This post is about silence - and an invitation to come to a silent retreat with me.
If even a small part of you feels curious about the power of silence, I hope this, and the resources to dig deeper, are of value.
One of the first things I notice when I feel restless, bored, or slightly unsettled is the instinct to reach for something.
A podcast for pointers.
A book to offer fresh perspectives.
A conversation with a friend to validate or make sense of what’s on my mind.
Something to take me out of what’s here and into something else.
It’s so human to reach for things when we feel even subtle discomfort.
But there is another option, one that doesn’t come as naturally, which is to stay with what is arising.
To not reach.
To notice what is here: feelings, sensations, thoughts.
It’s possible that this can happen throughout one’s day, but it might also be nice to have a dedicated, longer block of time to experience this more deeply.
My First Silent Retreat
I’m not entirely sure what drew me to my first silent retreat.
Feb 2025 - Silent Retreat in North Carolina
At the time, I had been following the work of a psychologist and coach, Amy Johnson, and something about the way she spoke about silence stayed with me. She described it not as something you do, but something you begin to notice when everything else quiets down. I remember thinking I wanted to experience that for myself, so I kept following the breadcrumbs of that curiosity.
What would it be like to be silent for that long?
I could barely find ten minutes of quiet in my normal day.
So I went, and I spent five days in silence with about twenty people I had never met.
In those first few silent sittings, I remember watching ladybugs drift slowly around the ceiling lights, and thinking: this is all I have to do.
There was nowhere to go, nothing to respond to, nothing to manage. No groceries to buy, no sports practices to get to, no group texts waiting on me to respond (well, maybe there were, but I sure as heck didn’t check that weekend!) And there was something incredibly relieving about having NOTHING to do.
But at the same time, early on, something else became just as obvious.
My mind did not get quiet.
If anything, it got louder.
Because when there is very little external input, thoughts don’t get drowned out the way they usually do. They stand out. You see them clearly. You notice how repetitive they are, how persuasive they can be, how quickly they try to pull you into doing, fixing, or adjusting something.
I found myself thinking things like:
How long is this going to last?
What time did the schedule say we’re eating?
Am I doing this right?
Am I breathing too loudly?
Is Amy watching me? Can she see my busy mind?!
And then even more subtle things started to show up.
I noticed how I would hang back just slightly so I wasn’t the first person in line to get food. I noticed the small ways I tried to be agreeable without speaking. The way I adjusted how I moved so I wouldn’t draw attention. The quiet, constant monitoring of how I might be perceived, even in a space where no one was talking.
Trying to be enough… even when I couldn’t say anything.
These “am I good enough” pleasing patterns that are so easy to miss in the noise of everyday life suddenly had nowhere to hide.
And it was also interesting that:
In everyday life, thoughts quickly turn into action—reach for the phone, start a conversation, look something up. But here, that loop was interrupted.
I couldn’t act on thought. And after a while, it began to lose its authority.
I started noticing things I hadn’t before: sensations in my body, the feeling of my breath, the way light moved across the floor, the hum of insects, the texture of food.
Life, in a way, became richer and more vivid. There is SO much in life that goes unnoticed because thought clouds our perspective.
Thought is often the loudest thing in the room. But when you’re not constantly reinforcing it, it begins to lose its dominance.
And what’s left is not emptiness. It’s richness.
It’s a fuller spectrum of experience that’s always been here, just usually overshadowed.
And underneath all of that, there was something else.
Something quieter, but more steady.
A kind of hum of aliveness - an aliveness that is ALWAYS and already here, unaffected by thought and external environments.
This aliveness doesn’t come and go the way thoughts did. It wasn’t something I could describe very well, and it wasn’t something I could think my way into understanding. But it was unmistakably there - in noticing - in presence.
And that, more than anything, felt like the real gift of taking time away to sit in quiet.
What Happens in Silence
What unfolds in silence is personal. But with nothing pulling your attention outward, restlessness begins to slow.
I noticed it not just in myself, but in the room: in the way people moved, in the energy of the space. It felt like everything was unwinding together.
At first, silence simply makes you more aware of the noise in your mind. But with time, something shifts.
The constant pull to respond, fix, or improve begins to soften.
Thoughts are still there, but they don’t carry the same authority.
The nervous system has space to regulate.
Insight appears, without being forced.
A Settling of the Nervous System
Speaking of our nervous systems that tend to run more in fight or flight mode...
Research on extended silence and meditation retreats has shown decreases in stress markers and improvements in emotional regulation that can last beyond the retreat itself. And what I personally noticed, is that even when I returned to “normal” life, when I did fall back into fight or flight patterns, it has become so much easier to a) see that and b) settle back into a more expansive perspective that slows my stressed system.
Another reason I love a silent retreat compared to any other kind is the absence of interference by others. Have you ever been in a workshop where something didn’t quite land, and it pulled you out of your own knowing?
And in a silent retreat, that dynamic isn’t there.
No one is telling you what this should mean.
No one is interpreting your experience for you.
There’s a simplicity in that.
Nothing coming between you and what’s actually here.
And that simplicity allows things to settle, not because you’re trying to calm yourself down, but because there’s less input, less friction, less to process.
Part of what made me want to host this retreat is how rare sitting in silence for extended periods of time is.
Even in everyday life, like walking in the morning without a podcast, there’s a kind of clarity that comes from the absence of external input.
Now imagine not just a few minutes…
but days.
Days without needing to respond to anyone.
Without needing to plan meals.
Without needing to meet expectations.
I remember thinking during that first retreat:
There is no one here I need to take care of.
And for many women, especially those used to being the one who holds everything together, that alone time can be medicine.
And I will always remember the moment I felt a sense of being deeply held by life.
September Silent Retreat
The retreat I’m hosting this September is a shorter, more accessible version of that experience, designed as a first introduction to extended silence.
We’ll gather at the Kindred Forest ~1.5 hours outside of St. Louis from Thursday, September 10th–Sunday, September 13th. Space is intentionally limited to 10 women to keep the experience intimate.
If you’re curious, here is the website, there is early bird and regular pricing:
→ Explore details and reserve your spot here (only 10 spaces available)
There will be space to sit, to rest, and to walk. We’ll gather for meals that are nourishing and plant-based, shared quietly.
And woven into that space each afternoon is time to ask questions or share reflections. That will be the non-silent part of each day. :)
We’ll spend time in the woods, including a guided forest bathing experience led by Jo Pang of Kindred Forest. I recently recorded a podcast with him on silence and nature, and if you’re curious about his approach, it’s a beautiful introduction.
P.S. if you’d like to check out the Kindred Forest, the password is pawpaw.
We’ll also have a sound bath led by Liz McCandless of Joy of Yoga, whose work creates a kind of space where the body can settle without effort.
And a Feldenkrais session with Sandy Weiss of Mind Body Science Works, an approach that gently brings awareness back into the body in a way that pairs beautifully with silence.
Nothing in this retreat is mandatory, everything is invitational.
These are simply offerings, available to support your experience, not shape it into something it’s supposed to be. There is no “right way” to be in silence here (other than not talking)!
This isn’t about meditation techniques or controlling your breath. You can sit, lie down, walk, or rest, however your body feels most comfortable being.
There is enough structure to feel supported…
and enough space to actually experience what’s here.
And if a full retreat doesn’t feel right, that doesn’t mean the power of silence isn’t available to you. You don’t need a retreat to access this, it’s always available.
A noticing of what’s beneath the noise…a quiet, steady aliveness.
A noticing of what’s there beneath all the busy noise…a quiet, steady aliveness.
Menu for the Week of April 20-24th
Monday
Braised White Beans & Greens: A simple, nourishing plant-based dish with tender white beans and hearty greens simmered in savory flavors. Perfect paired with a slice of crusty sourdough for a satisfying meal.
Tuesday
Spicy Salmon Bowl: All the flavors of spicy salmon sushi: served in a deconstructed bowl.
Wednesday
BBQ Chicken Burgers: Juicy chicken burgers made extra flavorful with BBQ sauce mixed right in. Top them however you like: crisp slaw, pickles, or extra sauce.
Thursday
Street Corn Sweet Potato Beef Bowl: In an effort to stay relevant, I googled “trending recipes on TikTok” (since I don’t actually have TikTok), and this bowl came up!
Friday
Salted Caramel Apple Dip: A creamy, lightly sweet dip that takes apples to the next level. It’s both sweet and salty, perfect when you’re craving a simple dessert or upgraded snack.
XO - Jen