not to bring digital devices.
It’s no surprise that phones are viewed as unwelcome guests. Headphones were also a no-no.
And as I followed a family of ducks around the damp grounds one morning, revelling in their chit-chat and the crisp yet dewy wintery air, it was clear why.
Even listening to your favourite zen mix serves to separate your senses, splicing and diluting moments. Without wiring myself into anything, my senses remained united and – honestly – I felt kind of … whole.
Everything becomes “mindful”
In the absence of constant interference, my mind was free to relax and focus only on what was in front of me.
It felt like I was actually inhabiting each moment – something I didn’t realise I hadn’t been doing in daily life.
At home, the simple things become an out-of-body experience, as we use the time efficiently to get ahead. While our bodies brush their teeth, our minds draft emails. As we make coffee, we scan our diaries in our heads.
On retreat, the simplest tasks became notable events. And look, maybe that’s just sensory deprivation – but the upshot was everything felt calming, ritualistic and weirdly enjoyable.
Brushing my teeth? A celebration of self-care. Shower? A revitalising immersion in the elements. And eating? Oh my God.
It helped that the meals on my particular retreat were a phenomenal, home-grown, vegan’s dream – but the slow, silent atmosphere served to transform even the simplest foods into glorious fuel for my body, for which I was suddenly grateful.
The souvenirs of silence are long-lasting
While I had missed my darling children, I was dreading the sensory whiplash of coming home. Yes, my eardrums perforated immediately. Yes, I was quickly forced to up the pace with morning meetings, work deadlines, school pick-ups and the list goes on.
So what’s the point? How can we hold onto such calm clarity in a world that simply isn’t structured for it?
Answer: We can’t.
But, as they say, never let perfect get in the way of good.
Occasionally, I now drive without music blaring or walk with peace, not podcasts, and every so often, take my breakfast outside – away from screens and screams – to appreciate it.
Original Article published by Hayley Nicholls on Region Canberra.
