I had quite romantic ideas about my nearly six weeks away from work. Long walks, reading with coffee on the sofa, catching up with friends, delicious yoga practice, writing brilliant blog posts, daily devotional time… It was going to be magical!
Reality has been somewhat… different. It didn’t occur to me that once taken out of my daily routine, away from everything that I identify with as part of me, life slows down and gets really quiet. I didn’t set out for it to be this way, but my time off has turned into an epic silent retreat. No music on during the day, no television, no screen time once I’m out of bed in the morning, nobody to talk to. And thanks to a foot injury, there have been no long walks to take me away from the quiet. Just me, in a quiet house, all day, every day.
And as I talked about in my first post on deep quiet, when distraction and busyness disappear… truth appears in front of you. The first few days were heavenly, but then something happened: I started to feel all that was sitting below the surface of the busyness of our life and the mask I’ve put on to get through the last several months. And it’s not pretty in there. I’ve cried more tears than I have in a very long time. On several days I’ve been certain that I must surely be losing my mind, so intense were the emotions I was experiencing.
I’d like to say that this deep quiet has had miraculous healing powers, and maybe it has, though I’m not seeing that quite yet. But I have crossed a threshold. That life I was living in before my time away from work, it needs to end. Getting up and going to work and pushing through and taking care of people when I should have be at home tending to my own tender places? Finished. Running all day, every day to keep up with all that needs to be accomplished to keep our life and home and business operating? Done. Ignoring the call from within to take time for a walk, yoga, meditation, sitting with my Bible? No more.
Through these weeks away from my life, hanging out with myself, I’m realizing that deep quiet isn’t just for my annual silent retreat. Deep quiet is a necessary ingredient for living fully in a world that asks – and takes – so much from us. I thought I was doing enough to tend to myself, but it turns out that really all I was doing is keeping myself so busy that there wasn’t a moment to feel that I was actually dying a little bit every day.
In this deep quiet, I’m able to see the pieces of myself that I’ve given away while walking through my days in pain, making out like nothing was wrong. And I can also see the piece of myself that is whole, and well, and resilient. It’s present in moments of silence, when I sit and cry and bear witness to myself, watching as emotions move through me. I find it when I’m in a tricky yoga posture, three minutes in, and I’m breathing through an edge of discomfort that I’d prefer not to be sitting with. It lives in the pages of my Bible, peeking out at me as I read treasured stories of faith and renewal.
Nobody teaches us that we need to tend to ourselves, and our inner clutter and complications. Society certainly doesn’t honour this tradition. Rather, it’s viewed as weakness when we say, “ENOUGH! I need some time to hide and recharge and take care of me.” And the reality is that six weeks away from my life isn’t going to fix everything. But being bathed in the contrast between my normal life and the deep quiet of this retreat time has been a profound experience. I’m starting to see my edges, my limits, and my boundaries. I’m starting to see just how revved up the world makes me. And this fills with a strong desire to be able to stand in peace when life gets a little crazy.
I’m a little less than two weeks away from re-entry, and there is still so much work to do. There are still so many layers to encounter and venture into. But I’ve had to let go of my illusion that I’m going to fix myself in these few short weeks. This time that I’ve had is just a start. But wow, what a blessing to have this time to really SEE myself, and all the tender places that ask for care and attention. And to see the beginnings of a new path and a different way forward when I’m called back out into the world once again.
Comments