The Unfathomable Benefits of Keeping Your Mouth Shut

Five days in a silent retreat

For the first three hours, speaking was allowed.

I wanted to be totally quiet. I told myself, “Just listen, Ros, don’t start on one of your stories.”

But I am an inveterate storyteller, and before we were on the dessert, I had, on the smallest pretext imaginable, told the whole table about my mother’s nipples and the scarring effects of her nudism, plus, I am horrified to say, my own bra-wearing habits and how inordinately proud I am of my boobs.

Shut up, Ros!

Too late.

Then a post-supper cup of tea at the outside tables.

Me: “Do you mind if I sit here?”

Unsuspecting victim: “No, not at all.”

Before I know it, I have overshared again. The poor woman says something sweet when I mention my adult child still at home, and sensing the slightly open door of her compassion, I boot it back on its hinges to swamp her with the story (and backstory, all the way to toddlerhood) of the other son, who is estranged.

Oh, Ros, FFS!

As the bell rings to call us to the first meditation, cutting me off in full…