I’ve just returned from a week-long silent meditation retreat, and while my inbox is full and the pace of life is picking back up, I wanted to take a moment to reflect on what I’m bringing home with me.
There’s something remarkable that happens when we unplug from the noise of daily life – no email, no phone, no social scroll. At first, it’s disorienting. But slowly, the distractions fall away, and what’s left is something quieter, more grounded.
Silence Isn’t Always Easy – But It’s Always Worth It
The first few days on retreat are always challenging in their own way (this is my fourth extended retreat, so I’m starting to see some patterns). The mind doesn’t settle just because the world goes quiet. In fact, sometimes it gets louder.
But as the hours passed and the rhythm of the retreat took hold; sitting, walking, eating in silence – my nervous system softened. I was able to let go of the internal chatter and just be present. This process seems to take about three days, which is always surprising, but continues to hold true.
With So Much Gratitude
The thing that I circled back to, over and over again, on this retreat, was how grateful I am for the support of the people in my life. Some of that support is obvious. I wouldn’t have even been able to go away for a week without my (seriously fantastic) husband running things here on the home front. Also, supports like the staff and teachers at the retreat center, making simple delicious food, giving the daily dharma talks.
And every time my mind turned to my writing (which it did, a lot) I found myself so very grateful for the community of writers I get to work with on a daily basis. Writing, much like mindfulness, is so much easier to practice in community. We need other folks to ask questions when something doesn’t make sense, or to simply hold us accountable for showing up. I am so grateful to my online writing community. Thank you to everyone who is already a part of it, and if you’re not yet a member, come check it out. It’s a special place.
A Quiet Kind of Motivation
What I came home with wasn’t a brand-new writing idea or a perfectly mapped-out plan. It was something softer: trust. Trust in my voice. Trust in the process. Trust that taking a pause isn’t falling behind. It’s coming back to center.
And with that trust comes a sense of direction.
Coming home, I sat down and made some decisions. I looked at my calendar. I mapped out my writing time for the weeks ahead. There’s a kind of grounded momentum that can come after retreat, not a rush to do more, but an invitation to act more meaningfully. To do fewer things, but with greater intention.
Choosing One Thing and Beginning
For me, it looks like creating more space to write and refining how I connect with readers and fellow writers. For someone else, it might mean finally starting that project that’s been calling. Or building the author platform you’ve been thinking about for months. Or carving out a plan to finish the draft that keeps whispering, “Don’t forget me.” Or simply setting boundaries around your time so your writing gets the space it deserves.
Whatever it looks like for you, the important part is acting on that post-retreat clarity or any clarity you find when you pause long enough to really listen. You don’t need to do it all. But choosing one thing, and moving toward it with intention, can change everything.
You’re the only one who can write your story. And the time to begin – however imperfectly – is now.
More soon.
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