The Retreat I Almost Didn’t Go To
For two weeks before my first Campervan Retreat, I seriously considered cancelling. What had seemed like a wonderful idea when I booked it suddenly felt overwhelming as the date approached. I wanted connection, friendship and a sense of belonging, but the closer it got, the more anxious I became. I worried that everyone would already know each other, that I wouldn’t fit in, and that somehow I’d get it all wrong.
When I arrived, the women were exactly as you would hope they would be: warm, welcoming and friendly. The problem wasn’t them. The problem was that I felt incredibly uncomfortable. Being in a room with several people, trying to follow conversations and work out when to speak, felt exhausting. Everyone seemed to be chatting naturally while I felt like I was watching from the outside, desperately wanting to join in but not quite knowing how.
As the weekend unfolded, I found myself avoiding most of the activities. Looking back, it’s quite funny that the first activity I managed to join was knitting. To anyone else, knitting might seem like one of the least intimidating activities imaginable, but to me it felt like a huge step. Sitting down with a group of women I barely knew and taking part in something together required far more courage than I expected.
The retreat wasn’t the magical, instantly transformative experience I had imagined. In fact, much of it left me feeling inadequate and confused. I wanted connection more than anything, yet every time an opportunity arose, I seemed unable to fully step into it. By the time the shared supper arrived, I was completely overwhelmed and ended up having a panic attack.
At the time, I felt disappointed in myself. I’d come looking for friendship and community, but instead I felt awkward, uncomfortable and emotionally exhausted. Yet despite all of that, there was a small part of me that wanted more. I couldn’t understand why. If the weekend had been so difficult, why was I already thinking about coming back?
Before I left, I spent some time talking with Angel, the retreat massage therapist. It wasn’t a dramatic conversation, nor did she offer any grand solution. What she did give me was the space to be honest about what I was really searching for.
During that conversation, I realised I wasn’t actually looking for a large group of friends. I wasn’t searching for popularity or trying to become the life and soul of the party. What I wanted was much simpler than that. I wanted one genuine friendship. I wanted someone who enjoyed good conversations, shared laughter and easy companionship. Someone who didn’t want anything from me except friendship itself.
After the retreat, I held onto that thought. Rather than forcing connections or trying to become someone I wasn’t, I quietly trusted that the right friendship would find its way into my life.
And eventually, it did.
Her name was Karen.
What I find interesting now is that I left that first retreat believing it hadn’t gone particularly well. I focused on the anxiety, the discomfort and the panic attack. What I couldn’t see at
the time was that something important had already begun. The retreat hadn’t given me instant confidence or magically solved my struggles with social situations. Instead, it gave me something much more valuable: the beginning of understanding what I truly needed.
Sometimes growth doesn’t look the way we expect it to. Sometimes it isn’t about feeling brave or confident. Sometimes it’s simply about showing up when you’re scared, staying when you’re uncomfortable, and being willing to try again.
My first retreat wasn’t easy. It wasn’t polished, effortless or Instagram-perfect. It was messy, emotional and at times deeply uncomfortable. But it also set me on a path that eventually led me to genuine friendship, and for that reason, it remains one of the most important weekends I’ve ever had.
Sometimes the things that change us most don’t feel like success at the time. Sometimes they simply feel like the beginning.
Julia x
