“I almost didn't come, but I'm so glad I did”
Lessons from my first Rest in Medicine Retreat - and how it's changing how I'm showing up for everything else, including Florescence.
Two years ago, I held my first Florescence circle for women in medicine. At the time, I'd been working as a 1:1 coach for medics for a while, but I was looking for ways to both broaden and deepen into this work, especially as, since attending my first retreat, I’d felt a growing pull to offer a way for more people to gather together. Knowing how busy people working in medicine are, an evening circle felt like a good starting point - one where we didn’t just gather together and drop straight in, but where we actually made a night of it, coming together for a meal in a beautiful space, first.
Back then, I had a big dream of holding full retreats for people working in medicine. I can still vividly remember how transformative the first retreat I joined was for me, even though it was a few years ago now - and even more years since it first popped up on my radar. Looking back, it’s interesting reflecting on how it took me so long to say yes to that first retreat. Every year, I'd see it crop up again and feel the familiar pull towards it. Every year, I'd talk myself out of it. Work was too busy, I couldn't take the time off. My family needed me, and I wanted to spend my holidays with them. It was quite expensive - especially as it was overseas. It was decadent. It was a future vision I was working towards, not something I'd already earned.
The year I finally let myself say yes - for the first time, but not the last! - I found myself feeling regretful for all the years I'd missed out on, but, at the same time, so grateful that I hadn't let myself miss out on another year. I’d found myself questioning whether I’d made the right choice all the way there, but, as soon as I arrived, I realised how much I'd been craving a space where I could let go, relax, and feel taken care of. I also realised how much I'd been letting myself, my patients, and my family down by not prioritising the exact thing that would help expand my capacity. How I'd focused on pushing through, instead of stepping back.
It’s interesting how this exact feeling ended up being what shaped my first-ever retreat for doctors, which I held last month. It was all themed around rest and restoration, which felt like it fitted in perfectly with the location - an old 15th-century manor house surrounded by rambling roses and stunning gardens. On the Friday night, when we gathered together on cushions for our first circle in the yoga shala, while the solstice sun turned everything golden, many people there told me that they’d had the same feelings about this retreat. That they almost hadn’t come. That they’d been tempted to back out or talk themselves out of it; to keep driving on through the Yorkshire countryside, instead of turning in through the gates.
But as soon as they’d arrived, they were so glad they did.
Langcliffe Hall nr Settle in the Yorkshire Dales
While I know some of it was thanks to the stunning venue - Langcliffe Hall really does have its own magic (which is why I have already locked it in for our next retreat in September!) - a lot of them also said that the very reason they almost turned around the car is the very thing that made the retreat so special: an entire weekend of being around other people who work in medicine.
I understand the trepidation. I’ve been there myself. But, at the same time, there's a special kind of alchemy that comes from being in a room with people who just… “get it”. A room where you don't have to hide, pretend, put on another mask, or explain how tough it is to hold and juggle everything. A room where you can put it down - even if just for an hour (or a weekend!) - and see your stories reflected in everyone else's stories, and our floral centrepiece reflected in the candlelight, and find moments of lightness and wonder amidst it all, too.
It was this magic that led me to start dreaming of what it would look like to host my own retreat one day, and how important it was to me to get the environment right. As someone who spent decades working in medicine, I grew to realise - as many studies have also shown - that being nourished by nature and surrounded by beauty has so many benefits, including patient and practitioner wellbeing. As part of my own processing, understanding myself and recovery after years in the NHS - I learned to rediscover the things that brought me joy, like being in nature, making flower arrangements, and creative play. I also realised how much I love bringing people together, taking care of all the details, and creating beautiful spaces.
When I started thinking about hosting the retreat, I originally thought it would be a space to go deep into the reasons why people finding working in medicine find rest so difficult. What I realised from hosting it, though, is that those conversations, whilst incredibly important, are only a part of the story. Another big part of the story - and a part we definitely don’t talk about enough - is how these kinds of spaces get to be fun. They get to be creative and joyful - and cup-filling for all of us. I can’t even tell you how much I loved curating the tiny details for the retreat; the thoughtful touches that make people feel special, to let them know that they matter. Hand-writing personalised letters, sourcing fabric paper, and stamping them closed with wax seals. Choosing my favourite books and leaving an armful of them in the reading rooms with bookmarks marking some of my favourite poems. Hand stitched lavender bags on pillows. Blending my own goodnight essential oil to aid rest and relaxation. I thought about all the things that have helped me, and how they might help others.
Sure, it didn’t all go according to plan - like when we stumbled upon a full-on fantasy photoshoot going on at the waterfall or when we ran out of hot water because everyone decided to try and fill their deep claw-footed tubs for an afternoon soak at the same time. But those spontaneous, silly moments also tend to be the ones that stay with you the most. The laughs and giggles echoing through the group and the house feel as poignant to me now as the relaxed faces after a sunrise solstice soundbath, the sharp intake of breath as we put our bare feet on dew-covered grass, and the murmur of conversation and companionable silence at the dining table, where we filled our bellies, our hearts, and our cups.
As people working in medicine, part of the reason it is so difficult for us to rest is because we rarely feel free and safe enough to play. The retreat showed me that these spaces don’t always have to be heavy and meaningful to matter. Sometimes, it’s more about the people you’re with, the natural joy of shared experiences, and the reminder that you’re not alone - and there are people out there who feel just like you, even if you haven’t met them yet.
Now, on the other side of that first retreat, I can see that Florescence - my seasonal sister circle spaces - are far more than “just” a gathering. They’re actually a mini retreat all in themselves. Looking back, now, I can see that, ever since that first retreat I attended, where I realised how much I’d been craving a place where I could feel taken care of, I’ve been trying to create those sanctuaries for other people, too - even if it’s just in short, seasonal evening events that can be squeezed into busy lives.
Moving forward, I’ve decided to slightly shift the direction of Florescence towards this lens of joy as much as meaning. Meaning “to bloom”, the pillars of Florescence will remain the same - a seasonal sanctuary where you can take off your mask, set down the weight of day-to-day responsibilities, and step over the threshold into a sacred space. We’ll still gather in a stunning, nature-fronted location for a candle-lit meal, share stories, and tap into the ancient, non-hierarchical way of circle - but also open the door to a little more spontaneity, creativity, play, and lightheartedness, depending on what’s in the room and the season.
Recently, after turning down an offer to give a speech at a prestigious wellbeing in medicine seminar, when I was asked to talk about "resilience for doctors”, I found myself thinking about how I’ve never joined a single professional development workshop where I’ve left feeling full of awe for the people in the room or a rekindled passion for my line of work and the people who dedicate their lives to it. But every single time we gather together in these spaces, I feel overcome with a sense of joy and wonder, and like I can reconnect with the version of myself who decided to go into this work to begin with: the one who had a big dream of helping others, and who is still living it, today - even if it looks a bit different these days.
That said, if we circle back to my passion for finding the right environments, I’ve realised that that’s actually kind of the point - that it’s okay for this work to look different. For CPD-training to exist outside of beige boxes and lecture halls and professional coaching to take place in fields, under oak trees, and by riverbanks. That nature-based coaching and riverfront retreats are part of my own medicine, and that peer support can actually be something enjoyable and restorative, rather than just about ticking another box on a checklist.
And if you, like me, feel drawn to exploring what this work might look like for you, I’d love to chat more. At the moment, I have a few spots left for 1:1 coaching over the summer, while sign-ups for the next Rest in Medicine retreat in September and Florescence evening in October are open, too.
Due to the nature of this work, I intentionally keep these spaces small and intimate, so if you are interested, I recommend sending me a message to secure a spot sooner rather than later.