From Sweat Lodges to Solitude: The Power of Discomfort in Remembering Who We Are

"Only to the extent that we expose ourselves over and over to annihilation can that which is indestructible be found in us." – Pema Chödrön

Lately, I’ve found myself pulled toward the edges of comfort — not in a thrill-seeking way, but in a quieter, deeper longing to remember something I feel we’ve forgotten.

Over the past year, I’ve taken part in a series of experiences that intentionally challenged me. Nights alone under the stars. Long hours of silence and cold. Ancient ceremonies involving heat, darkness, and shared song. Some you might call rituals. Others simply discomfort.

All of them, in some way, cracked me open.

We spend so much of our lives trying to avoid pain or inconvenience. Yet, I’ve started to believe that discomfort — the real, soul-searching kind — may be one of the most important things we can choose to face.

Why Discomfort?

Life already feels hard. We're overwhelmed, overstimulated, under-slept. So why on earth would anyone choose to sit out alone all night in the dark without food, water or sleep, or crawl into a searingly hot sweat lodge for 4 hours in total darkness alongside 20 other people also in varying degrees of emotional and physical intensity ?

Because something happens when we do.

These moments have a way of peeling back the layers. They reveal what’s real underneath the noise. When you’re cold and alone at 3 a.m., praying for the moon to set and the sun to rise, you come face to face with your mind, your fears, your ego. And — maybe for the first time in a long time — you hear your self.

Not the curated version of you. The real one.

We Used to Do This

Across the world, Indigenous cultures have always understood the necessity of hardship. Vision quests, fasting, long wilderness journeys — these weren’t optional extras. They were essential. These rituals helped people find purpose, humility, clarity. They taught resilience. They forged identity. They reminded people how to be in relationship with the earth, with spirit, and with one another.

And here, in the British Isles, we had these practices too — though many of them were lost, buried under centuries of colonisation, Christianity, industrialisation.

But if you look, they’re still here. You’ll find them in old stories, folk traditions, sacred landscapes. In the Celtic monk who fasted alone in a cave. In the pilgrim who walked barefoot to Lindisfarne. In the ancient rites of fire, endurance, silence, transformation.

We knew, once, that walking to our edges was a way of coming home.

My Experience at Dadeni

I’ve been part of a 3-year journey called Dadeni, guided by Welsh storyteller and teacher Angharad Wynne. It’s an exploration of the indigenous spirituality of this land — the old ways, before they were forgotten.

We gather as a small group in wild places. We tell and listen to stories. We create ceremony. We remember what it means to belong — not just to a society, but to a place, a tradition, a lineage.

One night, we were each invited to spend the entire night alone in nature. No phone. No torch. No food. No sleep. Just me, a tree, and the cold.

And let me tell you: it was hard. Not in a “roughing it” kind of way. But in the kind of way that makes you want to run from your own thoughts.That forces you to sit with all the parts of yourself you usually outrun.

So what did I learn?

That I can endure more than I thought. That I don’t need to fill every moment of silence. That something in me — some wild, ancient part — was waiting to be remembered.

The Sweat Lodge

The next day, we built a sweat lodge together — a circular dome of branches and blankets, heated by stones pulled from the fire that was built. We sang, we spoke prayers for others who we knew needed them, we sweated together through four intense rounds (and hours) of heat, darkness, and release.

It was beautiful. Humbling. Cleansing. And like so much of this journey, it stripped away the surface and left something quieter, simpler, more honest in its place.

Why I’m Sharing This

I’m not writing this because I think everyone should go out alone into the woods, or crawl humbly into a searing hot, pitch black sweat lodge. That’s not the point here (although if you get the chance, or feel called, do!).

I’m sharing this because we live in a world that tells us to avoid discomfort at all costs. That numbs us. Distracts us. Teaches us to self-soothe instead of self-reflect.

And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: Discomfort is a doorway.

Not always easy. Rarely fun. But incredibly powerful.

It helps us remember who we are. What we’re capable of. What we actually care about.

So maybe the next time discomfort knocks — through loss, change, challenge, or choice — we don’t turn away. Maybe we lean in, just a little. And ask what it’s here to teach us.

If you’re curious about any of these practices, or want to explore your own path through the edge places, I’m always happy to talk. You can reach me at justine@wonderbreath.co

With love and breath,Justine 🌿