This Retreat Probably Won’t Change Your Life…
Here’s something you won’t hear in most retreat marketing: A retreat won’t change your life.
And it shouldn’t have to.
I know that statement is unpopular—especially in a wellness industry built on big promises and bigger price tags. But someone needs to say it: telling people that a 3- or 5-day retreat will totally transform their life is not only dishonest, it’s harmful. Especially for those of us who can’t afford to believe in overnight miracles.
Because the truth is, not everyone has the privilege to burn it all down after a weekend of ecstatic dance and cold plunges. Not everyone can quit their job on Monday and move to Bali. Not everyone has the money, support system, or freedom to dramatically shift their life just because they felt something stir in the mountains for a few days.
And frankly, that kind of rhetoric reveals how deeply out of touch we’ve become with the real, gritty, beautiful work of transformation.
Real change—the kind that brings peace, clarity, purpose—isn’t something you can buy in a retreat package. It doesn’t come with a room upgrade or a new moon ritual. Real change is slow. Messy. Sometimes excruciating. And it is earned.
You have to labor for it. You have to meet your resistance. You have to practice showing up when it’s boring, when it’s hard, when it’s inconvenient. You have to change the way you see the world—and then work even harder to let your old way of seeing die.
That doesn’t happen in a weekend. That doesn’t happen because someone sold you “transformation” wrapped in a turmeric latte.
Now, don’t get me wrong—I love retreats. I lead retreats. They are sacred. They are powerful. But they are not magic spells. They are not a bypass for the real work. And they are not the whole story.
A retreat is a ritual. One beautiful, intentional moment in a long, winding process of becoming. It’s a container to practice presence. To stretch into new ways of being. To see what it feels like to be less guarded, more open. And then to go back home and figure out what pieces of that experience you want to practice integrating. That is the beginning—not the end.
But that message doesn’t sell as well, does it?
It’s easier to sell fantasy than it is to honor the process. It’s easier to use flashy buzzwords and testimonials than it is to sit beside someone who’s walking through the fire of change and say: this is going to take a while, but you are worthy of the journey.
I want to build a different culture around retreats—one that doesn’t rely on hype or savior marketing. One that respects people’s complexity. One that doesn’t reduce healing to a luxury service with a money-back guarantee. One that says:
You don’t need to be changed.
You need to be met.
You need to be respected.
You need time, support, and space to remember who you are.
So no, a retreat won’t change your life.
But it might offer you one real moment of clarity.
One deep exhale.
One brave choice to do things differently.
This November, I’ll be gathering with a group of people I deeply admire at a ranch in Texas for four days of practice, presence, laughter, rest, and reflection. We’re not coming to fix ourselves. We’re coming to remember what’s already true: that relationships matter, joy matters, slowness matters. That the way we are with each other shapes the way we live. We’ll play, move, meditate, eat well, and make room for honest connection—not because it will change everything, but because it just might shift something. And that, to me, is sacred.
