Vipassana retreat12 Images
“Cigarettes and Alcohol” was not the spiritual anthem I’d envisioned for my journey to a silent meditation retreat. But there we were, a coachload of enlightenment-seeking strangers, rattling through the English countryside while being trolled by a bus driver and his ironic playlist. Cigarettes and alcohol? Definitely not for the next ten days. No phones or laptops either. In fact, not much of anything: no books, writing, eye contact, gesturing, eating past noon and – crucially – no talking. Just ten, long days of introspection.
Vipassana, which means ‘to see things as they really are’ is one of India’s most ancient meditation techniques. The practice involves repeatedly scanning the body from head to toe until you feel waves of vibrations charging through your limbs. It aims to purify the mind and is said to be the very method through which Buddha found enlightenment. I’d heard that getting a place on one of these courses was akin to scoring a ticket to Glastonbury, so subconsciously I never really expected to make it off the waiting list. That’s why, by the time I arrived, my palms were sweating, my heart was pounding and I began firing off WhatsApp messages as if the end were nigh. Why am I doing this? I text a friend in a last-minute plea for reassurance, though her response offered little comfort; Babe, it’s gonna be tough. Reluctantly, I handed in my phone and mentally buckled up.
I ended last year overwhelmed with work, dissatisfied with my living situation and navigating a complex family drama. I was spent, losing entire evenings to doom scrolling. It was time to confront my avoidance and remove myself, at least temporarily, from a situation where I felt constantly depleted by others’ demands. Meditation was something I’d dabbled in recreationally, but never for more than 15 minutes at a time and never with any consistency. So, as a New Year’s Resolution, I promised myself I’d make it a habit, and slowly worked up to 45 minutes a day before attending Vipassana. I’ve got this, I thought. But reader, I did not.
When the gong rang at 4am on the first morning, I rose and headed to the dormitory bathroom I shared with eight other girls. We brushed our teeth, darting our eyes awkwardly to avoid glimpsing each other in the mirror, before shuffling across a dark field where a cushioned space has been assigned for each of us in a large, gender-segregated hall. The most Lynchian aspect of Vipassana is the teacher, S.N. Goenka: a Burma-born businessman who has been dead for well over a decade but lives on through a series of grainy recordings that echo through the meditation hall. He likens the course to undergoing surgery, stressing the importance of staying until the end lest you’re left as a walking open wound. This unsettling image ran through my head each time I considered leaving – and I did, often. No matter how many cushions I used to support me, a persistent ache gnawed at my spine, my knees felt like shards of glass, and my ass became permanently numb.
I wasn’t the only one to think about leaving, either. Like a low-stakes Squid Game, each day an empty cushion marked where someone had sat the day before. Being alone with yourself is hard, but it’s also revealing. Boredom forces you to pay attention to things you’d usually miss. At break, I watched birds slurp down worms like spaghetti and caterpillars making leaves disappear. Suddenly, every occurrence is an event, and you begin to appreciate how precarious, profound and funny life can be. On day two, a girl faints in the dining hall and others rush to attend to her, albeit silently. On day four, someone farts mid-meditation, I open my eyes and watch my cross-legged companions fighting back laughter. On day five, I roll my eyes at people hugging trees, though by day eight, I wondered if I was missing out and threw my arms around a big crooked beech.
The appeal of such radically disconnected pursuits is particularly pronounced for younger generations, who made up roughly half of my course. Rates of anxiety, depression and burnout are notoriously high among this demographic and often exacerbated by constant digital stimulation. This is compounded by severe delays in accessing conventional treatment; in 2023-2024 alone, 78,577 young people were on waiting lists, with 44 per cent experiencing delays of over two years. In this social landscape, the growing appetite for alternative modes of healing makes perfect sense.
When our vow of silence was lifted on day ten, this resonated. Almost all the women I’d been cohabiting with were seeking some form of purpose and relief. Some had been battling addiction, others were grieving, and many found themselves at a crossroads in their lives. For Eily, 26, the course acted as a catalyst to start living more consciously, inspiring her to quit her corporate job just weeks after completing Vipassana. “I knew I couldn’t stay there and feel I was respecting myself and the life I want,” she explained, highlighting a newfound sense of clarity. “I’ve been to therapy for years for PTSD and depression, though it allowed me to understand the sources of my challenges, it never solved them. Vipassana has been the best thing I’ve ever done for my mental health, and I recommend it to anyone.”
Not everyone had such a positive experience. For Lucy, aged 29, it elicited many difficult feelings. “I thought it might help me to practise a simpler way of existing, without all the distractions and addictions of modern life,” she told me, “but I didn’t fully understand what I was signing up for and it brought up a lot of anxiety for me.” Reflecting on her experience some weeks later, she acknowledged its complex impact. “I’ve definitely seen positive changes in my life, but I wouldn’t do it again. I think there should be a bigger health warning for people with prior mental health issues – it might have been easier to do a load of magic mushrooms.”
On that final evening, a group of us gathered on the lawn to watch the full moon crowning between the trees. It felt poetic, symbolic of the fresh start I’d been seeking. After leaving, I experienced a lightness I hadn’t felt in years, as if the accumulated grudges and mental gunk I’d been slogging around had finally been washed away, a spring clean for the soul. I found myself able to decouple from discomfort, to push for change where I sought it and accept where I couldn’t. Plus, once you’ve embodied the fact that we’re all just clumps of atoms, it’s pretty hard to get stressed about KPIs. Though life’s demands inevitably resurface (those 4am starts did not stick), I now guard my energy fiercely, consume more consciously, and extend far greater patience to others… at least until they start hugging trees.
