Braver Than Before

Anticipation grew as I guided my car along the steep, windy roads of the Berkshire Mountains in Western Massachusetts. It had been a 3-hour drive to get here, leaving me with plenty of time to build expectations for what the weekend ahead might hold. I was hopeful this time away from my family and friends, away from the schedules and obligations would enlighten and inspire parts of myself that had become dormant in recent years. I was optimistic in my ability to continue the journey as a writer the same way I began, through reflection and words.  Attending a weekend retreat was an attempt to quiet the chaos and give my own passions the attention they deserve. The precedence I deserve to give them.

The tops of the trees reached high into the blue sky, shading the sun from my eyes. The leaves were just beginning to show signs of the fall foliage to come. Hints of yellow and orange were visible but sparce among the vast greenery still in abundance during the late summer month. Dense forest bordered the road preventing me from preliminary glimpses of my destination despite my continuous effort to catch one. The GPS instructed me to turn onto a narrow drive that wound its way down the mountain side. The forest ahead suddenly opened to reveal the majestic mountains rising high above the basin of the valley. The mountains formed a semi-circle, a hug-like formation, around a glimmering lake below. As a born and raised coastal girl, I appreciate the opportunity to spend time in the mountains. There is something about being amid the sheer greatness of the landscape that invites you to breathe a little slower, inhale a bit deeper and exhale with more intentional completion.

“You have arrived at your destination” my car announced. This was it!  

Turning my attention from the masterpiece of Mother Nature’s creation, the roof of the building in which I would spend my next 3 days began to rise out from beneath a row of apple trees. Cautiously I pulled my car into a parking spot of the designated guest lot. I discovered I was in the rear of a sterile-looking building. Posted signs confirmed that this is where I was to check in. I panicked. Fear set in along with comically irrational thoughts such as What am I checking myself into because this looks more like a mental institution than a wellness facility.

The towering building gave a clinical, institutional vibe very far from the ethereal anticipatory feeling I had built in my mind. A hard, cold brick structure with 4 rows of uniform windows stood before me. From where I stood in proximity to the building, I could no longer see the beauty of nature I had observed just a few moments before. The mountains, trees and lake were shielded by what I could only assume contained the housing and practice spaces. Tentatively, I navigated my way to the sliding glass doors marked as the check in entrance, I stopped just before entering and took a breath to calm my nerves. I entered with determination, my confidence growing as I took my place in line. I had arrived.

Every Tuesday, you will find me in my favorite yoga studio at 9 am. Typically I bring myself to the practice with the intention of finding stability in my body and quieting my mind from the chaotic life as a mom. One particular day, in the confines of the familiar dimly lit studio, the need for balance felt more dire than it had in the past, I rolled out my mat, gathering my blocks and blanket close by in silence. Jacob had just left for his junior year of college, This was the first year he drove himself the 1300 miles from Massachusetts to Florida without one of us accompanying him. The morning he left, I kept my composure as I reluctantly watched him back out of the driveway. My gaze followed his car bump its way down our unpaved road, only looking away when his taillights were no longer visible.  During his 2-day journey south, the further he traveled, the more overwhelmed I became with a feeling of loss washing over me. For the past 3 years, he has made this trek from our hometown to his college home. Each goodbye has felt a little different, but it never gets easier. If that wasn’t enough, Malia would soon begin her freshman year at college. Although she would only be a 45 min drive away, the shift in our relationship was becoming evident and the reality of her departure loomed in the forefront of my mind. I was thrilled at the opportunity that lay before her and dreading the drop off date looming above me. The hefty weight on my heart and the tug in my mind left me desperate to find a sense of peace. I needed to quiet my brain and ease the aching in my heart. From joy to sadness, excitement to dread. I had lost myself in the whirlwind of my 2 oldest children while I became consumed with helping them find their own path. Their journeys were beginning, and I wasn’t sure where that left me.

While waiting for my Tuesday class to begin, I lay on my mat with my eyes closed, I overheard a conversation from the back of the room.

“How was Kripalu?” my instructor asked.

A fellow Tuesday regular responded, “life changing”

I decided right then and there I needed life changing.

The Kripalu Center for Yoga & Health is a health and yoga retreat in the Berkshires. A mere 3-hour drive from my home in Gloucester. It is a destination that has lingered in the periphery of my mind since many of my yogi friends have attended a retreat or teacher training at the facility. Each attendee reporting a transformational experience upon their return. A spark ignited within me and my quest to have an amazing, life-changing experience for myself began.

Immediately following class I began to follow Kripalu on all my social media platforms. It did not take long for my feeds to fill with Kripalu advertisements announcing upcoming programs and retreats. Visuals of men and women in peaceful poses surrounded by lush green lawns, on the shore of a tranquill lake, surrounded by the majestic Berkshire Mountains would not allow me to ignore my curiosity. However, the flame truly ignited when the ad for “Discover Your Masterpiece: Presented by The Women Writers Collective” populated my Instagram feed. This workshop was to be led by 3 published and acclaimed authors of biographies and memoirs. The program description promised to help map a path for my writing practice at home and to stay with me long after the weekend ended.

It sounded dreamy. 

The significance of timing was impossible to ignore. The calling I felt towards this workshop consumed every molecule in my body. I was in dire need of self-discovery, solitude and the ability to return to the joy of writing. With Jake and Malia on their way to finding out who they were to become, I gave myself permission to do the same.

I filled out the registration, put down the deposit and tried to figure out how to tell Rich. Although I knew he would be supportive and understand my desire to go, I also knew he wouldn’t share in my enthusiasm. I was protective of this precious gift I had given to myself, and I wanted to marinate in the excitement for a while before opening it up to opinions. However, once I began sharing, I couldn’t stop. Everyone I knew was aware of my weekend plans and the hopes I had from when I returned from the experience.

As the Friday check in date approached, I focused on the purpose of my weekend. Setting an intention to find solitude, heal my grieving mama heart, explore my yoga practice beyond my comfortable hometown studio, and unlock the joy I had always found in writing. The energy flowing through my body felt electrifying as I prepared for my weekend. I was not scared as I packed my bags. I was not stressed with the planning it took to leave our household for a weekend. There was no doubt in my mind that this was a giant leap forward and I was giddy with anticipation. I intended to take advantage of every minute I was giving myself over the next 72 hours.

With my bags packed, lists written, rides scheduled, and Starbucks in hand I planned my podcasts and playlists according to the drive ahead. Those 3 hours of highway were dedicated to aligning myself for what was waiting for me on the other side. And in those 3 hours, I built up some pretty high expectations as to what I would find when I reached my destination.

As previously stated, my initial impression of the back entrance to Kripalu did not measure up to the ethereal image I had drawn up in my mind. I cannot be certain exactly what I imagined entering my life changing weekend would look like. However, the scene when Dorothy and friends enter Oz and get showered with attention does come to mind.

 Side note: Three hours in a car alone may be too long to leave me to my imagination.

Despite my initial speculation in Kripalu’s parking lot, the lackluster feeling dissipated after I crossed the threshold into the brightly lit lobby. I was immediately greeted with a warm welcome from the Kripalu staff and had my breath taken away by the sweeping mountain views just beyond the lobby. The cold, brick facade that gave me sterile, hospital vibes upon arrival was simply the structure housing the people who would feed me knowledge and nourish me with healthy food. The room I called mine would be to sleep in, nothing more. The practice rooms were clean, open and airy but with no more frills than the rooms I practiced in at home. Each class during my stay came with its own intention set by no one other than myself – just like any other class at home. It was the immersive practice, the comradery of people I shared my days with and my own intentional presence that truly enabled my ability to open myself to absorbing the practice and grow from the experience. I arrived at the first session of the writing workshop that evening with an open mind. Ready to direct my focus inward.

The workshop was held in a large open room at the far end of the building. Two walls were lined with floor to ceiling windows while the other two held solid wood cabinets holding equipment used during training and other programs. On the floor, 42 floor level, cushioned seats formed a circle around the perimeter. Woman after woman filed into the room choosing seats, taking out notebooks and greeting one another with pleasantries. There was an unspoken understanding that we had come together with one common thread – a story in our heart with a desire to get it out to the world. The pleasantries on day 1 turned into sharing of some of the most intimate details from our past as we opened our hearts to our purpose. Some of our stories were comical, many tragic, and others heartwarming. This was a first step for many and a boost towards finality for others.  Regardless of our backgrounds or where we were in the process, we were all writers who came to tell a story. The common thread we shared, wove us together as a group and aided our ability as individuals to make unexpected breakthroughs in our writing aspirations.

The first assignment we received was to think of a word that described where we were emotionally at the start of this adventure. The first word that came to mind was “optimistic”. I came seeking an unlocking of my senses that would bring me back to my writing and to an overall sense of harmony. My first impressions of our presenters and the eagerness of my fellow participants made me optimistic that I had made the right decision to come. I began to believe that this weekend would be the key I had been looking for.

With every exercise assigned, I felt the ink flow with a little more ease across my paper. Moments of my past were recalled, addressed and compartmentalized into worthiness of attention or dismissive in relevance. A recognition of calming began to overcome my senses. I became eager and grateful to attack each task assigned.

We ended our weekend with a word for how we felt at the conclusion of the workshop. Mine was “fulfilled”. A perfect bookended response to my optimistic beginning. How poetic of me? I was optimistic and I do feel fulfilled but I am also feeling very brave for taking this leap of faith.

One of the very first things our presenter told us was we were brave to be there, and we would leave on the final day braver than we were on the first. I did not write that down. To be honest, until I began writing this article I did not remember this statement being proclaimed. However, as I reflect on the weekend gone by, I find myself tethered to the theme of bravery. In doing so, the memory of the moment a presenter affirmed our bravery came flooding back solidifying my brave theme. She was absolutely right.

Bravery is the key that unlocked my story. And the funny thing is, I had it with me before I even left my house.

When I pressed submit on the registration button – that was brave

When I told Rich what I was doing – well, that was brave too.

When I wrote out the kids’ weekend schedule and asked for help getting them to and from their activities while I was away – also brave.

When I got in my car and drove 3 hours alone – yup, brave.

When I stepped into a new yoga class, walked to the lake and entered the workshop room – brave, brave, brave.

Returning to my blog after a long hiatus – I am still being brave.

With each step, I am inviting bravery into my life and recognizing all the instances when it was the key to taking the next step. And the step after that. And the one after that…

In 2020, I launched this blog. It was the bravest thing I had ever done. With each article I wrote, the courage within me strengthened. I fought inner voices telling me I was sharing too much or that no one was interested. I continued anyway, confident in my ability to tell a story. With each article I published, my only hope was that my writing would resonate with at least one person and provide insight to encourage and uplift.

Bravery has always been the key.

That sterile, cold, mental-hospital-looking building held more emotional warmth than I have experienced in a long time. From the people who taught me to those who smiled as I entered the cafeteria. I am so grateful for what I received when I was brave enough to give myself this precious gift of growth.

The women of  “Discover Your Masterpiece: Presented by The Women Writers Collective” at Kripalu 2024