For me, a standard day off on a Saturday would consist of an overpriced brunch, mooching around the shops with my friends, bingeing Netflix and eating a large, carb-infused dinner in order to line my stomach for an evening of partying until the early hours.
As a 28-year-old, my life has often revolved around relationships, sex, work, drinking, money, partying and looking good. Even reading the list as I type, I feel guilty and almost embarrassed about my self-indulgence. I’ve always wondered what life would be like without modern-day pleasures and pressures.
So one Saturday morning three months ago, I caught the train from London to Ramsgate on the Kent coast in order to be welcomed into the guest house of a group of 11 Benedictine nuns for a week. I had decided to swap my lifestyle for theirs, and to see what would happen if I gave myself fully to a world where your only relationships are with a higher being, and with your sisterhood. Could having less, and focusing on simpler things, actually make me feel more satisfied?
Although my mum was taught by Benedictine nuns at school, I wasn’t brought up to follow a religion. She has many terrifying stories of getting the cane for no reason and was left with plenty of Catholic guilt. She was, perhaps understandably, nervous about me going to stay with the nuns.
As I wheeled my (admittedly big) suitcase up to Minster Abbey, I was met by Mother Nikola. She has been at the abbey for 40 years and joined the convent when she was my age. Benedictine nuns are defined by the vows they take: obedience, stability and conversatio morum (sometimes translated as “fidelity to monastic life”). They promise to remain in the community for life, commit to chastity, and live for God, not themselves. All money and possessions are surrendered on arrival, and the community lives on joint funds.
I was shown to my room. Brown, 1960s-style floral bedding lay on the single bed; a crucifix and a portrait of a nun hung on the wall (there was no mirror); and a Bible was left in the drawer. A prayer schedule was tacked to the back of the door: 5.30am, 8.30am, 9am, 12.15pm, 5.30pm, 6pm and 7.45pm. As someone who struggles with structure and routine – I’ve never been able to have a full-time office job – I quickly became overwhelmed by the rigid timetable.
I found the first three days unbelievably hard – and felt ashamed for feeling that way. The early mornings, not being able to talk to anyone, and the lack of wifi made me anxious that I might be missing out on work or other “important” things. Why I’d brought so many clothes with me, I don’t know. I spent the whole day either in prayer or in solitary contemplation. My struggles were mirroring what I needed to work on in everyday life – so I tried to sit with the discomfort and adjust to the discipline. The lack of mirrors became a positive thing: I began to eradicate the urge to check myself in passing.
“Love your enemy,” said Mother Nikola while reading a chapter during prayers on my third day at the abbey. Not much had resonated with me before that. But loving my enemy is something I’ve often struggled to do. I have a tendency to hang on to the past, which has made me stubborn and sometimes bitter. I haven’t spoken to some people I’ve fallen out with for more than 10 years: the ability to forgive is what I need to learn in order to move forward in my life. For the first time, something really clicked; over the next few days, I felt a shift in my learning. Even the structure started to feel easier.
Sister Benedict joined Minster Abbey in 1975 and she, too, found the monastic life difficult at first. At the age of 14, she’d had “a powerful experience of God”, which she now understands was her calling to the abbey. After leaving school she went into social work, but soon found herself, at 22, joining the abbey. Her ongoing doubts, however, meant that she had to retake her vows of commitment after several years. “If it’s not hard, it’s probably not right,” she says. “For a lot of women, the thought of joining us might be as an escape from the pressures of life, but what’s the point? Joining a nunnery is supposed to be a sacrifice, not easy.”
This was exactly what I needed to hear. I went back to my room and looked at my open suitcase, filled with 11 days’ worth of clothes for a seven-day trip, and my five-step skincare routine laid out on the desk. I realised how much I use things such as films, podcasts and Instagram as distractions because I don’t particularly like sitting with myself or with my thoughts for too long. As I reflected, I realised that yes, even though I want these things, I don’t actually need them; and quite often I use them to mask deeper problems and insecurities.
As I made my way back home after seven days, I contemplated how much I really give back to the community – and reflected on the difference between wanting and needing something. I realised that I am a master of procrastination and actually, could do with a little more structure. I rely on tech, money and chatting to friends as tools to escape being on my own – and to mask deeper emotions. As I approach 30, this experience has really helped me to shift my focus and prioritise being more present. My stay at the abbey might just have been the path to contentment I didn’t realise I needed so much.
Elizabeth McCafferty is a freelance journalist who writes regularly for Guardian Experience
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