Retreat Life & Reflection
A personal journey from frantic living to soulful restoration.
The first time I noticed it, I was standing at my kitchen counter, making tea.
The kettle hissed. I waited, but I wasn’t scrolling my phone. I wasn’t thinking about my to-do list. I was just… waiting.
Steam curled into the air, and for the first time in years, I realized I wasn’t in a hurry.
The moment felt so strange, I almost didn’t recognize it. It was quiet. Spacious. Mine.
I am returning to myself.
I can feel it in my bones, in my breath, in the quiet moments that used to be filled with the buzz of shoulds and musts.
The self that baked on weekends , without rushing, letting the smell of cinnamon and butter fill the whole house. The self that read for pleasure, not because it was on a professional reading list, but because the story carried me somewhere unexpected. The self that curled into the couch for a nap without guilt, letting the sunlight warm my face as the world kept spinning. The self that gathered girlfriends for lunch that lasted into the night, as our laughter overflowed.
Where was she all this time?
For years, I thought I was just “busy.” That’s what adulthood is, right? Responsibilities, deadlines, caregiving, ambition. I told myself that the fatigue was normal, that the edge in my voice was just a sign of my efficiency. I didn’t see that the rhythm of my spirit had changed — faster, sharper, more urgent.
My voice had grown louder. My tone was more clipped. My reactions were quick, almost reflexive. Anything that slowed me down felt like a disruption.
But truthfully, I wasn’t just busy. I was in a constant state of survival. And in survival mode, there is no room for softness. No time for joy to wander in unannounced. No energy for the parts of you that aren’t required for getting through the day.
It was only when my spirit’s rhythm began to slow , when I finally started taking deep inhales and savoring the smallest of moments, that I noticed the difference. I could feel the frantic pace of others. Their urgency, which had once matched mine, now felt jarring. Not in a judgmental way, but in a way that whispered, “Oh friend, I see you. I was you. Come closer. Feel my energy. Be still. Breathe.”
This shift isn’t just emotional , it’s physiological. Chronic stress trains the brain to over-activate its threat system. The amygdala — the part of the brain that senses danger — becomes hyper-vigilant. It floods the body with stress hormones even when no real danger is present. Meanwhile, the prefrontal cortex — the part of the brain that helps us make reasoned, thoughtful decisions — starts to lose influence.
When we’re constantly rushing, multitasking, or living in urgency, our bodies and minds are primed to react, not reflect. We become snappier, less patient, more easily triggered.
The good news? We can retrain our brains. Research on emotional self-regulation shows that practices like mindful breathing, slow physical movement, and intentional rest help shift the body from “fight-or-flight” into “rest-and-digest.” Heart rate slows. Muscles unclench. The nervous system begins to trust that it’s safe. Over time, this rewiring allows joy, connection, and creativity to take root again.
When I started on the journey of Ayoku Healing Retreat Center, I thought I was building it for others — for the leaders who needed to step away from their lives for a while to breathe, to feel, to remember who they were before the world told them who to be.
And yes, I am building it for them. But every step of the way, I am also building it for me.
In creating space for others to return to themselves, I am creating space for my own return. Every building I curate, every healing practice I explore, every conversation I facilitate — it was all a mirror, showing me my own need for restoration.
I’ve learned that returning to yourself is not a luxury. It’s not self-indulgence. It’s survival of a different kind : the survival of the soul.
I know the temptation is to wait until the “right time” to rest. Until the kids are older, until the work slows down, until the crisis passes. But the right time will never come on its own. You have to claim it. You have to choose it.
So I challenge you to pause and take inventory:
Your healing is the work. And when you are whole — emotionally, physically, spiritually — you show up differently. You speak differently. You love differently. You lead differently.
The world doesn’t just need your labor. It needs the whole you.
Bake the cake. Read the book. Take the nap. Call the friend. Sit in the sun. Return to yourself, again and again.
And when you do, you’ll find that you’re not just saving yourself . You’re quietly shifting the pace of the world around you.
