The Story I Almost Didn't Tell

A confession: Mamma Mia is one of my favorite movies.

Before you judge me, let me explain why.

Growing up, I remember watching musicals with my dad. Standards like Meet Me in St. Louis, classics like The Music Man, and deep cuts like Calamity Jane. I was a pretty serious kid. Even then, I was a bundle of nervous energy that I would only realize years later was anxiety.

But sitting next to my dad, watching Judy Garland or some other equally magnificent songstress sing the problems into a happy ending, made me feel safe. Hopeful. Like I could tackle anything in my way.

I lost my dad to cancer when he was just 62.

I remember watching the dance scenes from Dirty Dancing while he was getting an IV drip that I was convinced would be the magic elixir that would cure him. We sat there, transfixed, watching Baby finally get her moment to shine. For a few minutes, despite the sterile walls and the weight of what we were facing, we had the time of our lives.

My dad didn't get the miracle I was praying for, and losing him was the hardest thing I could imagine.

I didn't get the happy ending I had always waited for at the end of the musicals.

But I did get happy moments.

I got to feel hopeful, even against impossible odds.

I both thank and blame my dad for my eternal hopefulness. Somewhere along the way, I learned to believe that sometimes the best thing we can do is sing and dance through the darkness.

Fast forward to Mamma Mia.

The first time I saw it, I became that sweet, gooey little puddle of a kid all over again. Every song. Every dance number. Every impossible shade of blue in the Aegean Sea.

And if Greece wasn't the most magnificent place to set a musical, I didn't know what was.

Today, I host retreats in Greece.

So many of the women who come are simply looking for a place to breathe. To feel joy again. To stop surviving long enough to remember what living actually feels like. Sometimes life can feel like a struggle just to keep your head above water.

Just like I couldn't change the outcome for my dad, I can't control the outcome of anyone else's life journey.

But I can create a pocket of joy.

A place where someone can feel as safe and supported as a little girl sitting beside her dad, singing along with Judy Garland.

Of all the tools I've learned for creating a life that feels whole, practicing unrealistic joy and relentless hopefulness may be the most underrated.

Maybe we can't fix everything in one week on retreat.

But we can remind you how good life can feel, even if it's only for a moment.

On our last retreat in Greece, one of our guests was a talented digital creator (https://holdthebagel.com ). She captured on video what I can only describe as my own Mamma Mia moment.

When I think about it, all I can do is smile. There I was, giggling like a kid while she captured it all. (video here )

Those moments continue to make me smile long after the retreat ends, and they fortify me on the days when smiling feels a little harder.

This is what I hope these retreats become for every guest who joins us.

A collection of moments that remind you who you are beneath the stress, the grief, the responsibilities, and the endless to-do lists.

Moments that make you laugh until your stomach hurts. Dance barefoot. Jump into impossibly blue water. Stay up too late talking with women who somehow feel like old friends.

Moments that make you think, Oh...there I am.

I hope you get to join us one day and have your own Mamma Mia moment.

And if not, maybe tonight is a good night to put on a musical, sing a little louder than usual, and let the world stop for just a couple of hours.

Greece Retreats