No Me, No Mind: My 10-Day Vipassana
- kaitlyn terrell
- Feb 27
- 8 min read
Updated: Mar 2
My experience during a 10 day course at Southeast Vipassana Center.
The courses: https://www.dhamma.org/en-US/schedules/schpatapa
Southeast Vipassana Experience
When I first thought about writing this review, of course, it was during my 10-day Vipassana course. The idea struck me like a lightning bolt—right in the middle of what must have been hour 50 of meditating. And like any good idea, it flowed through me like a newborn stream rushing into the ocean, eager to become something greater.
But with that inspiration came the attachment to do it now or lose it forever. And since clinging to things is basically a Vipassana no-no, I had to let the thought go, trusting it would return when the time was right. Which, spoiler alert, it did—because here we are, days later, and I’m finally writing it.
Disclaimer:
This experience is something you truly have to go through to understand. I’m not here to convince you to change your life or to send you spiraling into an existential crisis. This is just a seed—what you do with it is up to you. Also, since this is my personal experience, take it as such. Keep an open mind and enjoy.
Thank you. 🙂
I’m 23 years old, which, sure, isn’t that long in the grand scheme of things. But time is weird. Every experience, every high and low, has shaped me, making each year feel like a lifetime. I’ve lived through waves of depression, pure bliss, rage, and everything in between. I dove headfirst into life, hoping to gather stories worth telling—whether they were beautiful, painful, or just plain absurd.
But through it all, my sense of self kept getting blurrier. My purpose felt heavier. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was constantly swinging between craving and aversion—chasing after Pinterest-perfect dreams and dissociating when reality wasn’t as aesthetic. The deeper I fell into the endless loop of seeking, the more I lost touch with myself.
I used to think the "unknown" was some grand, mysterious void. But really, the real unknown wasn’t the universe—it was me. Religion, manifestation, self-help books—I tried them all, searching for an answer I didn’t even know how to phrase. My name, Nome, even started feeling like a cosmic joke. “No me.” A wanderer, endlessly seeking herself without knowing what "self" even was.
And if you’re wondering how I ended up at a Vipassana center, well… same.
I barely remember applying. It was a joke at first—one of those "why not?" moments where I assumed nothing would actually come of it. But then I got accepted. And then I got texts. And then I got calls. And suddenly, I was throwing a bag of clothes into my car, driving four hours with a pleading heart, and handing over my phone.
The Center: A Safe Haven Off the Beaten Path
The center is honestly a safe haven nestled in a small town in Jesup Ga. Fair warning: when you’re driving there, you might find yourself wearing a puzzled expression or even second-guessing your entire life. Once you exit the highway, you’re greeted by the beautiful essence of the countryside. Every place has its quirks and questionable ways of living, but here, judgment gives way to simple acceptance of everyone’s unique path.
But as soon as you drive into the center, you leave the beaten path behind and step into pure bliss. I kid you not—the moment I saw the place, an overwhelming sense of peace washed over me, and I knew I was exactly where I needed to be. The cellular connection isn’t the best, so don’t panic when you see “SOS” on your phone. I promise you, you won’t need help; you just need to find that sweet spot for a proper goodbye.
Once you arrive, you check in with one of the wonderful volunteers. A fun detail: from check-in until the day before the course ends, gender segregation is in effect. This means you rarely see the opposite gender unless you’re actively looking. But trust me, the people here make you feel incredibly safe and right at home. They even maintain a supply closet stocked with essentials—clean sheets, towels, an alarm clock (in case the gong isn’t loud enough), extra clothes, and even sanitary pads during that time of the month. The love and care here are palpable, ensuring you feel completely at ease.
And that’s just one part of the center’s charm. For me, the best part was the food. Oh man—just writing about it makes my stomach growl! As a vegan, I’m used to surviving on a basket of fries or carb-loaded meals. But this place introduced me to an entirely new culinary world. I even saved a bunch of recipes that you get access to after the course. Beware of the chocolate chip cookies and vegan mac and cheese—they advise not to overindulge out of respect for sharing and meditation, but every bite was absolutely irresistible!
Your room is cleaned by the person who occupied it before you—with a little help from a volunteer. Thank you to whoever came before me, because my room and bathroom were spotless. And if, for any reason, you end up with a less-than-perfect space, don’t worry; cleaning products are readily available so you can freshen up throughout your stay. This attention to detail makes you feel extra cared for, knowing that everything you need is right there.
If this isn’t the simple life, I don’t know what is. Every necessity is provided, and there’s a comforting assurance in knowing that people genuinely care. From the volunteers to the teachers, everyone holds space for you. You can ask the teacher any question—no question is ever too silly, even if it’s repeated a few times. The non-judgmental atmosphere is truly refreshing.
The only challenge I faced? The mosquitoes. They seemed to sense your inner peace—perhaps because you smell sweet? They’d swarm without remorse, buzzing around your face and even your glasses. So, pack some long-sleeved clothes; luckily, bug spray and face net protection are provided if needed.
The Joke Was on Me
I went in with zero expectations. No deep epiphanies. No conscious awareness of what I was actually doing. But my body? My body knew.
Now, you’d think that after hours and hours of sitting in silence, I’d have some kind of identity crisis. But instead, something else happened.
One afternoon, deep into meditation, my mind casually threw out the age-old questions: Who am I? What is my purpose?
And instead of spiraling, I laughed.
Not just in my head—I literally started smiling to myself. Because for the first time, I realized the joke. It wasn’t about finding the answers—it was about my desperate need to define the “I” in those questions. I had spent my whole life trying to understand myself mentally, emotionally, spiritually—but never experientially.
And that’s when things got quiet.
The need to label, to categorize, to make sense of it all—suddenly, it didn’t matter. My only job was to experience myself. Not through achievements, not through external validation, not through overanalyzing every thought. Just through being.
And that realization? It hit harder than all the self-help books I had ever read. And just when I thought I had reached some kind of peak understanding, my body decided to take the lesson even deeper.
The Body Remembers
By Day 7 or 8, I figured most of the major shifts had already happened. Wrong.
It was an afternoon meditation, and I had chosen to sit in the hall. I was deep into scanning my body when a sharp pain took over my right shoulder. Now, for context—I'd been dealing with nerve pain in that spot for over a year. It had gotten so bad I resorted to shock therapy treatments, which, honestly, didn’t help.
But here I was, sitting in absolute silence, when suddenly, my body remembered.
Before I knew it, my shoulder started twitching uncontrollably. My whole body followed—spasms, jerks, movements I couldn’t explain. And yet, I was completely at peace. I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t resisting. I was smiling.
Because I knew.
Every twitch, every sensation, was the exact pattern of shocks I had put my body through with that machine. My body had stored it all. It was releasing it now. Healing in real time.
I'm sharing this because healing isn't always a grand, cinematic moment. Sometimes, it's subtle. Sometimes, it's strange. And sometimes, it's your body moving in ways you don't understand, letting go of things you didn’t even know you were carrying. I used to think healing had to look a certain way—big breakthroughs, loud revelations. But in that moment, I realized it could also be silent, slow, and deeply personal.
This story isn’t just about Vipassana—it’s about the power of presence. It’s about trusting the process, even when you don’t fully understand it. It’s about letting go of control and allowing healing to happen in its own way, in its own time.
Even writing this, I can’t help but shake my head in awe. The body never forgets. But it will release—if we let it.
The Seed Was Planted
That moment solidified everything Vipassana had been teaching me. It wasn’t about forcing change. It wasn’t about escaping discomfort. It was about observing—sitting with whatever rose to the surface, without running, without clinging, without over-explaining.
Surrender. Smile. Keep going.
Final Thoughts
Honestly, I thought this review would be pages and pages long, rambling about every little thing I experienced. But now, writing it, I realize words will never fully capture it.
Because my story? It’s mine.
Your story is waiting for you to live it.
And when you do—maybe one day, you’ll sit down to write about it too.
A Reflection on Life After Vipassana
When the final day of the course arrived, a heavy wave of realization settled over us—pure bliss was about to be tested. You could sense it in the air, in the way people shifted, stretching their bodies back into movement after days of stillness. Conversations sparked almost immediately, voices reawakening to the world beyond silence. Some spoke of the lives they were returning to, their words tinged with both excitement and hesitation. You could see it in their breath—new, unfamiliar sensations coursing through them, a body adjusting to a mind that had changed.
I won’t lie—throughout breakfast, a quiet nervousness sat in my chest. I was about to return to a life I once knew, yet I wasn’t the same. Could that space still hold me? Would I fit back into the world I left behind? But like everything, this too shall pass. And before I knew it, my phone buzzed with messages—"I miss you." A flood of human connection, once something I feared, now felt like the sweetest gift. My heart, once guarded, swelled with joy. Not just from the love of those waiting for this new version of me, but from something deeper—the warmth of an experience that had planted a seed within me. And now, I could feel it sprouting.
It has only been a few days since I left, and honestly, I don’t yet have the words to describe what I feel. But I have never felt this before. And for that, I am endlessly grateful. Now, I step forward into what is truly a lifelong journey—one, as Goenka would say, toward real peace, real harmony, real love.
Want to hear more about my experience? Here's a Youtube video talking more about my experience! :)
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