Behind the scenes of creating my very first reading retreat

I created this retreat because I wanted it.

I wanted somewhere I could go, bring a stack of books, wake up beside the water, drink my coffee slowly, and spend an entire weekend reading without feeling like I should be doing something else. Somewhere I could be around other women who understood the joy of getting lost in a story, without needing to fill every quiet moment with conversation. I looked for something like it and couldn't quite find what I was looking for.

So I decided to create it myself.

What I didn't expect was how many other women were looking for the same thing.

Choosing the Jade Resort on Quadra Island was just as intentional as everything else. Everyone could have their own space, while still having people around.

I'd been there before. I knew how I felt when I was there, how the water, the quiet, and the surroundings made it easier to slow down and settle into myself. As soon as you get on the ferry, you to take a breath, let go of the things competing for your attention, and just be where you are.

I wanted that feeling for other women, too.

I didn't want to choose a venue simply because it looked beautiful in photos or had everything you'd expect from a retreat space, because it doesn’t. I wanted somewhere I could personally connect with, somewhere I knew had the potential to make people feel the way I felt when I was there.

The individual chalets meant everyone could have their own space. The water offered a place to sit, walk, or kayak. The common spaces gave us somewhere to gather when we wanted to. And the setting itself did so much of the work without needing a packed schedule or a long list of activities.

I didn't need to manufacture an experience. I just needed to bring the right people to a place that already made room for one. And I think there's something special about that. Choosing a place not just for what it offers, but for how it makes you feel, and wanting to share that feeling with others.

When I started planning this reading retreat, I brought more than a decade of experience organizing and facilitating events with me. I've planned everything from small gatherings to events with hundreds of people, from corporate functions to nonprofit programs, with all kinds of budgets, expectations, and agendas.

I know how to plan an event. I know how to fill a schedule, coordinate activities, facilitate introductions, and bring people together. But this time, I wanted to do things differently.

I wanted the weekend to feel slow. I wanted it to feel easy. I wanted it to feel like the opposite of another commitment on your calendar. I didn’t want to fill the time, I wanted people to be here. So there was no structured agenda. No icebreakers. No pressure to participate in group activities. No expectation that you needed to introduce yourself to everyone or spend every meal making conversation.

There was no WhatsApp group buzzing away in the background, either. I considered creating one during the planning process, but most women weren't interested. Looking back, I'm glad I listened. The last thing you need when you've carved out a weekend to disconnect is another stream of notifications asking for your attention. Some of these choices might seem like things that are missing. To me, they're part of the point.

Sometimes, what you leave out is just as important as what you put in.

Part of creating a weekend like this was letting go of the idea that everything needed to be done for you.

The self-check-in and self-check-out. Making your own breakfast. Washing your own dishes. Taking care of your own space. Heading out for a solo kayak, taking a walk, or spending the morning doing absolutely nothing. There wasn't someone coming in to tidy up after you or a schedule telling you where to be. I supplied the good stuff, like delicious sourdough bread and farm-fresh eggs for breakfast, and the rest was yours to figure out.

And I loved that about it.

Not because I wanted anyone to have to work harder on their weekend away, but because I wanted the freedom that comes with being self-sufficient. You didn't need to wait for someone to organize an activity, coordinate a group, or tell you what came next. You could wake up, make your coffee, cook your breakfast, and decide what kind of day you wanted to have.

Want to kayak alone? Go for it. Want to stay in your chalet and read until noon? Do that. (I did!) Want to sit with someone over breakfast and talk about your book? There's room for that, too.

The trust to make your own experience can feel quite scary for some and quite lovely at the same time. It was about having the independence to do what you want, when you want, without feeling like you need permission or an explanation.

I didn't want to recreate the feeling of being at an event where every detail is managed and every hour is accounted for. I wanted to create the conditions for a good weekend, then leave enough room for everyone to make it their own.

Of course, there were thoughtful touches, too.

I brought in a local chef to prepare our evening meals because I wanted everyone to enjoy something delicious without having to plan, shop, cook, or worry about dinner after a full day of doing whatever they pleased.

But even that came without an expectation. The dinners were an opportunity to gather, share a meal, and get to know one another, but you weren't required to stay in the common space to enjoy them. You could fill your plate, take it back to your chalet, sit outside by the water, or find a cozy spot of your own. The first nights meal was more of an easy-er meal, with the thought of people travelling all day and not knowing when they’d arrive. A selection of wraps, salads, soup and some desserts. Keeping in mind, everyones restrictions and dietary needs. The second dinner was bigger, with the thought of, maybe more people would gather, be more hungry and stay longer.

I wanted to create opportunities for connection without making connection a requirement. You could be part of the group when you wanted to be, and retreat into your own little world when you needed that, too. I loved seeing someone down at the dock, wrapped in a blanket reading a book or even just sitting there watching the wildlife.

To me, that's what thoughtful hospitality looks like. Taking care of the details that matter, while leaving people free to decide what they need from the experience.

Even the welcome bag was intentionally curated.

Locally made bag + book sleeve

2 books (each chosen based on what I knew about what they liked, what they had read and what was on their tbr)

Snacks, because, duh.

2 handmade bookmarks

1 ceramic mug, locally made

and a few more treats left in the room (snacks they asked for etc)

I also recognize that we come to a retreat looking for different things. Some of us want to disappear into a book for three days. Others are craving new friendships, meaningful conversations, and the chance to connect with women who share their interests.

I think there's room for both.

The challenge is creating a space where connection is available without making it an obligation. Where you can join a conversation over dinner, sit around the fire, play a game, or spend the entire afternoon tucked away in your own little space with a book.

You don't have to earn your solitude here. And you don't have to justify your desire for company, either.

You get to decide what you need.

As I think about future retreats, I'm open to finding little ways to make space for more connection, too. Maybe that looks like an optional book discussion, a chance to share what everyone's reading, or a casual conversation about a story that stayed with us long after we closed the cover.

Nothing mandatory. Nothing that takes away from the freedom of the weekend. Just opportunities for those who want them.

I want each retreat to get better, and that means listening to the women who come, being willing to try new things, and staying open to what the experience could become.

Feedback matters to me. I want to know what worked, what could be better, and what might make the next retreat even more meaningful.

But I also want to protect the heart of it.

And as it turns out, I had to learn how to do that, too.

I was the organizer, but I was also a guest in the experience I had created. I wanted to read my books, enjoy the water, spend time with the women who came, and be present for the weekend I'd spent so much time bringing to life. But I also wanted to make sure everyone was happy. I found myself observing, checking in, paying attention to the little things, and making sure everything was going as it should. Even when things were running smoothly, part of me was still in organizer mode. Learning how to disconnect while still being responsible for the experience was a harder balance than I expected.

I had to remind myself that being present didn't mean constantly monitoring everything. That I could care about everyone's experience without taking responsibility for every moment of it. That I could trust the planning I'd done, let the weekend unfold, and allow myself to enjoy it, too.

I don't think I've completely figured that out yet. And that's okay. I imagine some of that balance will come with time, with each retreat I host, and with learning when to step in and when to let things be. Because, I created this retreat for myself, too. And I want to give myself the same permission I'm hoping to give everyone who comes.

I'm learning that creating a space for other people to rest also means allowing myself to rest in it. That I can be the person who brings everyone together without having to hold every part of the experience in my hands.

And maybe that's part of the process, too. Learning to trust what you've created enough to actually experience it yourself.

I think there's something meaningful about giving ourselves permission to do less, especially when so much of our lives is built around doing more.

More productivity. More plans. More experiences. More ways to make our time worthwhile.

But what if time spent doing something simply because you love it is worthwhile enough?

What if finishing a book, resting beside the water, or laughing with a woman you met that morning is all you need to take home with you?

This Reading Retreat isn't meant to be a perfectly curated itinerary of experiences. It's meant to be a place where you can have your own experience.

Let the weekend unfold. I won't add things just to make the schedule look fuller. I won't create activities simply because that's what retreats are supposed to have. And I won't forget why I started this in the first place.

A place that feels a little less like an event and a little more like permission.

So, if you come to the next Reading Retreat, I hope you know this:

You don't have to make the most of every moment.

You don't have to be the most social person in the room.

You don't have to finish the book you brought, or read a single page if you need something else.

You don't have to be anything other than who you are when you arrive.

And neither do I.

I'm learning that I can care deeply about the experience I'm creating without controlling every part of it. That I can listen to feedback and make changes without losing sight of the original intention. That there's room for growth without needing to turn something simple into something complicated.

This is your weekend. Your time.

Your reading retreat.

Until the next one, and its happening closer than you think…

-Michelle

xoxo