My First Time Meditating: What I Wish I Knew Before Starting
The idea of meditation always fascinated me. Visions of serene monks, deep tranquility, and an immediate connection to inner peace danced in my head. So, when I finally decided to try it for the very first time, I envisioned a transformative experience, a rapid ascent to a state of calm I’d only read about. What I got, however, was a bustling mental carnival, an uncooperative body, and a healthy dose of self-doubt. Looking back, there are so many things I wish I knew before embarking on that initial journey into stillness. If you’re considering your own first meditation session, let my experience be a gentle guide to what you might actually encounter, and how to navigate it with far more grace than I did.
My Mind’s Unexpected Marathon: Why My Brain Refused to Be Quiet
Before my first meditation, I genuinely believed that the goal was to achieve a completely empty mind. I thought I’d sit down, close my eyes, and *poof*, all thoughts would vanish, leaving behind a pristine mental landscape. Oh, how wrong I was. The moment I tried to “empty” my mind, it decided to host an impromptu Olympic marathon of thoughts, memories, to-do lists, anxieties, and even the lyrics to an obscure song from my childhood. It wasn’t just busy; it was aggressively, relentlessly active.
The Myth of the Blank Slate
What I wish I knew then was that trying to force your mind into a blank slate is like trying to hold water in a sieve – futile and frustrating. The purpose of meditation, especially for a beginner, isn’t to stop thinking. It’s to become aware of your thoughts without getting swept away by them. Imagine your mind as a sky, and thoughts as clouds. You don’t try to stop the clouds from forming; you simply observe them as they drift by. This simple shift in perspective would have saved me so much internal struggle.
Instead of fighting each thought, I now understand that acknowledging its presence with a gentle “there’s a thought” and then returning my attention to my anchor (usually the breath) is the way. It’s a constant, gentle redirection, not a forceful eviction. My first time meditating, I spent 20 minutes arguing with my own brain, convinced I was failing. If only I’d known that the sheer volume of thoughts is a perfectly normal, even expected, part of the process, I would have approached it with curiosity rather than combativeness.
The Uninvited Guests: My Body’s Twitches and Tangles
I pictured myself sitting perfectly still, like a statue carved from calm. My chosen meditation posture was a valiant attempt at a lotus position (or something vaguely resembling it), which quickly devolved into a series of fidgets, aches, and an overwhelming urge to scratch an itch that suddenly appeared on my nose. My back started to complain, my knees felt stiff, and my legs, despite my best intentions, just wouldn’t settle.
Comfort Over “Correctness”
The crucial piece of information I lacked was that comfort is paramount, especially when you’re just starting out. There’s no “right” way to sit. You don’t need to pretzel yourself into an uncomfortable position. A chair is absolutely fine. Lying down is fine (though you might drift off to sleep, which is also okay sometimes!). The goal is to find a posture that allows you to be relatively still and alert without causing undue pain or distraction. My focus on what I thought was the “correct” way to sit completely overshadowed the actual practice of meditation.
Had I known this, I would have chosen a comfortable cushion, perhaps leaned against a wall, and prioritized ease over an aesthetic ideal. Those minor physical discomforts became major mental distractions, pulling me away from my breath and into a cycle of bodily complaints. Now, I understand that acknowledging physical sensations – much like thoughts – is part of the practice. Notice the itch, acknowledge the ache, and then gently bring your attention back to your anchor, without judgment or the need to immediately fix it (unless it’s genuine pain, in which case, adjust!).
Why I Didn’t Instantly Find Inner Peace (And That’s Okay)
My expectations for my first meditation session were, in hindsight, astronomically high. I anticipated a sudden, profound shift, a wave of blissful calm washing over me, perhaps even some kind of spiritual awakening. I expected to emerge from those 20 minutes feeling utterly transformed, radiating serenity. When none of that happened – when I felt mostly restless, frustrated, and perhaps even more aware of my internal chaos – I concluded I was doing it wrong. I felt like a failure at something that was supposed to be inherently simple.
The Journey, Not the Destination
What I desperately needed to know was that meditation is a practice, not a magic pill. It’s a journey of gradual discovery, not an instant destination. The “benefits” often touted – reduced stress, increased focus, emotional regulation – are cumulative effects that build up over time, with consistent effort, not a guaranteed outcome of a single session. My first time meditating, I was looking for a grand finale, when what I should have been looking for was simply to show up and observe.
Embracing the beginner’s mind means letting go of all preconceived notions and expectations. Each session is different, and some will feel more “successful” than others. The true success lies in the act of showing up, sitting down, and making the effort, regardless of what unfolds. If I had understood this, I would have approached my first session with an open mind, free from the burden of expecting an immediate, dramatic result. I would have appreciated the simple act of trying, rather than judging it against an impossible ideal.
The Missing Ingredient: A Spoonful of Self-Kindness
Because my first meditation session didn’t align with my lofty expectations, I was incredibly hard on myself. I mentally chastised myself for every wandering thought, every fidget, every moment of frustration. “You’re doing it wrong,” “You can’t even sit still for 20 minutes,” “This clearly isn’t for you,” were the harsh whispers in my mind. I treated myself like a student who had failed an exam, rather than a curious explorer taking their first tentative steps into a new landscape.
Be Your Own Best Friend
This is perhaps the most critical piece of advice I wish I had before starting: approach your meditation with radical self-compassion. The inner critic is often loudest when we’re trying something new and vulnerable. Instead of fighting it, acknowledge it, and then choose to be kind to yourself. Every time your mind wanders (and it will, thousands of times), simply notice it and gently guide your attention back. There’s no need for judgment, no need for frustration. It’s not a failure; it’s an opportunity to practice coming back.
Think of it like training a puppy. You don’t yell at it for getting distracted; you gently call it back, maybe offer a treat, and patiently repeat the process. Your mind is like that puppy. It needs gentle guidance, not harsh reprimands. Cultivating an attitude of kindness towards yourself, especially when things feel difficult or unproductive, is a meditation practice in itself. This profound realization would have transformed my very first session from a self-inflicted ordeal into a much gentler, more forgiving exploration.
It’s Not a Performance: The Gentle Art of Just Showing Up
My initial approach to meditation was almost like a performance review. I was checking off boxes: “Did I clear my mind? No. Did I sit still? Not really. Did I feel enlightened? Absolutely not.” This mindset made the whole experience feel like a chore, another item on my personal development checklist to fail at. I focused so much on the “doing” and the “achieving” that I missed the essence of simply “being.”
Consistency Over Perfection
What I now understand is that the true power of meditation isn’t in a single, perfect session, but in the consistent act of showing up. Even five minutes of mindful breathing, done regularly, can have a far greater impact than a sporadic, hour-long session filled with self-judgment. The “art” is in the gentle commitment to return to the cushion (or chair, or floor) day after day, regardless of how the previous session went. It’s about building a habit of presence, not perfecting a technique.
If I could go back, I’d tell my beginner self to focus on making meditation a regular, small part of my day, rather than striving for an intense, flawless experience. Just setting aside the time, sitting down, and making the intention to be present is a success in itself. The benefits unfold naturally from this consistent engagement. Don’t worry about “doing it right” – just do it. Embrace the imperfections, the distractions, the discomforts, and the mundane moments. They are all part of the rich tapestry of your practice. This gentle understanding would have allowed me to approach my first time meditating with curiosity and acceptance, rather than the daunting pressure of a performance.