For a long time, I thought I was pretty good at pushing through. Work gets stressful? Keep going. My calendar gets full? Figure it out. Someone needs help? Find the time. My neck and back are tense? Stretch a little, get through the day, and deal with it later. I don’t think I ever consciously decided to live this way. Somewhere along the way, however, pushing through became normal.
In 2025, I attended an Embodied Justice Retreat that challenged me to think differently about what I was carrying—not only mentally and emotionally, but physically and spiritually. I went into the retreat thinking about justice, community, leadership, and how we show up for other people. I left thinking a lot more about how I was showing up for myself.
What Am I Carrying?
One of the most meaningful parts of the retreat was simply having space to reflect. When life is busy, reflection can feel like a luxury. There is always something else that needs to be done. But slowing down gave me an opportunity to ask questions that I hadn’t necessarily made time to answer. Who are the people I feel safe around? Where do I feel truly seen? What creates overstimulation in my life? What am I holding onto that I need to release? What losses have I moved past without actually grieving? And what does my body need from me? Those questions stayed with me long after the retreat ended.
My Body Was Carrying Some of It Too
For years, I dealt with persistent neck and back tension. I became so accustomed to it that being uncomfortable started to feel normal. I wrote previously a blog about trying acupuncture and the impact it was beginning to have on my body. At the time, I was still very much in the process.
Looking back now, I can see just how much has changed.
When I first started acupuncture, my treatments were much more frequent. I went from an intensive initial treatment period, to several sessions a week, then once a week. Today, I go about once a month for maintenance. And after years of neck and back tension, I can finally say something that once felt almost foreign: My body actually feels good again. I can also lift more than five pounds over my head. Progress, and I don’t take that for granted. It has also made me realize something. Sometimes we don’t recognize how uncomfortable we’ve been until we begin to feel better.
The same may be true emotionally and spiritually. We can become accustomed to stress. Accustomed to being overwhelmed. Accustomed to tension. Accustomed to relationships that drain us. Accustomed to carrying responsibilities that no longer belong to us. Eventually, carrying all of it begins to feel normal. Until something gives us an opportunity to put some of it down.
Movement Doesn’t Have to Be Punishment
Another part of the retreat that stayed with me was the emphasis on movement. I’ve spent plenty of time thinking about exercise in terms of health goals—what I should weigh, how much exercise I should get, how many steps I should take, or what I should be doing differently. But at the retreat, movement was presented differently.
Movement could also be release. Stretching. Walking. Breathing. Moving our bodies to help release some of the tension we carry. There was no number attached to it. No scale. No expectation that movement had to produce a particular physical result. The purpose could simply be to feel better. That was freeing.
It made me think about what it would look like to care for my body because I appreciate it rather than constantly approaching it as something that needs to be changed. I’m still working on that. But I’ve started asking a different question. Instead of always asking, What do I need my body to do? I’m trying to ask: What does my body need from me?
Sometimes the answer is movement. Sometimes it’s treatment. Sometimes it’s sleep. Sometimes it’s less noise. And sometimes it’s rest.
Who Makes Me Feel Safe and Seen?
The retreat also invited us to think about the people around us. Who makes you feel safe? Who makes you feel seen? Those sound like simple questions. They aren’t. I started thinking about the people around whom I don’t feel like I have to perform. The people who know me beyond a title. Beyond my job. Beyond leadership positions. Beyond what I can accomplish. Beyond what I can do for them. Who can I simply be around? Who leaves me feeling restored rather than depleted?
As an introvert, I already know that too much social interaction can drain my energy. But this reflection went beyond introversion. It made me think about overstimulation. There are environments, situations, responsibilities, and even relationships that require a lot of energy. Sometimes I don’t recognize how overstimulated I am until I finally get somewhere quiet.
I’m learning to pay more attention to that. To recognize when I need to step away. To turn something off. To leave the room. To spend some time alone. And also to intentionally spend time with people around whom I feel safe enough to simply be myself.
Giving Myself Permission to Grieve
Another unexpected lesson was about grief. We usually think about grief in connection with death. But we grieve other things too. We grieve relationships. Friendships that change. Positions we once held. Professional transitions. People who are no longer part of our lives in the same way. Expectations that didn’t happen. Versions of ourselves we thought we would become. And seasons of life that end.
I’ve experienced several transitions over the past few years. Some were exciting. Some were necessary. Some opened doors. Others were harder.
But I realized that I had moved from one transition into another without always giving myself permission to acknowledge what I had lost along the way. I was very good at moving forward. I’m not sure I was equally good at grieving. The retreat reminded me that both can happen. I can be grateful for where I am and still grieve what changed. I can believe that a transition was necessary and still acknowledge that it hurt. I can move forward without pretending that leaving something behind was easy.
Learning to Let Go
That brought me to another word that stayed with me from the retreat: Release. There are things we carry because they are ours to carry. And then there are things we continue carrying simply because we haven’t figured out how to put them down. Expectations. Old responsibilities. Disappointments. Relationships. Guilt. The need to control outcomes. The need to be needed. Letting go sounds peaceful when you’re talking about it. Actually doing it is another story. For someone who likes plans, structure, responsibility, and knowing what comes next, letting go doesn’t necessarily come naturally. But I am learning that holding onto everything isn’t strength. Sometimes strength is recognizing what no longer belongs in your hands.
What Does Justice Look Like Toward Myself?
Perhaps one of the most unexpected things I took from the retreat was thinking about justice differently. I care deeply about fairness. Justice. Community engagement. Advocacy. Mentorship. Creating opportunities for people. Making sure people have a voice. Those commitments are part of who I am and the work I choose to do. But the retreat made me ask a different question: Do I extend some of that same care to myself?
I can advocate for other people’s needs while ignoring my own. I can encourage someone else to establish boundaries while struggling to establish mine. I can tell someone else they deserve rest while feeling guilty when I take it. I can talk about sustainable leadership while maintaining a schedule that isn’t always sustainable. That contradiction was worth sitting with. Caring for myself doesn’t diminish my commitment to other people. In fact, perhaps learning to care for myself is part of becoming the kind of leader, family member, friend, mentor, and community member I want to be.
The Commitments I Made
Toward the end of the retreat, I thought about what I wanted to carry forward. Personally, I wanted to make deeper commitments to: Healing my body, mind, and spirit; Being present with my family; Becoming a healthier and more sustainable leader.
And in my community, I wanted to continue my commitments to: Fairness. Justice. Engagement. Mentorship.
The difference was that I didn’t want those commitments to require abandoning the commitments I was making to myself. I wanted both. I still do.
A Year Later
A retreat doesn’t magically change your life. You eventually leave. You return home. The emails start again. The meetings return. The responsibilities are still there. And slowly, it becomes easy to fall back into familiar patterns. But sometimes an experience plants something in you that takes time to fully understand. A year later, I am still thinking about many of the things I learned at the Embodied Justice Retreat.
My body feels better. I’m paying more attention to overstimulation. I’m thinking differently about who and what gets access to my energy. I’m trying to give myself permission to grieve things I have lost or outgrown. I’m learning that release isn’t always a one-time decision. And I’m still working on giving myself permission to rest. Interestingly, a year after that retreat, I was given an unexpected opportunity to put some of those lessons into practice.
In August, I began a three-month sabbatical from work.
Three months to step away. Three months to rest. Three months to travel. Three months to reconnect with myself. I thought having the time would make resting easy.
It hasn’t. Because apparently creating space and actually protecting that space are two entirely different things. And I’m learning that sometimes the hardest part of rest isn’t stopping. It’s saying no when everyone else realizes you’ve stopped.