Early Reflections From My Silent Retreat

As I walk around a serene pond in Western Massachusetts, fresh off my third silent retreat, I’m struck by how different I feel from the woman who arrived here seven days ago. My heart is full, my eyes are a bit teary, and I’m ready to share what this experience has revealed about my relationship with busyness and the choices we make as mothers.

Let me paint you a picture of day one: I felt like a “busyness addict in recovery,” crawling out of my skin in the absence of something to do. To the point where I was reading the tags on my pajamas out of desperation for something—anything—to consume. My mind and body were crying out for their usual diet of notifications, tasks, and constant movement. 

Truthfully, even before arriving, I had questioned my choice. Why put myself through this when I know it will be challenging at first and when I could be enjoying a luxurious spa weekend? Wouldn’t that be more relaxing? More enjoyable? More “worth it”?

But here’s what I’ve discovered: while a spa weekend might offer temporary relaxation, the deep work of a meditation retreat creates lasting transformation. It’s the difference between a quick hit and a long-lasting impact.

The Arc of Transformation

The journey from resistance to peace followed a familiar pattern. The first few days were marked by restlessness and what I can only describe as bone-deep boredom. But then, something shifted. My nervous system, usually so dependent on busyness for a sense of safety, began to settle into the stillness.

By the end of the retreat, I found myself craving the very silence I had initially resisted. After dinner one evening, I laughed at myself for eagerly anticipating more meditation—the same practice that had felt so challenging just days before.

Swimming Upstream

In our modern world, choosing to be present is like wearing neon in a sea of black. We’re swimming upstream, deliberately choosing a different path from the cultural current of constant doing, consuming, and striving for more.

This upstream journey is particularly relevant for mothers. We’re often caught in a cycle of endless doing, measuring our worth by our productivity, and feeling guilty when we pause. But what if the pause itself is precisely what we need?

The Heart of Suffering

One of the fundamental teachings that resonated deeply during this retreat is the Buddhist understanding of suffering. As humans, we naturally experience pain—we age, we lose loved ones, we face disappointments. But our real suffering often comes not from these natural experiences but from our resistance to them and our craving for something different.

This insight is transformative for motherhood. How much of our daily stress comes not from the natural challenges of parenting but from resisting our current reality or craving a different one?

A Path Forward

The beautiful truth I want to share is this: no matter your starting point, it’s possible to cultivate genuine ease and peace in your body and life. There is a path, and while it might not be easy, it’s deeply worthwhile.

For mothers especially, learning to be present—truly present—in our lives and  bodies can transform not only our experience but also what we model for our children. We can show them that being human isn’t just about doing; it’s about being.

An Invitation

You don’t need to jump straight into a seven-day silent retreat to begin this journey. Start where you are. Maybe it’s five minutes of morning meditation, a mindful walk without your phone, or simply pausing to breathe fully before responding to your child’s twentieth question of the hour.

The key is to create checkpoints in your life—small invitations to step out of the matrix of more and into the richness of now. It might feel uncomfortable at first (remember my pajama tag reading?), but with practice, you might find yourself craving these moments of presence just as I now do.

As I prepare to leave this retreat and return to my children and “normal” life, I carry with me not just memories of peaceful moments but a transformed relationship with presence itself. And isn’t that the most valuable gift we can give ourselves as mothers—the ability to be fully present in our beautifully messy, perfectly imperfect lives?