Silent Retreat interrupted: A lesson in surrender—just like death demands

We don’t always get to choose how the story unfolds.

I was planning to go silent for 10 days, remember?

Just like life and death, it didn’t go quite as planned.

For as long as I’ve been meditating (which is decades now), I’ve experienced involuntary movement—waves of motion rising through my torso and sometimes spilling into my limbs. While I have a few theories about what is going on, the truth is, I’ve made peace with it. Most teachers I’ve studied with over the years have advised me to simply let it be.

But at this particular retreat, stillness wasn’t optional—it was a requirement.

When the Energy changed

After three days of trying to “help me find a comfortable posture,” the retreat leaders made a decision: I had to go. No real discussion, no middle ground. On the morning of day four, I packed my bags and left.

I was stunned. Just as I felt I was finally settling into the rhythm of silence, I was being shown the door.

Ego, Rejection, and a Few Internal Earthquakes

At first, I spiraled. I felt rejected, inadequate, and like an outsider. My ego was bruised. I was angry—not just hurt. I ranted a little. I wanted agreement, affirmation, validation from anyone who’d listen.

“Guess what?” I’d ask some friends and family, “Now you can tell people that you know someone who got kicked out of a meditation retreat!”

“What? You’re kidding me! What happened?” 

“Well let me tell you….” 

And for the most part, I got the validation I thought I needed. 

But within a few days, something shifted. I shook it off (pun fully intended), and the anger dissolved. What emerged instead was something gentler: a surprising mix of forgiveness and genuine gratitude.

A Blessing in Disguise

Back at work, I joined our Willow Educator Marketing Circle. We were talking about how easy it is to internalize other people’s opinions—to believe that we don’t fit, that we’re flawed or “too much” in some way. And how that narrative can bury the truth: that our uniqueness is a gift.

It’s our quirks, our oddities, our irrepressible movement through the world—literal or otherwise—that allow us to connect with the people we’re meant to serve.

Between the Dashes

My disrupted retreat reminded me of this:

• Life is precious and unpredictable.
  
• We can learn from everything.
  
• Sometimes wisdom shows up in disguise.
  
• I won’t fit in everywhere—and that’s okay.
  
  

Where in your life have you mistaken rejection for failure, when it might have been a nudge toward something truer? 

What part of you have you been trying to suppress, that might actually be your superpower?

Discuss these with someone in your life, or use these as prompts in your journal.