Losing My Mind in Charades, Finding My Soul in Silence

The Retreat Effect: How Disappearing from the World Can Bring You Back to Yourself

The Unexpected Power of Stepping Away

I used to think retreats were for two types of people: hardcore yogis who could bend into human pretzels and corporate execs trying to "find themselves" after a mid-life crisis.

Turns out, I was wildly wrong.

Somewhere between relearning how to be a human after my traumatic brain injury and spending a week in absolute silence at a Buddhist center, I realized something: retreats are anchor points—moments where life shifts, both internally and externally. They strip away the noise, force you to sit with yourself (sometimes quite literally), and, if you're lucky, introduce you to a group of strangers who will change your life in ways you never saw coming.

Retreat #1: The One Where I Learned to Be Seen

After my brain injury, I felt like a ghost of who I used to be. I didn’t belong anywhere, let alone at a retreat specifically designed for people like me. But somehow, I found myself there—nervous, exhausted, and convinced I was too broken to connect with anyone.

The first night, we sat in a circle and shared our stories. It wasn’t easy. It was raw, heavy, and the kind of thing that makes you want to crawl under a blanket and never resurface. But there’s something about saying your pain out loud in a room full of people who “get it” that creates an unbreakable bond. By the time it was my turn, my face was already soaked—whether from my own tears or from the collective downpour happening in the room, I’ll never know.

And then, the next morning? Boom. Elephant in the room—gone. We were officially trauma-bonded. Now we could lean into the experience without tiptoeing around our grief like an awkward dance number in a high school musical.

By night two, we were playing charades. (And let me tell you, charades with a room full of people who have memory issues is “peak” comedy. If you think regular charades is chaotic, imagine playing it when half the room forgets what they’re acting out halfway through. Watching someone start flapping their arms like a bird and then suddenly stop, looking confused, only to ask, "Wait… what was I doing again?"—10/10 entertainment.)

But something about the laughter cracked something open inside me. I felt seen—not as a patient or a problem to solve, but as a human being who could still find joy in ridiculous, absurd moments.

By the end of the retreat, something shifted. Love had found its way into my heart—not in a romantic sense, but in the form of community. I had spent so long feeling like I was navigating an endless ocean with no land in sight. This retreat became my lighthouse, guiding me back to myself.

Retreat #2: The One Where I Didn’t Speak for a Week (and Somehow Survived)

If someone had told me I’d willingly sign up for a week of meditating in silence, eating like a monk, and sleeping in communal housing, I would have laughed so hard I’d pull a muscle. But then I found myself at Karme Choling, sitting in the same exact spot every day, meditating for six hours, and slowly losing all sense of time.

This was an Art Dathun—a meditation retreat that stripped life down to the bare essentials. We ate our meals in the same room where we meditated, following ancient ceremonial traditions. We didn’t talk. At all. (Well, except for a few scheduled moments of playful art exercises, which somehow included storytelling and "photography with our eyes" but this is an article for another time.)

At first, I thought the silence would be peaceful. Turns out, my brain did not get the memo. Within 24 hours, my inner monologue had turned into a chaotic circus.

- Am I breathing too loud?

- Wait, what do monks think about when they meditate?

- Do I have to be enlightened by the end of this? What if I’m the one person who doesn’t?

By day three, I swear I could hear my own thoughts in surround sound. But then, something strange happened. The stillness stopped feeling like an enemy. My body settled, my mind quieted, and for the first time in years, I wasn’t running from myself.

On the final day, we gathered in a circle. One by one, we stepped into the center and called out someone who had deeply moved us. Remember—no words had been spoken all week. And yet, when I was called first, a woman stood in front of me, placed her hand over my heart, and said, "Thank you for making me feel held and for your kindness and love. You deserve so much love." Cue tears.

There was a reason tissue boxes were laid out sporadically around the circle. One by one, we stood in the center, telling each other exactly what our souls needed to hear. It was like we had lived lifetimes together in just seven days. Who we were when we arrived and who we were leaving as—entirely different.

The Full-Circle Moment: Becoming the Guide

These retreats became anchor points—times when I could step back, measure my transformation, and truly feel the progress I had made. Each one became a mirror, reflecting back the person I was becoming.

Now, years later, I find myself on the other side of the experience. I’m being asked to be a guest speaker at the Creator Retreat. Me—the guy who once thought he had no place at a retreat—now helping others on their own creative journeys. If that isn’t a full-circle moment, I don’t know what is.

But this isn’t just about me. It’s about “why” retreats are such powerful transformation tools.

Why Retreats Work (Even If You Think They Won’t)

1. They Remove Distractions. No Netflix, no mindless scrolling. Just you, your thoughts, and whatever breakthrough is waiting to hit you when you least expect it.

2. They Create Community (Even If You Hate Group Activities). Something about shared experiences bonds people faster than anything else. Even if you arrive convinced you’re a lone wolf, you’ll probably leave with a pack.

3. They Force You to Grow. Whether it’s meditating in silence or embarrassing yourself in charades, retreats push you past your comfort zone in ways nothing else does.

4. They Give You Space to Reset. Life is noisy. Retreats give you a pause button. And sometimes, that’s exactly what you need to remember who you are.

In service of the journey, always—Unworthy Illuminator – Beckett

This isn’t just another event—it’s a portal into a new version of you. One where you come out on the other side seeing yourself, your work, and your creative journey in an entirely new way.

So the question isn’t if a retreat will change you. The question is—are you ready to find out how?

There are two ways to join the Creator Retreat for the 10-month experience.

1. Become part of the live cohort. The cohort is a closed private group of 15-20 participants supported by 2 co-facilitators (TeriLeigh & Ryan Delaney) and 10 guest presenters.

1. Become a paid subscriber. Paid subscribers have onDemand access to workshops and material. This is especially perfect for those who want to go at their own pace.