The Accidental Travel Writer: When You Need to Retreat From a Retreat

Recently I made a major decision to retire from coaching after twenty plus years of working with teen girls and mothers and daughters. At sixty-five years old, it was time for me to shift my energy and finally live my own life full-on instead of helping others to live theirs. I was exhausted and my entire being was crying out for a sacred retreat to reconnect with my own dreams and goals. However, as an entrepreneur and solo practitioner, there are no gold watches or severance packages that accompany retirement, so it was up to me to give it its due and honor this life-altering transition.

I was thinking about Sedona or Key West, someplace magical to help me unwind, reset, and recalibrate, while celebrating a beautiful, rewarding career and the beginning of my new chapter as a writer and artist. However, with travel restrictions due to Covid, I decided instead to look closer to home and just go somewhere off the grid, a sanctuary where I could rest and go within without any distractions. I also wanted some space to work on my book, which I’d been neglecting over the past few months as I finished out with my remaining coaching clients.

I googled retreat centers in southwest Florida and came across a place called “Miracle Manor” situated within the Christian Retreat Center in Bradenton. It was only a two hour drive and sounded exactly like what I was looking for. When I made my reservations, they mentioned that a group was coming in that week as well, but for the first few days of my stay, I’d have the place all to myself. Ahhhh. It sounded perfect.

After I checked in and paid, in the envelope with the keys to my room was a letter that said there would be no refunds upon early departure. Hmmm. That seemed odd to have received that information after I paid, but I decided to let it go and get settled in.

The lobby and my room, a junior suite with a kitchenette and lanai, both appeared to have been newly renovated, but as I took a walk around the grounds, the outside premises looked neglected and dilapidated. Then I noticed a lock on the gate to the pool and a sign saying it would be closed until Thursday. Hmmm. Another amenity that would not be available to me, along with the dining hall, also closed until the group arrived on Thursday.

I made a quick trip to the grocery store to stock my mini fridge and made myself a sandwich. Then I decided to go down to the lobby to inquire about the locked pool, because I didn’t want hopping a fence to be part of my retreat experience. The woman behind the front desk informed me that she was with housekeeping and was just about to go home and I’d have to wait till tomorrow to ask someone as there wouldn’t be anyone there until the next day.

Wait. What? You mean to tell me that not only am I the only guest currently at this retreat center, but when you leave, I will be the only person in the entire building?

“Yeah, but we have a security guard who is on duty, so not to worry,” she replied.

As she headed for the front door, I asked what time those doors get locked.

“Oh they stay open 24/7,” she announced with pride, as if it was some godly feature of this Christian retreat center, like God is our protector, 24/7.

Hmmm. Well, I believe God is my protector, right? I’ve spoken Psalm 91 over my life many times. I thought maybe this was part of the retreat experience to get me to trust and rely completely on God because there would be no other human being around.

But just then, as she walked out the door, a teenage boy walked in like he owned the place and sauntered over to the vending machine to get some snacks. “Are you staying here too?” I asked, hoping for another castaway on this deserted island.

“No, I live in the trailer park nearby. I just came in for some snacks.”

Then I turned around and noticed a woman on her laptop sitting at one of the tables in the lobby. I walked over and asked if she was staying at the retreat center. “Oh, no” she said, very matter-of-factly, “I live in the trailer park nearby and they don’t seem to mind if we come here and use the wifi.”

Don’t seem to mind? There’s no one freaking here and I’m pretty sure they don’t even know that the locals are coming and going as they please.

I went back to my room and bolted the door and then to my utter shock, discovered that the lock on the slider to my lanai was broken and wouldn’t lock. I couldn’t even barricade myself in my room!

I crawled under the covers and started to pray as my heart pounded in my chest. I’ve never had an actual panic attack, but was pretty sure that was exactly what was happening.

I texted the retreat director, who, I found out earlier that day, was now working from home because she had Covid! I mean, how many freakin’ red flags are gonna hit me over the head before I run for the hills?

I told her that she had misled me and left me in a frightening and unacceptable predicament and asked her to call me in the morning, thinking I could somehow hurry up and fall asleep and pray my way through one night in this hell hole.

To say sleep eluded me would be an understatement. By this time, I was shaking so bad I had to get up and move. I grabbed a steak knife from my kitchenette and decided to scope out the joint to make sure the security guard was on duty and guarding the door.

Armed with the room key wedged between the fingers of one hand and the steak knife in the other, while lighting the way with my cell phone and 911 cued up and ready to hit send, I made my way downstairs and into the lobby. It was eerily empty, like the scene of a horror movie when you just know danger is about to pounce. I went around and checked every door that lead to the outside grounds and every single one of them was unlocked and the security guard was nowhere to be found.

I texted my husband to let him know what was happening in case he never heard from me again. Then I texted a friend who I know is a night owl and she called me back immediately. Her husband got on the line with her and they both told me in unison to call the cops and file a police report, have them wait with me as I packed up my car, and then get the hell out of there.

The officers were so kind and reassuring and they told me that they’d stay with me until I could pack up my stuff. Just as I was about to leave, they said that there had been no sign of the security guard the whole time they’d been there, which by that time had been over thirty minutes.

I was going to check into a nearby hotel, but the thought of disinfecting a hotel room at midnight and wiping down every imaginable surface, just to try and sleep in yet another strange room was equally off-putting as spending the night in Miracle Manor! I was so wired by this point that I decided to drive straight home, finally crawling into my own bed around 2:00am.

The next morning, I woke to a text from the director of the retreat center. “I’m sorry that you did not experience that sense of peace and restoration at Miracle Manor. Our campus is protected by an excellent security team.” As if this was somehow all my fault for not having experienced the glory of it all.

She’d been authorized to refund the remaining nights—minus the first night. She then assured me that they will be upgrading all of their guest room locks, access door locks and other areas very soon in a continued effort to improve upon the safety and security for our guests.

Ummm, no. That does me absolutely no good. No one should be staying there under the current conditions! I told her I didn’t even stay the one night, had filed a police report and would be issuing a claim on my credit card and described in detail the shocking situation and assured her that their “excellent security team” was nowhere to be found the entire time I was there.

She was then authorized to refund me the full amount and then — get this — offered a complimentary night stay for the next time I am able to visit! Maybe I’ll raffle off this priceless prize to my readers who share this article? LOL

Lessons Learned:

God does answer prayers! The answers may not come in the way we think they should, but there are no unanswered requests. Before I left for the retreat, I set an intention for connection — to God, to myself and with others. I have never talked to God more and I completely trusted my own inner guidance to do what I had to do to take care of myself. Also in the twenty four hours that followed, I have had the most intimate, hilarious and soulful conversations with friends and family as I shared this harrowing experience, while receiving their love and support.

Everything I need is inside of me. I don’t need to physically go somewhere to retreat from this world, and as my friend so eloquently shared with me, “the world has very little to offer right now.”

You can’t rush a transition. God’s divine timing is always right on time, but if it’s not God’s time you can’t force it. I wanted to be on the other side of my new identity instead of being in a vulnerable place of uncertainty. But I also know that when it’s in God’s time, you cannot stop it.

I’m no travel agent! Perhaps I am being guided to become a travel writer, but after this fiasco, one thing is for certain, you do not want me planning your next retreat!

There’s no place like home. I looked up the word “retreat” and the very synonyms like refuge, sanctuary, haven, withdrawal and even retirement, perfectly describe my home and my life — exactly where I am.

Expect a Miracle! We often think of a miracle as something otherworldly or supernatural, like the parting of the Red Sea. But to me, a miracle is a shift in perception, that moment we can see a situation through the eyes of love. I wasn’t able to see the love while at Miracle Manor, but I love that it has left me with one hellova story to tell! Perhaps the greatest miracle of all is that I made it out of there alive!