The Power of Silence: Rediscovering Yourself and Reclaiming Peace

Eleven days. No speaking, no screens, no distractions—just me, nature, and the sound of my own thoughts. I wasn't sure what I was walking into when I arrived at the Bali Silent Retreat. Part of me craved the stillness, but another part wondered: "Can I actually do this?" I'll be honest and say, I was already at the part in my eat-pray-love journey where solitude had become familiar. Quiet was familiar.

Side note: that wasn't always the case. Once upon a time (maybe 12 months before this) silence had always felt like something I had to fill. I filled it with music, conversation, scrolling, overthinking—anything to keep myself from sitting too long with my own mind. But I wasn't at that point anymore when I went to Bali. I had been thinking of a silent retreat, but I didn't know how or when. One morning, in meditation, I heard a voice so clear in my head that said: "Go to Bali and go to a silent retreat." And, you see, I made a vow to always listen to that little voice that popped up in meditation, so I googled "Silent Retreat in Bali" and off we were.

I didn't know what to expect. I didn't know if it would be "hard" or if it would feel like a vacation. I just followed my curiosity and that little voice and went for it! 

Silence isn’t just the lack of noise—it’s a space where the mind can finally exhale and the soul can speak. In a world that constantly pulls us in a hundred directions, silence gives us a rare chance to pause, to breathe, to just be. It’s where we can step away from the noise, reconnect with ourselves, and find the clarity we didn’t even realize we needed.

One of the greatest lessons silence taught me is that listening is about so much more than hearing. It’s about presence. As Patricia, co-founder of the Bali Silent Retreat, once said, “Silent and listen have the same letters.” And that’s no coincidence. In silence, we become better listeners—not just to others, but to ourselves. How often do we rush through life, barely pausing to hear what our own hearts are trying to tell us? Silence is an invitation to come home to yourself.

Silence doesn’t just quiet the world around you—it reflects back the world within you. And what I saw in that mirror was a version of myself I hadn’t fully met before, even with all the inner work I had been doing the past 12 months. I thought I had a good grip on myself, that I was disciplined enough with my thoughts, with my routines, to keep myself feeling "happy" and "safe."

The first few days felt like a breeze. I loved it. But around day 4, my inner dialogue grew louder and louder. I noticed how my mind suddenly jumped to self-criticism. Was I doing it right? I suddenly started comparing myself to other people at the retreat. I caught the quiet anxieties humming beneath. A lot of my insecurities started coming back up to the surface. Insecurities I thought I "erased."

But there was something beautiful in that rawness. Because once I saw it—once I truly listened to where it was all coming from—I could start to soften. I learned to sit with myself with a little more kindness. To let thoughts come and go without needing to fix or change them. To breathe through discomfort instead of pushing it away. And in that stillness, in the discomfort of sitting in it, I found a sense of deep, unshakable calm.

Without external noise, I experienced the deepest rest of my life. My body and nervous system fully recalibrated, my mind slowed down, and a clarity that I hadn't ever experienced before arose.

I remember one night in particular: the sky was dark, the full moon was reflecting off the rice fields, and in the distance, flashes of lightning lit up the horizon. There was something so simple yet profound in that moment—a reminder that both power and grace can exist together, that stillness doesn’t mean stagnation.

I started to see lessons everywhere. A leaf floating down the river became a metaphor for surrender. The sunrise reminded me that every day is a fresh start. Silence wasn’t empty; it was full of wisdom, if I was willing to slow down and listen.