Ten Days of Silence: A Vipassana Course Retrospective

Let's not fool anyone here: this wasn't a "retreat." Retreats have spa treatments and overpriced smoothies. This was a Vipassana course—and Goenka-ji is very clear about the distinction. It's intense. It demands dedication. And despite what the calendar says, ten days somehow contain at least three weeks' worth of time. Physics doesn't apply in meditation centers.

I went in with minimal expectations, armed with the world's most sustainable mantra: "One day at a time." Still, the course managed to surprise me pleasantly while simultaneously dismantling my old habits like a very patient demolition crew.

The Arc of Ten Days

Days 1-3: The Instagram Reel Era

My mind was a highlight reel on shuffle. Instagram posts I'd scrolled past weeks ago. That podcast episode about attachment theory. The book I'd read a week before. That one conversation where I should've said something cleverer. These fragments looped endlessly, each one spawning imaginary sequels—conversations I would have, dreams worth chasing, problems desperately needing my solve.

Between these mental reruns, I occasionally remembered there was a technique being taught. When I could wrangle my mind into the present moment, I'd practice. Briefly. Before another reel started playing.

Day 4: When the Body Keeps the Score (Literally)

Sitting for long periods got easier. The fidgeting stopped. Victory, right? Wrong. My old shoulder injury woke up and chose violence. The pain was excruciating—a throbbing, burning reminder that my body had notes. Many notes.

And then came the crying. Not delicate, photogenic tears. Full sobbing episodes. I was very grateful that we could move to our rooms and practice in solitude various times a day.

Here's what I still can't untangle: Did the physical pain crack open old emotional storage units—fear, insecurity, shame, the whole collection? Or did getting emotionally vulnerable somehow manifest as physical pain? Chicken, egg, shoulder, sob. The relationship remains unclear, but they definitely came as a package deal.

Day 5: The Adjustment

A minor tweak to my posture and suddenly the shoulder stopped screaming. Just like that. Sitting for hours became... fine? The Vipassana technique started to sink in, not like revelation but like water gradually absorbed by soil. Observation got easier. Not easy—easier. There's a difference.

Days 6-7: The Settled Middle

These were the good days. Solid sittings. A sense of steadiness. My mind cooperated more than it protested. But the philosophical underpinnings of Vipassana? I had a hard time accepting the doctrine of Karma (Goenka-ji insists that it's not an intellectual experiment, so not to overthink), but I am a habitual over-analyzer and that habit needs time to break. I could do the technique, but the "why" felt like trying to read through frosted glass—shapes visible, details elusive.

Days 8-9: The Boredom, The Deprivation, The Longing

Same routine. Same technique. Same meditation hall. Same cushion. My mind, that insatiable novelty-seeker, felt deprived. Starved of stimulation. These were the days I watched my old habits crawl back like persistent houseguests who don't understand hints.

These were also the days I missed my family most. Not in an abstract way—in that specific, aching way where you'd give anything for an ordinary moment with them. The silence made space for that longing, and the longing filled every available inch.

Day 10: The Return That Wasn't

I was ready to go home. My bags were mentally packed. But on Day 10, noble silence ends. Talking resumes. Socializing happens. And I was spectacularly unprepared for it.

The silence had been the best part. I wanted to stay in it, wrap it around me, take it home. Instead, voices filled the space—well-meaning, friendly, but somehow too loud, too much, too soon. And my chatterbox of a mouth opened and slid right back into long conversation.

What Ten Days of Silence Actually Teaches You

For ten days, the characters in my head and I had the longest, quietest conversation on record. We discussed the same topics so thoroughly that we actually ran out of things to say to each other. When you've got that kind of time—nowhere to be, nothing to do except think and observe—certain truths become startlingly clear.

The love of the people who matter most to me? I realized I never think about it. Not because I'm a terrible person (I checked), but because I don't have to. There's no doubt there, no maintenance required. What a profound relief: the things we should care about most don't actually want our attention. They simply are, as easy and essential as breath—annoying at times but still there.

It's the uncertain things that hijacked my silent hours. The relationships I'm not sure about, the situations where I feel ashamed or insecure, the movements of doubt—these are what kept my mind running laps like an overachieving hamster on a wheel.

One realization sits with me now: healthy relationships don't require much of your time. They don't need grand gestures or constant tending or a customer service department. They don't feel like maintenance. They're just there, full and complete, needing only the gentlest of reminders that they exist. In fact, giving them time, spending time with them, and thinking about them gives the most joy.

The Practical Details

Facilities and Food

The facilities are clean and neat, more than I expected from a donation-based, volunteer-run center. I had a private room that I was very grateful for, but some had shared rooms. The environment is full of love and compassion, not in a coddling, let-me-be-at-your-service way, but in a healthy, supportive space that encourages solitude and reflection. All volunteers are the best I have ever experienced.

Food was top-notch. You get two meals a day and fruit/tea for evening time. Morning breakfast was always oatmeal and stewed dried fruits and berries with the option of toast and spreads. There was always a hot water dispenser to make tea and fresh fruit to choose from. 6:30 AM is too early for breakfast for me, and I had a small serving of something to sustain until lunch.

Lunch was one of the highlights of the day. Each day was a different cuisine that was hot-served along with standard salad fixings with two types of dressings. I would play a game every day and try to guess what we were eating as I entered the hallway by sniffing the air. I was right 10/10 times. I cannot really say what my favorite meal was, but black bean chili will be in my memory for long. But I also think the meals were more delicious because there was no distraction and I would savor the texture, color, and tastes of the food in silence. It was met with joy and a smile.

Sleep and Exercise

I slept very well every day but noticed that I did not need much sleep as the body was well-rested throughout the day. Meditation sittings cleared a lot of my unwanted chatter and breath practice soothed my nervous system. So, the 4 AM wake-up call was not very hard.

Though you are not advised to exercise during the course, I walked around the parking lot after every meal and did long circling during afternoon breaks. I stretched out a bit every night before bed, and somatic movements and functional strength seemed to be the best for hip stability and shoulder pain.

Life After Silence

I have just returned from ten days of silence, and apparently, I've forgotten the niceties. Texting and email feel like an extreme sport, and keeping my thoughts to myself has its own advantage.

Beginning a new conversation comes with an internal committee meeting: "Do we really need to respond to this? Is this truly necessary? Can't we just... not?" The committee is very persuasive.

I know this phase won't last. Novelty fades, conditioning is relentless, and eventually I'll be back to double-texting like a functional member of society. But right now, in this strange twilight zone between silence and civilization, I'm basically spending much time in contemplation.

I am still getting up at 4:30 AM and meditating for an hour. It's not been very difficult. I might take a nap later in the afternoons to prepare for these long days.

The Clarity

The solitude and silence has cleared off any brain fog I might have had (I never experience brain fog much), but I think any I experience is not because of peri-menopause but because of excess information. Throughout the day, I am on phone, computer, iPad, physical books, talking, listening, either in the form of texts, email, podcasts, social media, audiobooks, physical books for the purpose of education, research, or entertainment. The contradictions in opinions cause so much confusion that I got into deep over-analysis, which causes paralysis and causes the haze.

So now I am strictly modulating my information consumption to maintain the clarity as much as I can. I have given myself some hard timelines for social media and podcast consumption, which is helpful. I will update as the novelty of this wears off.

The Pain

It's not really the worst part of the course (there was none for me), but the painful part. The long sitting down on a meditation cushion was quite painful in the beginning and became uncomfortably tolerable as the days progressed.

The Questions Everyone Asks

Would I go back again? Probably... but I also will be seeking out other spaces/retreats/hikes for long-term silence.

Was it life-changing? I have been on this path of self-actualization slowly and deliberately for over a decade. Each new and different practice opens new doors into our own selves. This was not a single life-changing thing, but I am very grateful for the practice.

Do I recommend this to everyone? Not to everyone. If you already suffer a sense of loneliness, sitting with eyes closed for hours in a low-lit room full of strangers might feel a bit intimidating and depressing. But if you are in a process of challenging your willpower and observing the silence in this noise, it is a great idea. Even better if you embrace the practice and underlying philosophy of impermanence.

The Lineage: Where This All Comes From

Before diving into my own experience, it helps to understand what Vipassana actually is—and more importantly, what it isn't.

Vipassana, meaning "to see things as they really are," is one of India's most ancient meditation techniques. It was taught by the Buddha over 2,500 years ago as a universal remedy for universal ills—a practical way to achieve liberation through self-observation. The technique was lost to India for centuries, preserved instead in Burma (Myanmar) by a chain of devoted teachers.

This is where Sayagyi U Ba Khin enters the story. A Burmese government official and meditation master, he taught Vipassana to S.N. Goenka, an Indian businessman living in Burma who had been suffering from severe migraines. Goenka trained under U Ba Khin for fourteen years before returning to India in 1969 to begin teaching. His mission: to reintroduce Vipassana to the land of its origin.

What Goenka-ji created was revolutionary in its accessibility. He removed the technique from any religious framework, presenting it as a pure science of mind and matter. No conversion required, no belief system necessary—just direct, experiential understanding. The ten-day course format became the standard: demanding enough to create transformation, contained enough to be accessible to laypeople with jobs and families.

Goenka-ji taught until his death in 2013, but his evening discourses—recorded videos shown each night of the course—continue to guide students worldwide. His voice, pragmatic and occasionally wry, walks you through the theory while you're living the practice. The organization he founded now runs over 300 centers globally, all operating on a donation-only basis. No one pays to attend; instead, you pay forward for the next student after experiencing the course yourself.

The technique itself is deceptively simple: observe bodily sensations with equanimity. That's it. No visualization, no mantra, no special breathing. Just systematic attention to the reality of your physical experience, moment by moment. The first three days focus on breath awareness to sharpen the mind. Days four through nine introduce the actual Vipassana technique—scanning the body from head to toe, observing sensations without reacting. Day ten reintroduces speech and prepares you for reentry into the world.

The underlying philosophy centers on impermanence (anicca), suffering (dukkha), and no-self (anatta). Everything arises and passes away. By observing this truth in your own body, you begin to break the habit of craving and aversion that creates suffering. The doctrine of karma—the law of cause and effect—runs through everything, though Goenka-ji insists this isn't meant to be an intellectual exercise. Experience it first, understand it later.

Namaste

Savitha