Hosting My First Retreat: What I've learned

Six months ago I hosted my first retreat.

Even writing that sentence feels important.

For a while afterward I caught myself saying things like,

“Well… it wasn’t exactly how I imagined it.”

But the truth is simple.

I facilitated a retreat.

I did it.

And that matters.

Was it exactly what I envisioned?

No.

But what I’ve come to realize is that retreats are something you learn by doing.

Recently I attended a retreat myself, and something clicked for me. What stood out the most wasn’t the schedule or the activities.

It was the space between things.

The quiet in the morning.

The moments where nothing was happening, but everything was integrating.

Retreats move a lot of energy. People need room for that.

So what I’m excited about for the next one isn’t filling more time.

It’s being more intentional with the rhythm.

Quiet mornings.

Time for people to land in themselves.

Then coming together.

Opening the Space

When we first arrived, we gathered together to open the retreat in ceremony.

In many traditions, opening the directions is a way of acknowledging the four directions, the elements, and the land that is holding you. It’s a way of intentionally stepping into sacred space together.

The way we opened the directions had been passed down to me from a retreat I had experienced before. Being able to carry that forward and open our own space with those same intentions felt incredibly meaningful.

It reminded me that we don’t always have to invent everything ourselves.

Sometimes we are simply continuing something sacred that was shared with us.

Before the retreat, I had asked each woman to bring something for the altar that represented the three energies we were working with that weekend - the Full Moon, Polaris, and the Deep Ocean.

Each person arrived with their own piece to place on the altar.

Symbols of reflection.

Guidance.

And the willingness to go beneath the surface.

We opened the directions.

Shared our altar pieces.

Set our intentions for the weekend.

There was something powerful about beginning that way - acknowledging the land, the space we were stepping into, and the container we were creating together.

Looking back, that moment felt like a threshold.

A quiet step into something new.

A Morning on the Dock

One of my favorite memories from that retreat was a quiet morning on the dock.

I woke up early, walked down to the water, pulled cards, and sat with Hapé as the sun came up.

Eventually another woman joined me outside. We didn’t say much. We just sat there together.

Listening to music.

Pulling cards.

Being still.

There is something powerful about those moments where we pour back into ourselves.

Where we go beneath the waves - beneath the thoughts that sit on the surface - and reconnect with our essence.

Where we connect with source.

With love.

With ourselves.

When we take time to do that first, something shifts.

We anchor back into who we are.

And when we move from that place, we aren’t carried away so easily by the wind and waves around us.

Creativity, Movement, and Expression

Later that day one of the women led her first intuitive art workshop.

It took courage to step into that role, and it was beautiful to witness.

She guided us through a simple beginning - just doodling - an invitation to get out of our heads and onto the page. Then she asked us to connect with the water and allow that energy to guide what we created.

Our paintings ended up completely different from one another.

There was resistance.

Perfectionism.

Moments of wondering what we were even doing.

And also laughter.

Curiosity.

Joy.

It was such a beautiful thing to watch her hold the space with so much grace while each of us moved through the process in our own way.

That’s one of the things I love about gatherings like this - when women feel safe enough to share their gifts.

In the end, each of us walked away with something tangible. A piece of art to bring home, holding the energy of that time together.

Later we moved into goddess yoga, and it felt so good to move our bodies.

At one point we ended up outside on the porch dancing and singing at the top of our lungs to I Wanna Dance with Somebody.

I could feel the energy shift.

The laughter.

The movement.

The freedom.

At the end everyone laid down and I shared 13th Octave LaHoChi, allowing the energy to settle and integrate.

And each evening, before we closed out the night, we were gifted with a sound bath.

The vibrations of the bowls filled the space, giving our bodies and nervous systems time to settle after the experiences of the day.

It was another reminder that this retreat wasn’t just something I created.

It was something we created together - each woman bringing her own gifts into the circle.

When I Got Stuck in My Head

One evening before dinner we gathered for a card reading.

By that point in the retreat I was honestly exhausted. I had poured a lot of energy into creating the space, and there was a moment where I started questioning everything.

Is this worth it?

Is this something I should keep doing?

Was this what I thought it would be?

The cards that came through felt like they were speaking directly into that moment.

The message was simple.

Get out of your head.

Drop down into your heart.

The mind will spiral every time.

Another card spoke about the part of the journey where the initial excitement fades and you start wondering what you’re doing.

That plateau moment.

But the reminder was clear - this isn’t the end of the path. It’s part of the journey.

Come back to why you started.

Looking back six months later, I can see how accurate that reading was.

That moment of questioning didn’t mean the retreat wasn’t meaningful.

It meant I was being invited to trust the process.

Holding Space for One Another

There was also a moment during the retreat where we paused and prayed for a woman in our community who was moving through a big life transition.

Not everyone there knew her personally.

But we stopped and held space anyway.

And that moment has stayed with me.

Over the past six months prayer and intention have become even more important in my life and in the way I hold space.

Taking time to pause.

To acknowledge someone.

To lift them up in love.

It reminded me that the heart of gatherings like this isn’t just the activities we plan.

It’s the way we show up for each other.

Celebration

One evening we celebrated a milestone birthday for one of the women.

She had chosen to spend that birthday at this retreat instead of taking another trip she had originally considered. Knowing she chose to be there with us meant a lot to me. And if I’m honest, it also stirred up a quiet question in my own mind.

Is what I created enough?

We surprised her with decorations, a banner, candles, a card, and a few small gifts to make the moment special.

It was simple.

But heartfelt.

That moment reminded me that retreats aren’t just about the practices we facilitate.

They’re about friendship.

About taking time to celebrate one another and mark meaningful moments in our lives.

Ceremony and the Medicine of the Drum

Later that evening we gathered around the altar.

We sang together and began drumming, letting the rhythm move through the space.

Music has always been an important part of my life and my journey, and bringing my drum into ceremony feels deeply meaningful to me. This drum is one I made myself, and every time I bring it into a space it feels like bringing a piece of that intention with me.

At one point I made the intentional choice to drum over each woman individually.

One by one they sat or stood in the center while I drummed over them.

Feeling the vibration of the drum move through their bodies - through their cells - anchoring the experience into them.

The drum has a way of shifting things.

Of vibrating loose what no longer serves and creating space for something new to settle in.

It wasn’t something I had planned.

It was something that simply felt right in the moment.

And those are often the moments where the deepest medicine lives.

The Final Morning

On the final morning we gathered outside by the fire.

I led a meditation where we moved through a spiral - like a strand of DNA - traveling up or down as we released what we were ready to let go of.

We wrote things on paper and burned them in the fire.

Each woman experienced something different.

One person spent time journaling quietly.

Another moved through a wave of emotion that needed space to be expressed.

This is the magic of the work.

I simply facilitate the container.

Each person’s experience unfolds in their own way.

Before we left, we closed the directions and thanked everything that had held the space for us.

We took down the altar.

Collected acorns to take home.

And scattered flowers across the land and into the water as an offering of gratitude.

Thanking the land for holding us.

Honoring What I Poured In

Something I’m still learning is how to truly recognize what I poured into that experience.

It’s easy to look back and focus on what could have been different.

But when I pause, I also see:

The space that was created.

The meals that were shared.

The laughter.

The prayers.

The conversations.

The healing that unfolded.

That retreat wasn’t perfect.

But it was real.

It was heartfelt.

And it was the beginning.

And beginnings deserve to be honored.

Looking Ahead

If anything, this experience gave me clarity.

The next retreat won’t be about doing more.

It will be about:

More intention.

More spaciousness.

More listening.

Trusting that the magic of retreat often happens in the quiet moments.

And trusting that community is something we create together.

Hosting my first retreat taught me something simple but powerful:

You don’t have to do it perfectly.

You just have to begin.

Six months ago I was questioning whether I would ever hold another retreat.

Now, I know I will.

Trusting that the timing, the location, and the women who are meant to be there will reveal themselves when the time is right.

With Love,

Jess