'I spent 10 days at a silence retreat - but I did slip up once.'

No talking, no reading, no writing and meditating for 6 hours a day.

This was my experience at a 10-day meditation retreat in Thailand.

Feeling grief stricken, lost and confused after the end of a seven-year relationship, I was desperate for some soul searching, à la Eat Pray Love. I quit my job, sold my car, moved out of my flat and embarked on a four-month solo backpacking trip in South East Asia.

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Part way through my travels, I had an urge to leave the sensory overload of remote Asia behind to reflect, re-evaluate and challenge myself in complete solitude. This led me to a Buddhist silent meditation retreat in Thailand.

On arrival, I was asked to hand over my phone, laptop, books, writing materials and pens. As I rummaged through my backpack, with the facilitator grabbing anything that resembled materialism, my anxiety levels began to rise. “Hold on, this is 10 days…what am I going to use to distract me?”

Being lead to the women’s quarters, I was shown to my ‘bed’, which comprised of a raised wooden plank with a wooden pillow. I immediately thought of the number of massages I would need to recover from what was surely going to be the most uncomfortable nights of my life.

I joined a group of about 25 people of all different nationalities. We instantly engaged in nervous small talk. Eventually, we were lead up the hill, flanked by lush tropical forest.

We arrived at a large open air timber auditorium. As we sat in lines on the hard wooden floor, a slight breeze gave relief to the unrelenting humidity.

We received our instructions. No talking, no writing, no reading, no eye contact with each other with our last meal at 11am and fasting until 7am the next morning. “What?! No food from midday?” My stomach started to protest.

We were given a couple of minutes to ask questions before the silence began. There was a flurry of questions by my fellow companions;

“Am I allowed to move if I cramp during meditation?”

“Do we get any snack in the evening?”

“Are we allowed to use insect repellent?”

“Trust,” our facilitator said. “All the answers will come from within.”

The anxiety was at a peak now. Knowing that I was meant to have all the answers… “But how? I don’t even know where the dining hall is!”

“Dong”, the sound of the gong signifying the start of silence.

I looked around in panic… “But what now? I still don’t know anything!”

“You mean I have to make my own decisions?”

“I can’t ask anyone?”

“How do I know if I’m doing it ‘right’?”

“What if I am unsure? Who will help me?”

The next 10 days were, well, trying. The gong echoing throughout the valley woke me at 4am every day, which was a relief - the wooden pillow created excruciating neck twists.

We sat in meditation before breakfast, after breakfast, before lunch, after lunch, late afternoon and in the evening. I say meditate, but for me, my mind was a chatterbox. The ‘monkey mind’ was loud and persistent. The more my thoughts took over, the more frustrated I became and resigned to the fact that I couldn’t meditate. I had to just keep reminding myself:

There was no right or wrong. Just breathe.

Not only were there challenges of cramps, hunger pains and hot sweats, but our strict instructions not harm any insect meant as I sat diligently in silence, the mosquitoes fed greedily on me. During our daily two-hour lecture from the monk, I noticed he lifted his hand and gracefully flicked the mosquitoes off his arm. I thought, “Yes, we could do it like that, or I could break into the storage lock up and lather myself in Deet!”

The first few days was spent settling into silence, trying not to look at anyone, getting a routine, doing chores, bathing in the cold water trough and finding my way to the meditation hall in the dark.

As the silence wore on, emotions rose. Day four invited grief-stricken tears and feelings of immense sadness, guilt and sorrow. I tormented myself for all the wrongs I had done. From primary school friends I teased, to job opportunities I had wasted, to the grief I gave my parents as a teenager. I was so desperate to end the pain I felt that I frantically searched for anything to distract me. A piece of paper and pen, some music, a book. Anything. But no, I had to sit through these challenging emotions and simply witness them.

Pain is temporary.

After the pain left, jubilation, happiness and gratitude came. Ironically in silence, I felt such connection to my fellow mediators. I would often open my eyes in meditation and watch over them with love, gratitude and compassion. Not that there were many left... we began with 25 and finished with 12.

Nobody's journey is the same.

An admission: I did utter one word during the 10 days. As I was mindfully walking on the grass, reflecting on each and every strand, a stray dog came from nowhere and sprinted towards me. I threw myself onto the nearest bench and as it leaped up onto me I screamed “Shhhiiiiiiiiiiit” !!!" As I pushed the dog away and it retreated, this blasphemous word echoed throughout the valley. I had monks appear from their quarters looking curiously at me. As I composed myself and calmed down, I thought “well, if it was only one word, it may as well be a good one!”

Challenges come in all shapes and forms.

Day 10 arrived and instead of being relieved, I found myself attached to the silence. It took me a few hours to allow myself to interact with the others and talk to them about our time.

What the hell is mindfulness - and why you need it.

Reality was brutal. I arrived back into town, overwhelmed by the smells of street vendors, the taste of pad thai and the imploring touch of massagers. That evening, I climbed into my soft, cosy, luxurious bed. Yes, it was a relief to be comfortable, free and distracted again, however I found myself missing the discipline, simplicity and connectedness that silence did bring.

Silence is golden.

Annie Sophia helps women to express themselves through personal style with confident clothing, makeup and shopping choices. You can find her on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.