Dear ones,

Most of us are very practiced at being the one who holds things together.

We keep track. We anticipate what people need. We make the meal, remember the thing, check on everyone, keep things moving.

And even when we make time for ourselves, we're often still somehow in charge of it.

But what happens when, for a little while, someone else holds the room?

When you don't have to make anything happen, take care of anyone, or even know what you need?

I didn't really understand what that could feel like until I went away on retreat two years ago.

I recently pulled out the notebook from that retreat. I hadn't looked at it in a long time.

And wow.

On the first page, I had written an intention:

My personal power lies in the belief that I am deserving.

Then the breathing started.

And over the course of the retreat, that notebook became a strange little map of places I hadn't necessarily intended to go.

Jaw tension led me into an old medical experience and a realization:

I didn't give myself a choice. Which became: I am deserving of giving myself a choice.

Later: I am loved — by me.

There was grief.
Family.
Old promises I'd made to myself.
Questions about whether I was allowed to have a good life.
There was also joy. A surprising amount of joy.
Ease.
Receiving.
Being cared for.

At one point I wrote, in giant letters:

I AM HELD.

And that's the line that stops me now.

Because I think that's what happened to me at that first retreat.

I was held.
Not fixed.
Not analyzed.
Not pushed toward some enormous cathartic breakthrough.

Held.

There were skilled people around me paying attention. There was time. There was food. There was rest.
There were hands available when I wanted them and space when I didn't.
Someone else was keeping track of the room so, for once, I didn't have to.

And apparently my body had quite a lot to say once it wasn't responsible for everything else.

By the end, I was writing about how sweet it felt to receive. That one gets me now.

Because so much of my life has been spent trying to provide this exact feeling for other people.
For my children. My husband. My clients. My students. My friends.

I've got you.
You can put it down for a minute.
You don't have to know what happens next.
I'll keep watch.

I knew how much I wanted to give that.

I don't think I understood how much I needed to experience it myself.

That feeling is a big part of why I signed up for this beast of a breathwork training program.

I wanted to know how they did that.

How do you stay close without taking over?

How do you support someone without fixing them?

How do you create enough safety that another person can stop managing the room and actually hear herself?

I wanted to know where that came from. So I signed up.
And for the last two years, I’ve been learning.

One big step closer to graduating from this beast of a training.

And that brings me to the little retreat happening here in Missouri Heights next weekend.

I can't tell you what will happen for you.

That's sort of the point.

You might uncover something enormous.
You might cry about something you didn't know you were still carrying.
You might spend an entire session feeling your feet.
You might remember something.
You might realize something.
You might feel joy.
You might get absolutely nothing profound from one session and then have a sentence arrive in the next one that follows you home.
You might sleep really, really well.

But for a couple of days, you don't have to be the one holding everything.

You get to be held.

And this time, I get to help build the room.

Jess, one of the senior staff supporting our graduation retreats, is flying in from Ireland. Angela is coming from Alaska. Caitlin is driving over from New Mexico. Kim is coming over the hill from Cortez to help care for us in the kitchen and offer massage.

All of these people are converging on this little corner of Colorado to help hold a room for a very small number of people.

And you could be one of them.

Instead of making breakfast, answering someone, organizing something, taking care of something—

you could wake up here.

Someone else will make breakfast.
Someone else will be paying attention.
Someone else will hold the room.
You get to breathe.
Eat beautiful food.
Move your body in the morning.
Rest between sessions.
Soak in the hot tub.
Look out at Mt. Sopris.

Have nowhere else you're supposed to be.

You just get to be in it.

And maybe you'll write something in a notebook that you pull out two years from now and think:

Oh.

That's when something changed.

If you want the whole retreat:

One Queen room is left for someone who would like a room entirely to herself.
One Twin room is left for two friends who want to come together.

And if a whole weekend isn't possible, you can simply come breathe with us for a day:
Saturday — 2 spots left
Sunday — 3 spots left

You don't need to know what you want to work on.
You don't need to arrive with some enormous intention.
You don't need to be good at breathwork.

You just have to decide whether you want to be in the room.

If something in you went ohhhh while reading this, I would listen to that.

Breath & Soma
September 4–7
Missouri Heights, Colorado

With love,
Vanda

P.S. If you’re reading this from farther away and thinking, Wait. Could I actually come? — Denver is about a 3-hour drive from us, and a few retreat participants are already flying in there. If you can get yourself to Denver, I can connect you with someone for a ride up.