I did it! After talking about it for years and years, the second week of January, I co-hosted my first writing retreat. It was off the charts amazing; even better than I had dreamed.
How was this retreat different from everything else on the market?
There were three big ways “The Writer Within” stood out from every other retreat I’ve been to or read about:
- It took place over a long weekend. Everyone arrived Thursday afternoon and we closed with a Sunday brunch. I’m the first person to want more time to write, but life – work, kids, everything else I am juggling – means weeklong retreats just aren’t an option for me. I figured, I cannot be the only one who feels this way.
- Related to no. 1, we kept costs as low as possible to make our retreat as accessible as possible. We booked an AirBnB where everyone could stay, included breakfast, but every meal beyond that was optional. We booked restaurants (mindful of choosing local options that were as budget friendly as possible). We also used a sliding scale for price to allow for differences in finances.
- This wasn’t just another writing retreat. It focused on impostor syndrome because I’ve never met any creative (writer, artist, singer songwriter, you name it) who doesn’t suffer from impostor syndrome. As such, it was co-hosted by my dear friend Lauren who is a therapist, writer, and the best human I know to hold a safe space and gently nudge people to think about what’s holding them back (this is a woefully overly simplified description of what she does, which is akin to magic if you ask me).
If you’re looking for a writing retreat that has more social hours, touristy visits, or yoga classes than writing time, this is not for you. Similarly, if you’re after a series of prompts and writing exercises that will improve your craft without inviting you to go beyond surface-level, this is not the retreat for you.
Attending The Writer Within means leaning in and sometimes facing unexpected or uncomfortable truths – never forced, never harsh, but necessary.
Did that actually work?
Our first cohort of writers were AMAZING. We were lucky in that everyone connected on the first evening, which made sharing words and being vulnerable as of the next morning and throughout the retreat was made easier.
But it wasn’t just luck.
We kept the retreat small intentionally. We wanted to create a safe space, and have time for everyone to share if they wanted to.
Lauren, the founder of Mind Yersel’, is a pro at facilitating. Her superpower? Vulnerability. We designed the programme together, but it was a living thing – we adjusted it as we went, and each evening touched base to make sure what we had planned for the next day still made sense (it did, but we polished it based on how the day went).
What were some of my lessons learned?
Creating a safe space is essential. One thing we did was explicitly say “no criticism, only positive feedback” and sometimes, sharing was only about the writer sharing and the rest of us receiving.
Sharing your words with people you trust is powerful. Hearing your words read back to you is also powerful (though with handwritten exercises, sometimes that’s not as easy a task as one might think!).
The programme cannot be all work no play. I had booked almost all restaurants ahead of time, but left Saturday evening open-ended. It turns out, ordering in and watching a movie together was a great counter balance to going out for most meals. This was a great reminder that non-writing activities are important, too, as down time within a retreat programme as well as for participants have a chance to get to know each other in another way than through their writing.
Facilitators aren’t top-down teachers (at least not in our case). Lauren and I showed up not just as facilitators, but as participants. We each did most of each other’s exercises and prompts, and we shared. This changed the dynamic immediately – and it was intentional.
To say that I loved the experience is an understatement. I felt alive and tingly in a way that I can only describe as being in the exact place, doing the exact thing I was meant to be doing. I hope to run a lot more writing retreats, and have a zillion ideas on how that might go.
I’m a writer, and yet I still feel like no words can express just how grateful and appreciative I am for every single human who was a part of this experience.
Life is crazy right now – personally, but also in terms of how much of the world is apocalyptic. The bubble that was this retreat infused my soul with some much-needed reassurance that by being vulnerable, by showing up, by leaning in, we can create something beautiful. I want to believe that the ripples from this retreat, even though it happened what feels like a few lifetimes ago already (it has been 3 weeks!), will change lives. They have already changed mine.
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