In 2017 I had a vision.

A retreat. A space where professional women could step away from their lives long enough to hear themselves again. I could feel it. I could see it. I knew it was mine to build.

So I planned it. I booked a venue in the Dominican Republic. I secured several powerful speakers. I paid the deposits. I marketed it the only way I knew how which admittedly was not very well, because I had no social media following, no email list, no marketing strategy or experience. I had a vision and a credit card.

Four women registered, but it was not enough to cover the financial obligations. I had to cancel and return their deposits. And I had to face four women who had believed in something I could not yet deliver.

I lost thousands of dollars. And I felt something I was not prepared for: embarrassment. The quiet, specific embarrassment of having believed in something publicly and having it fail.

I questioned everything. My calling. My capability. Whether I had misunderstood what I was supposed to build or whether I was simply not the woman who could build it.

So I walked away

For years.

Then the pandemic came. And in that strange, still season, I was introduced to coaching.

I started doing the inner work I had been trying to invite other women into. And as I searched my heart for what it actually desired underneath the fear, underneath the embarrassment, underneath the years of silence I kept coming back to the retreat.

I had been doing events on a smaller scale. Family gatherings. Friend groups. Church groups. I knew how to create a room where women could exhale.

But the vision for A Weekend For Me had never left.

So I tried again

2022. A new venue. A new date. The same problem: a small email list, a small social media following, not enough women registered to proceed.

Fortunately, the venue allowed me to reschedule rather than cancel. And instead of walking away again, I got to work.

I built a social media presence. I launched an email list. I started a weekly live show. I showed up consistently, imperfectly, without knowing if it would be enough.

When I launched for the 2023 date, enough women registered to proceed.

Cambridge. March 2023. The first A Weekend For Me

I share this not because the story ends triumphantly though it does, in ways I could not have imagined in 2017.

I share it because I know some of you are in the middle of your own version of the Dominican Republic

The vision that will not leave you alone. The attempt that did not work. The embarrassment from which you have not fully recovered. The years of silence that felt like giving up but were actually gathering.

The gap not only live between who we are showing up as and who we were created to be.

It also lives between the vision we are carrying and the life we are currently living.

And closing it requires the same thing the retreat required:

Showing up again. Even after it did not work. Even when no one would blame you for stopping. Even when the evidence against continuing is louder than the voice that keeps bringing you back.