“Avoiding your triggers isn’t healing. Healing happens when you’re triggered and you’re able to move through the pain, the pattern, and the story, and walk your way to a different ending.” ~Vienna Pharaon
I was certain I had cracked the code to inner peace. For a year, I had been on a relentless pursuit of self – improvement, diving headfirst into the world of “inner work.” My days were a meticulously planned routine of meditation, breathwork, journaling, and yoga. I devoured self – help books, eager to shed the behaviors that held me back: the constant need to prove myself, the toxic habit of comparison, and those nagging negative thought patterns. I prided myself on my newfound self – awareness, feeling as though I had reached spiritual heights after hitting that profound state of meditation described in ancient texts. I even believed I had made contact with my very soul.
I had simplified my life to the bare essentials, eliminating coffee, alcohol, meat, and any form of distraction. My mornings were a sacred ritual: journaling my innermost thoughts, immersing myself in spiritual readings, flowing through yoga poses, practicing breathwork, and finally, losing myself in meditation. I distanced myself from many people, erecting boundaries with even my closest friends, convinced they “didn’t understand” my journey. I spent my days in the embrace of nature, relishing the stillness and presence, believing I had finally found the peace I had been searching for.
But my perception of peace was about to be shattered. I embarked on a journey to a silent retreat in Bali, filled with anticipation. I imagined eleven days of complete silence would deepen my peace, open me up to divine inspiration, and solidify all the healing I thought I had accomplished. Little did I know, this retreat would be the catalyst for a painful yet necessary awakening.
The first three days were a dream. I had never felt more present in my life. The gentle murmur of the river, the caress of the breeze on my skin—everything felt intoxicatingly perfect. I felt a sense of belonging, as if I had finally found my true home, both within and without. But on the fourth day, the idyllic facade crumbled.
The emotions I thought I had conquered came crashing back with a vengeance. It started with something as simple as comparison. I found myself sizing up the other retreat participants, scrutinizing my body, my yoga flexibility, my appearance. I was bewildered. I had the self – awareness to know these thoughts were not “good,” that I was reverting to old, unhelpful patterns.
My mind became a battlefield, and soon enough, I was engulfed in the “worst” behavior I thought I had overcome: judgment. I judged others, and I was especially harsh on myself. I was left wondering, “Hadn’t I already done the work? Why was I backsliding?”
More and more emotions welled up inside me. I felt unworthy, as if all my efforts over the past year had been in vain. I started to doubt my entire approach to healing, feeling like I had misunderstood the very nature of the journey.
And then, it dawned on me: I had confused solitude with healing. In the months leading up to the retreat, I had used solitude as a shield, avoiding anything that might trigger me. I had created barriers not only with people but also with life itself. I may have felt peaceful, but I wasn’t truly living. I had isolated myself so completely that I had lost touch with what makes life meaningful—the connections with other people. I had tricked myself into thinking I had found peace, when in reality, I was just seeking a new form of control.
I had reached a state of enlightenment, experienced Samadhi, and tasted pure bliss. But instead of embracing these states as they came, I began chasing them, desperately trying to maintain that perfect, peaceful existence. The only way I could do that was by isolating myself, and without realizing it, control had insidiously infiltrated my spiritual practice.
My self – imposed isolation, while peaceful, was also incredibly lonely. I found myself longing for the warmth of friendships, the comfort of family, and even the chaos that came with interacting with those who challenged me. In the profound silence of the retreat, I finally saw the truth: life thrives on relationships, on connections, on the messy, beautiful interactions with the world and others.
Real peace isn’t about avoiding life’s challenges; it’s about facing them head – on. It’s in the moments of vulnerability, when we experience love, heartbreak, forgiveness, and failure, that we truly heal. It took the complete silence of the retreat to teach me this invaluable lesson.
As I sat by the river on the second – to – last day of the retreat, I watched a single leaf fall into the water. The leaf, despite its sturdy appearance, was at the mercy of the current. It was pushed under rocks, pulled back to the surface, flipped over, and its edges were torn on twigs. But through it all, the leaf kept moving. It got stuck, but it always managed to free itself, a bit more battered but still persevering.
We are like that leaf. No matter how many challenges life throws our way, how many emotions wash over us, we are meant to flow with the current, not fight against it.
Silence taught me three crucial lessons about real peace. First, solitude is a powerful tool for self – reflection, but it’s not the end goal. True healing occurs when we engage with the world, with other people, and with life’s challenges. Second, emotions are not something to be feared or avoided; they are a precious gift. It is through feeling all the spectrum of emotions that we find peace. And finally, peace cannot be achieved through control. We must learn to trust in the ebb and flow of life, rather than trying to manipulate every aspect of our existence.
The journey of healing may often feel lonely, but the true path to peace lies not in isolation, but in embracing the fullness of life, with all its joys and sorrows. This is the lesson that will stay with me, guiding me through every moment of my life.
