Holiday Moments, Messy Gardens, and Sad Songs:

What I Learned on a Grief Retreat

So, I didn’t write a blog last week.

Instead, I went on a grief retreat. I know. It sounds a bit woo-woo, doesn’t it? Like I should be sitting in a yurt, chanting with strangers and drinking kombucha (I did none of those things, by the way). When my counsellor first suggested it, I winced. A grief retreat? It sounded like a contradiction, like something that might make me more sad, not less. But she said it might be helpful. And she’s usually right. Thankfully, and annoyingly.

Now, I’m not going to spill all the intimate details here; some of it’s too personal and raw. But what I can do is share a few things that stuck with me, and maybe they'll resonate with you too. If not, you’ll at least get a story about gin, trampolines, and metaphorical weeding.

First off, I didn’t do this alone. Life was hectic and I was running on empty. So I did something I find really hard: I asked for help. I messaged a friend with a beautiful garden and an empty annex and said, “Can I stay?” And she said yes. So I packed my laptop, my hopes, my slightly sceptical attitude, and I went. What unfolded was beautiful, challenging, and full of lessons.

Here are a few that rose to the surface:

• Vulnerability is brave (and underrated). I am not a natural help-asker. I tend to soldier on until I'm running on fumes and irritation. But asking to stay with a friend was not just necessary, it was healing. There's something quietly powerful about admitting you're not okay and letting someone hold space for that.

  

• Create “holiday moments” in everyday life. My friend (also wise - don’t tell her I said that) talked about carving out “holiday moments” in a regular week. I’d never thought about that before. While I was there, I drank coffee in the sun, sat on a trampoline (no children in sight), had a cheeky gin, and swung on a rope swing. None of it was grand. But all of it felt like a breath of air. Little pockets of peace. Holiday moments. I’m now plotting how to sneak more of those into real life.

• Messy doesn’t mean broken. Claire’s garden is beautiful, but not manicured. It’s wild in places. A bit weedy. A little chaotic. But that doesn’t stop it from being glorious. I realised it’s the same with grief. Same with emotions. Same with me. The retreat was full-on, emotional, a bit messy—and yet, none of us were broken. Just human.

• Grief is a feeling. Mourning is a process. I’ve spent a long time trying not to feel grief. Pressing it down, pretending it’s gone. But at the retreat, we were given space to mourn,to name what was lost, to honour what it meant. And I’m realising that’s different to just feeling sad. Mourning is active. Intentional. And surprisingly healing.

• Sad songs are allowed. This might sound like a small thing, but it hit me hard. Somewhere along the way, I’d picked up the belief that I always had to skip to the happy playlist, that the songs I sing should be upbeat, full of positivity and cheerful tunes. But during the retreat, we wrote our own laments. I discovered the power of a minor key, and wow, it was cathartic.

It was only four days, but it felt like more. Like something shifted.

I think I’ll write more about each of these lessons in the coming weeks. For now, I’m home, deeply grateful, and wondering why I don’t sit on trampolines more often.

Would you ever go on a grief retreat, or does that still sound far too woo-woo for you? Leave a comment or message me your thoughts.

And if you’ve got a favourite sad song, send it my way. I’m compiling a playlist for all of us messy, mourning, gin-drinking, garden-wandering peeps.