The Kind of Growth That Happens When You Don’t Go It Alone
As I packed up to leave a women’s retreat in Turks & Caicos this week, I noticed how little I cared about the weather in the end.
There were plenty of clouds. Windy days. Rain that arrived right when you might imagine yourself sitting quietly in the sun. And while I won’t pretend I wasn’t grateful to escape freezing temperatures back home, the truth is that the beach — perfect or not — was never the reason I was there.
I knew exactly why I came.
This was my fifth year attending the same retreat. I returned intentionally — to continue growing, to reconnect with women I’ve come to know over time, and to get to know new women who were arriving on their own journeys. There’s something meaningful about coming back to the same space year after year, not because you’re the same person, but because you’re not.
Each time, you arrive carrying something different.
What stood out to me this year was how quickly the external details faded into the background. The weather. The setting. The idea of what the experience “should” look like. What took center stage instead were the conversations, the familiar ones that picked up where they left off, and the new ones that unfolded slowly and organically.
Being in the same physical space with women who are willing to show up honestly changes the pace of interaction. There’s less urgency. Less explaining. Less effort spent getting oriented. You don’t need to perform or arrive with answers. You’re simply there — listening, sharing, noticing what resonates.
Over time, these shared experiences build a kind of shorthand. You remember past versions of one another. You notice how people have changed — or how certain truths have stayed steady. There’s a depth that can only come from continuity, from returning again and again to the same circle while life continues to unfold in the background.
What I was reminded of this year is how different that feels from everyday life.
At home, connection often happens in fragments. Conversations are squeezed between responsibilities. Catch-ups are quick. Depth is postponed for a later date that doesn’t always come. Even relationships we care deeply about can start to feel compressed by the pace and demands of daily life.
This retreat created space for something else.
Not because anything dramatic happened (although, it did…), but because nothing needed to. There was room to speak without rushing toward a conclusion, to listen without planning a response, and to sit with what was shared without trying to improve it or turn it into something productive.
People talked about where they were in their lives — honestly, sometimes tentatively — and that was enough. No fixing or pressure to move past discomfort before it had been understood.
That kind of shared space does something subtle but important. It doesn’t change your circumstances, but it changes how you experience them. You realize you’re not carrying things as alone as you might have thought.
I was especially aware of how powerful it is to be witnessed over time. Not just seen once, but remembered. Known in context. Recognized not only for who you are now, but for who you’ve been becoming.
In everyday life, many women I know — myself included — are deeply capable. We’re used to handling things, managing responsibilities, and keeping momentum going. That competence serves us well, but it can also create distance. Not intentionally, just gradually.
Community, especially sustained community, has a way of gently interrupting that pattern.
It doesn’t diminish independence or strength. It simply reminds you that growth doesn’t have to be solitary to be real. That connection isn’t something you earn after you’ve figured everything out, it’s part of how figuring things out happens.
What this retreat continues to remind me, year after year, is that connection like this shouldn’t be reserved for a few days away.
You shouldn’t need a retreat, a change of scenery, or time away from real life to experience depth, honesty, or being known. But you do need to be intentional about who you let into your life, and how.
Community doesn’t just happen. It’s built slowly, through choice and repetition. Through returning to the same people and spaces. Through noticing which relationships leave you feeling more grounded, more spacious, more like yourself — and which ones quietly drain or diminish you.
Retreats create a container that makes connection easier. Daily life asks us to create our own.
That might look like nurturing friendships where conversations go beyond logistics and surface-level updates. Finding groups or communities where growth is welcomed and vulnerability isn’t awkward. Allowing yourself to be seen, not just when things are polished, but when they’re still unfolding.
It also means letting go of the idea that we should be able to do everything on our own.
Many of us are very good at self-reliance. We manage. We problem-solve. We keep moving. But that strength doesn’t replace the need for connection — it lives alongside it. Life simply feels different when you’re walking next to people who know your context, your history, and the direction you’re moving in.
As this retreat came to a close, I noticed a sense of fullness that had nothing to do with rest or relaxation in the traditional sense. It was steadier than that. Quieter. A feeling of being more anchored than when I arrived.
That kind of fullness doesn’t announce itself. You only notice it when you’re packing up, saying goodbye, and realizing you’re leaving with something you didn’t come to collect, but are grateful to carry.
This experience reinforced something I’ve learned over time: growth doesn’t always come from seeking something new. Sometimes it comes from returning — to familiar spaces, familiar people, and shared intention — and allowing yourself to meet it all from where you are now.
That’s what I’m taking home with me. A renewed commitment to building and protecting connection in everyday life. Not waiting for the next retreat, but weaving community into the rhythms of work, family, and everything in between.
Because while a retreat can open the door, it’s the relationships we choose to cultivate day after day that quietly shape how we grow.
