Wholistic Jen

What 12 Days of Silence Taught Me About Being Present

By Jennifer Whitmire, MS, MEd, MH, CHES, NEP

I’m back!

I’ve been home for a couple of days, and I’m still trying to process everything that happened over the past two weeks. I learned so much, and I know this isn’t going to be the only time I write about it. There are things I experienced and learned that I think I’ll be unpacking for a long time.

First, I probably need to explain that I thought I had signed up for a silent retreat.

I did NOT realize I had signed up for a silent meditation retreat.

There’s a pretty big difference!

I knew there would be meditation, of course, but I had no idea I would be meditating for 12 hours a day, sitting on the floor, completely still for most of that time. I also didn’t fully understand what “silence” was going to mean. We weren’t just giving up our phones and not talking. We weren’t supposed to read, write, hold the door, or even make eye contact with each other.

For 12 days, I was surrounded by other people, but I was essentially completely alone with myself.

I have a lot to say about that, but one of the biggest things I’ve taken away from the experience is something I didn’t expect at all.

I don’t think I’ve ever really been present, not in my entire 54 years.

I mean really present.

Before the Silence Even Started

Before I left, I wrote about how anxious I was about turning off my phone. I wasn’t really worried about being silent or being alone. I’m used to silence. I work from home. I spend a lot of time by myself, and even though I travel frequently to see family and friends, I’m in my own head most of the time anyway.

It was being completely cut off from the world that scared me.

What was going to happen while I was gone? What would I miss? Would anyone even notice I’d been away? What if someone needed me? What if I had forgotten to take care of something or someone before I left?

When I arrived at the retreat, I filled out my paperwork and thought I was finished, but they sent me back to write more about my family history, relationships, and past traumas. We were allowed to keep our phones until 5:00, and even though there wasn’t really anything left for me to do with mine, I remember being afraid to turn it in and be cut off.

I turned in my phone and laptop, and immediately, I felt my shoulders drop and relax.

Isn’t that interesting?!

I hadn’t even realized how much tension I was holding around this little device until it wasn’t an option anymore.

I went back to my cabin which was really nice. I entered through a nice, large, screened porch where we left our shoes. My room had wood-looking floors and shelves, a window, a bed, a table with a lamp and clock, a ceiling fan, and my own bathroom with a nice shower and even a nightlight. I made my bed, set up the bathroom, put my towels and clothes on the shelves, and sat down to write.

I had almost two hours to relax before our light meal and orientation.

I had absolutely no idea what I was about to do for the next 12 days.

Twelve Days With Nowhere Else to Go

I think this is where my understanding of being present began to change.

Think about how often we’re physically doing one thing while our mind is somewhere completely different. I can be cooking dinner while thinking about something I need to do tomorrow. I can be walking outside while thinking about a client. I can be talking to someone while part of my brain is already working through what needs to happen next. (I’ve even tried doing Qi Gong, walking on my walking pad, and working at my computer all at the same time! Shane told me that isn’t how Qi Gong is supposed to work. LOL!)

Then, there’s the phone.

We can be sitting in a beautiful place and wondering what’s happening somewhere else. We can be with someone we love and check an email. We can have five minutes with absolutely nothing to do and immediately reach for our phone.

Take all of that away and something really interesting happens. There is nowhere else to go.

For 12 days, I didn’t need to know what was happening in the world. I couldn’t check on anyone. I couldn’t work. I couldn’t write something down, so I could deal with it later. I couldn’t pick up a book or distract myself with something else.

I had to be where I was.

Now, I don’t want to make that sound peaceful and beautiful for 12 straight days. I was sitting completely still on the floor and meditating for hours and hours every day. There were definitely moments when “being present” meant being very present with how uncomfortable my body was!

There is a LOT more I want to share about that part of the experience, but I’m going to save some of those lessons for another day.

What I didn’t realize until I came home was how much those 12 days had changed the way I was looking at everything around me.

Have I Ever Really Been Present?

I’ve practiced meditation. I teach Qi Gong. I spend time outside. I garden. I cook. I talk about stress and the nervous system all the time.

I thought I understood being present.

I think I’ve spent most of my life thinking about what just happened or what needs to happen next. I’m planning, working, helping someone, solving something, making a list in my head, or thinking about what I’m going to do when I finish whatever I’m doing right now.

I’m very good at getting things done.

Being completely present with what is happening right now? I’m not sure I’ve ever really done that. Certainly not for 12 days, and I think that’s one of the reasons everything feels a little different now.

I walked the nature trails during our rest times. 3 times a day.

Then I Saw the Sunrise

I came home Sunday, and I had a dentist appointment first thing Monday morning. Maybe that wasn’t the best scheduling.

I had just returned from 12 days of silence and meditation, and less than 24 hours later I was getting into my car early in the morning and heading to the dentist.

As I was driving, the sun started coming up.

I cried.

It was just gorgeous.

I’ve seen plenty of sunrises in my life. I don’t think this one was necessarily any more spectacular than the thousands of other sunrises I’ve seen.

I think I was finally completely present enough to see it.

I wasn’t trying to get a picture of it. I wasn’t thinking about something I needed to do later. I wasn’t wondering what was happening somewhere else.

I was driving down the road watching the sun come up, and I was completely overwhelmed by how beautiful our world is.

That feeling has stayed with me since I’ve been home.

I Appreciate What I Have Differently

After spending 12 days around other people without talking to them, looking them in the eyes, or really communicating with them, I have a completely different appreciation for connection.

I appreciate being able to talk to my husband. I appreciate hearing someone’s voice. I appreciate looking another person in the eyes. I appreciate being able to pick up my phone and call someone I love.

I’m appreciating my home differently. I’m appreciating the food in my kitchen, my garden, the trees, the sky, and simply being able to move through my normal day.

Our world is just so wonderful.

The love we have for each other, this planet we get to live on, the people we get to share our lives with, and all of these ordinary things that surround us every single day are pretty extraordinary when we actually stop long enough to notice them.

We are so blessed.

I’ve probably said those words before. The difference is that right now I feel them.

The Bigger Lesson

I’m not ready to tell you everything I learned from this retreat. I’ve only been home for a couple of days, and I think I’m still figuring that out myself.

I learned things about meditation that I want to share. I learned things about my mind, my body, discomfort, connection, and what happens when we remove almost every distraction we normally use throughout the day.

I also have some thoughts about what I want to take from the retreat and what I absolutely do not want to bring back into my life the way it was before.

I’ll share those things with you as I work through them.

For now, I keep coming back to being present.

How much of my life have I spent thinking about the next thing instead of experiencing the thing that was happening right in front of me? I feel like I’ve missed so much. Time can almost standstill when you’re completely present, but it passes in a blink when your mind is somewhere else.

How many sunrises have I seen without actually seeing them?

I don’t want to come home from 12 days of silence and immediately fill every empty space again. I don’t want to lose this appreciation for everything I have, because I get busy and stop noticing it.

I’m sure I will get busy. I’m sure I’ll catch myself thinking three steps ahead again. I’m not expecting 12 days of meditation to suddenly make me a perfectly present person.

I just don’t want to forget what it felt like Monday morning when I looked up and really saw the sunrise.

Being present doesn’t have to be complicated.

Sometimes it’s simply being where you are long enough to realize how much beauty was already there.