As I pull into the driveway of Bell Valley Retreat off of Highway 253, which winds through the billowing hills of Mendocino County, and see the historic farmhouse built of rustic wood accented with soft orange and green paint, the words oh my god fall out of my mouth.
I haven’t been to these grounds since January 2020. Since then, more has happened than I ever could have expected. Almost everything in the world and in my life has changed, but this place — with its old oak trees and cozy tents with heated beds and warm-colored décor basking in the afternoon sun — has not.
It’s a wild experience, being in a deeply nourishing place I love that I’ve only held in photos and memories for the past three years. With people I haven’t seen in that same amount of time. In a sense, it’s like coming home, a home I didn’t know I had.
And as I walk down the grassy trails and peek through the French doors at the nourishing dinner coming alive in the kitchen, I am in awe of how much, more than everything in the world and my life has changed in the past three years, I have changed.
I’ve known this whole time that the pandemic, all the loss and grief of 2020, the whirlwind change of 2021, my relationship, and becoming a cat mom have changed me. In my daily life, I notice glimpses of it and I know it cognitively. But there’s something about returning to a place I love that has remained the same that really brings that shift front and center.
The last time I was here, I was engulfed in anxiety and low on self-confidence. It had been a hard year, and as I read through my journal from that time, I can see it even more clearly. It brings back memories of obsessing over when to shower so that people wouldn’t judge me for having greasy hair, or being extremely irritated by loud chewing sounds and then amazed by and jealous of the woman who politely asked her to enjoy her snack somewhere else. Of knowing I was lying to myself as I wrote in my journal but afraid to admit what I knew deep down to be true. Of planning out every possible scenario to protect myself from completely irrational fears. Of feeling like I wanted to be somewhere else, which I now realize was coming from a place of discontentment and insecurity.
But now, as a 32-year-old who has been put through the wringer mentally, emotionally, and physically since then, I feel a deep sense of calm as soon as I arrive at this retreat center. Perhaps it’s because it’s the third time I’ve been here and done this, so it feels familiar and like I know what to expect. But there’s something else, a trust I have in myself and a feeling of not just calm but actual happiness to be here, waking up at 6 am and basking in the April morning sun and looking forward to whatever the next few days are going to hold for me.
I don’t know what exactly will happen, what words will fly through my fingers and onto the page, what feelings and thoughts will come up, how I’ll spend my free time. But, somehow, instead of trying to plan out every hour of my day and do everything “right,” I’m getting curious, and I’m actually excited about it. Excited about letting go of control and allowing whatever happens to happen. I’m not quite as concerned about what others will think of me and my choice to be alone and in silence here (though still a little bit — I’m human after all. But I’m aware of it!)
This is not quite who I’ve been in my daily life still. I have to constantly remind myself to take deep breaths. I lie awake at night for hours, heart and mind racing overthinking everything from transportation plans to how I’m going to fit all of my belongings in a potential new apartment. My brain tends to feel “broken” by around 10 am every Tuesday because there’s too much for me to process at work. And a lot of the time I can’t seem to complete a chore at home without getting distracted by another one and feeling frantic and overwhelmed by all the other things I’m probably forgetting.
But all of these things are just a product of how I’m wired, and how dysregulated I can get when I’m tired. What I didn’t know until I returned to this place and immediately sank into silence and meditation in a way I’ve never been able to before is that, over the past three years, I’ve developed a stronger sense of self-trust. It can be hard to access in my daily life, but at least now I know it’s there.
I know there exists within me a foundation of strength, bravery, confidence, security, comfort, and happiness. I know myself so much more deeply now, and I had no idea because life moves fast and it gets really hard to pay attention. But as I sit here in the sun by the blooming yellow daffodils and listen to the birds chirping and let my inner world settle, in a place that hasn’t changed when everything else has, I feel happy and proud in knowing that what I’ve experienced is growth. And everything I’ve been through and built for myself has contributed to it.
Maybe next time I come here I will be a whole other version of myself, and I can’t wait to meet her.