A few months after Murthy issued this warning, I received an email from a woman named Monica Virga Alborno, the founder of Wanderwild Family Retreats. She explained that she’d started the first-ever wellness retreat in the US that was specifically designed to host mothers and children with the goal of allowing the two to reconnect without the stress of the outside world, and help dispel some anxieties that were so common among modern mothers. She was wondering if I’d like to come check it out.
During the 72-hour, $3,000 per-weekend getaway, she told me, moms and kids have their every need taken care of, from home-cooked meals to diapers and lodging. The programming would include time together, but also time apart, where the children would engage in forest school while the mothers got a chance to participate in activities like yoga and sound baths. The goal? To give moms and their children—together and separately—“space and time to just be.”
“The retreat creates a safe environment for moms to discuss and begin to let go of mom guilt, shame, not being enough, societal pressures, comparisons, and so much more. Moms begin to trust themselves and feel empowered to parent their children in a way that feels authentic to them,” she told me via email.
I was intrigued. At face value, it seemed a little silly to think I needed “space and time” to bond with my only child. But one of the anxiety wheels constantly running through my brain is that I’m so consumed with getting things done in my life—in-office work, groceries, exercise, the dishes—that she often gets the crumbs of me, the very last wring of the towel each day.
It’s not what I want for her or for us, but it’s the reality of my situation. Did we need uninhibited time to reconnect outside our hectic day to day? And could going away for the weekend to focus on her solve some of my mom burnout, at least for a little while?
I decided to give it a shot.
On the first day of the retreat, I woke up with a pit in my stomach. We’d missed the first night of programming thanks to the long car ride, but a full day lay ahead. After breakfast, the plan was for the kids to go to “forest school” while the moms headed off to a day of relaxing activities—yoga followed by a cacao sharing circle, where we were meant to drink hot cups of the ceremonial drink and open up about our lives. Then, we’d all reconvene for lunch.
I felt anxious about this plan. I knew my daughter would not go off with a group of strange caretakers. The retreat was staffed by a group of seven women who specialized in various things, from a childcare professional, a yoga teacher, and energy healers, and while they were obviously kind and competent, my daughter barely holds it together with her standard babysitter. She wasn’t headed out into the woods without me.
Sure enough, the mere suggestion that I would be leaving her caused her to panic, to the brink of a meltdown.
“It’s fine,” I told the staff, who were simultaneously encouraging me that she would be fine, as my daughter clung to my knees in terror. “It’ll be good for me to observe the children’s programming anyway.”
The friendly staff member from last night, Jessica, gave me an encouraging smile. She told me we could work with my daughter together, to ensure she’d feel comfortable enough to strike out on her own. Part of the retreat was for me to engage in self-care and the wellness offerings too, she told me gently. They wanted me to have that experience, to not have to give myself completely to my daughter. I smiled and agreed, but internally remained skeptical. How was I going to successfully participate in—and observe—the retreat if my daughter wouldn’t let go of my leg?
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