I didn’t know what to expect when I pulled up to the rustic camp in Washington, Maine. What would the days here be like? Would people be friendly? Would the event be meaningful? And—my biggest worry—would I leave feeling depressed, sad, and overwhelmed?
From the moment I arrived, I was welcomed with big, warm smiles. I drove up the hill to my cabin, where my roommate Laurie met me and helped carry all my bags. She was full of energy and joy—an experienced TTT participant—and immediately gave me the lay of the land. She let me know where to go for our first meeting (yes, the barn!) and helped ease all my first-day jitters. Her kindness was instant and deeply comforting.
As I walked down to orientation, one of the board members—who somehow already knew I was new—asked if they could give me a hug and welcome me. That one gesture truly set the tone for everything that followed.
This group of women was all about love. Welcoming, kind, supportive. Strangers approached each other with open hearts, started conversations, checked in, and asked what you needed. There was never a moment of sitting alone—unless you wanted quiet time for yourself.
The retreat offered one to two daily workshops on topics relevant to survivors, plus three incredible meals a day—vegetarian-forward but not exclusively. Desserts came after both lunch and dinner. (Yes, I ate way too much, but it was worth every bite!) One day they served tuna fish, which I don’t eat—and the kitchen quickly whipped up a grilled chickpea sandwich for me that was out of this world. That level of care and consideration was everywhere.
We were also offered free services—massage, facials, reflexology—all from professionals who volunteered their time. They wouldn’t accept tips. They just gave, joyfully, and with open hearts.
And then, the gifts. Every day. Our cabin had a bag of goodies—cosmetics, toiletries, handmade treasures, cozy blankets. And each day, new items were gifted to attendees: handmade pottery, paintings, gift cards, custom bags, hand-stitched napkins. Each one created or donated by people who believe in and support our community.
Tuesday night we celebrated with a “Galentine” dance party after our lobster dinner. Everyone dressed in reds and pinks, boas and sparkles, dancing freely and joyfully. There’s a picture floating around in the Turning the Tide album of my roommate Laurie with her feather boa—and it captures the spirit of that night perfectly.
Now I’m home again. A little tired (infusion #5 was yesterday), and riding the wave of post-steroid energy. My eyes are good. But I find myself missing the retreat. Even though I was only there for a few days, I miss the women I met. I miss their smiles and our chats.
I don’t miss the freezing cold nights in our musty cabin—bundled under layers of wool blankets—but the emotional warmth and unconditional love more than made up for that.
The most poignant moment was Wednesday morning’s memorial, honoring the women who passed since last year’s retreat. Ten people stood up and read obituaries. Painted rocks symbolizing each woman—decorated with designs that reflected who they were—were placed on an altar with flowers. I couldn’t stop crying. It was a raw mirror of my own potential future.
When the ceremony ended, the executive director found me and gently asked if I was okay. I said no—and then I sobbed, deeply, for five full minutes in her arms.
This journey has been hard. I’ve had many bumps. But one of the lovely counselors I met with told me something I’ll never forget: that I am grieving—and I need to give myself space to mourn the life I no longer have. I still have a beautiful life, but there are things I can’t do anymore. Things I need to heal. And those are real losses. Not to be minimized or compared. Just honored. Felt. Mourned.
That moment was cathartic. And beautiful. More tears.
So here I am, starting another cycle. Praying for more time. Hoping things stay stable. But I am uplifted by the fact that I now have new friends who truly get it. Who understand the emotional and physical layers of this experience. That alone is a gift beyond measure.
Thank you for following along with my journey.
With love,
Lynn ❤️
