metreat: the spacious return
lessons discerned through a 4 day immersion with 24 perfect women
As someone born in Massachusetts and living in Boston for the last 7+ years, it often feels like sarcasm, cynicism and skepticism are adhered tightly to my DNA. These are the base and top notes for my sense of self and humor, and putting them down is a continual challenge. Though not doing so (at least sometimes!) can prevent openness to new experiences.
This realization arrived at my doorstop like a sharp gust of wind during my first metreat, an absolutely incredible retreat experience hosted by Lisa and Tracey. I put down some of this armor, and the subsequent molting permitted a softening - a kneading out of some tightly held old narratives. In the beginning of the last retreat, I felt incredibly silly and a little bit stupid. That quickly dissolved after being in the presence of and learning from so many amazing women. I learned so much from the 3 days we spent together, and it somehow kept me energized and reconnected to my values for the next year and a half.
So this time around, without as much self-judgement present, the learnings and lessons just kept on coming.
The retreat itself is quite hard to describe. There are moments of big fun - a surf lesson and zip lining, big relaxation - a massage and walk on the beach, and big energy - daily yoga and access to a gym if desired. But there are also moments of sifting through incredibly uncomfortable emotions. Activations like women’s circles, tea ceremonies, and prolonged meditations that invoke somewhat terrifying geysers of vulnerability and self-reflection.
Before going on the trip, as I mentioned before, I thought about canceling. Not only was the timing not exactly right, finances building etc., but it takes an incredible amount of energy to come undone. To peel back the layers and bear witness to the tender thing that hasn’t been acknowledged in awhile. To see people from over a year ago and know that if you say you’ve been doing fine, they’ll make prolonged, direct eye contact and gently ask what’s really going on.
No place to hide.
That’s…terrifying!! And I wasn’t sure if I was quite ready for it.
Though I was absolutely ready for Tracey’s yoga - it’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.
It is poetry in motion, and most often she is reciting prose by memory during the postures. The poetry is recited and repeated, humming with different meaning each time it’s expressed. It lives and breathes in the way she performs it. Tracey is, after all, one of the greatest storytellers I’ve ever known. In this way, her yoga is both physical and spiritual storytelling. The postures are occurring entirely in the background, and the real practice is in the witnessing of what the stories unearth during the movement.
“Lay down your sword,” Tracey said so often during the yoga practices.
It is, quite literally, disarming - laying down the sword or removing the armor. No need to be “tough,” “a trooper,” “brave,” or any other adjective that masquerades holding a little (or a lot) too much. No need to even say everything’s okay.
Oftentimes I don’t let myself fully go there because…it’s time consuming. And I feel like so often there is not enough time to even breakdown. If I really truly let myself feel the intensity of emotion present in each and every patient encounter, I wouldn’t be able to get through the day. So the armor remains adhered, an attempted form of an energetic boundary.
But during the retreat, there is ONLY time. Endless moments to unpack all that there is typically no time or energy for. To peel back the layers.
Though just when it feels a little too much or heavy, there are moments of soul-rattling laughter. Of talking about reality TV. Of cradling a dear friend as we jump through the waves. Of floating in the pool. Of dancing. Of easy play.
That is the yin and yang of a metreat. That easy oscillation between emotions on every iota of the spectrum. The silly and sunny, but also the serious or somber - both weightless and weighted.
My brain remembered this within the first 12 hours of arrival, and it was much easier dropping in mentally this time. During the last retreat, it took my body relaxing and releasing before my brain could get there. But with so many familiar faces, there was immediate safety, even being in this new and different place. A place that was pure magic (we were on Playa Hermosa near Santa Teresa in Costa Rica). Though also a place that swayed to the fickle rhythm of Mother Nature. Jungle, humidity, wildlife, spontaneous thunder storms, endless mosquitos.
The moments of discomfort - both emotional and physical - are actually kind of the point of the retreat. A reminder that the environment doesn’t have to be, and actually is rarely if ever, perfect in order to de-stimulate.
But stillness can still be achieved even without complete and utter silence. Going to some place of tranquility encourages discernment, and noticing which narrator is present. The compassionate one that feels real and true, or the one that’s coming from a place of overstimulation, overwhelm and harsh self-criticism or judgement.
In this place, self-soothing becomes much more attainable.
One afternoon, I found myself poolside with Sam.