How a Postpartum Wellness Retreat Helped Me Heal

By seven months postpartum, I felt like I was running on fumes.

I’d skipped maternity leave — except for one blurry, anxiety-filled week on painkillers, recovering from my C-section — and jumped right back into freelance work while caring for newborn twins. I was on Slack less than two hours after delivery (yes, really). Looking back, that should’ve been a warning. Still, I didn’t think I was allowed to rest, and often equated stillness with weakness. When the idea of stepping away, even for just 48 hours, came up, the guilt descended like a perfect storm.

Unbeknownst to most — friends, colleagues, even extended family who might be learning this now (hi!) — I was barely holding it together. I’d dealt with anxiety for years, but postpartum anxiety hit differently. I couldn’t relax, even when the babies slept, because I was constantly thinking about getting woken up again. I’d chosen not to breastfeed, knowing it would drain me emotionally, and still faced pressure and pushback from hospital staff. The mental load and constant overstimulation crushed me. Adding to that was the new weight of being a financial provider for someone (or in this case, two someones!) other than myself and my husband.

The depression crept in quietly — less sadness, more emotional flatlining. I was doing all the things, going through the motions, feeling . . . nothing. I remember sobbing at my six-week postpartum appointment. My beloved doctor — my advocate and confidante through my high-risk twin pregnancy — listened as I described the fog. I worried about her thinking I was crazy or a danger to myself or my babies. She nodded and said gently, “I know. But you shouldn’t have to feel like this.”

That’s when it hit me: This wasn’t just exhaustion or a rough patch. It was postpartum depression, and I needed help. In the weeks that followed, I started therapy with a postpartum specialist and eventually began medication. Saying yes to that support felt just as vulnerable — maybe more so — than saying yes to the retreat I would soon go on.

The Postpartum Retreat I Almost Didn’t Attend

When I received an email inviting me to a two-night wellness retreat at Dorado Beach, a Ritz-Carlton Reserve in Puerto Rico, my gut reaction was guilt, not excitement.

I went back and forth in my mind. Should I go? I was finally moving through the worst of postpartum depression and starting to feel more like myself. I had even found moments of joy in motherhood, which, just months ago, would have felt unimaginable. So would stepping away now, just as I was getting better, feel like a selfish move? Would I, more than anyone, feel like I wasn’t doing enough?

Before becoming a parent, I wouldn’t have thought twice about this opportunity. Travel is a big part of my job — I used to hop on planes without hesitation. But this felt different; it felt selfish. I knew I needed the break and had earned it. Still, the guilt was crushing.

Despite the mental tug-of-war I loved to play, I focused on the facts: it was a short trip with an easy flight and a real chance to focus on me. And so, with encouragement from my husband, mom, and therapist, I said yes.

A Necessary Pause

The retreat wasn’t rigid, which I appreciated, especially as I eased back into being someone other than “mom.” After months in survival mode — juggling feedings, naps, deadlines, rinse, and repeat — I was running on empty and craving a moment of calm.

The long, winding drive through the lush Puerto Rican hills set a soothing tone from the moment I arrived on the property. While there, I partook in morning yoga in the spa’s five-acre pineapple garden, sound baths in a breezy treehouse high above the treetops, and unhurried group meals. Long, open afternoons made space for whatever I needed: wandering along the sand, swimming solo in the ocean, napping midday, or simply resting by the pool. The hum of singing bowls, rustling palm leaves, and, at night, the steady chirp of coquí frogs became a soothing white noise for my nervous system.

I (mostly) resisted the urge to check my inbox. It was the kind of stillness I hadn’t felt in months — and I wasn’t alone. I was the only mom in the group, but it didn’t matter. The women were all in different life seasons, yet we shared an unspoken truth: the deep, often-unacknowledged need to pause.

On our first night, we gathered barefoot on the beach for a new moon ceremony led by anthropologist Camille Arroyo, the resort’s Ambassadors of the Environment supervisor. As the sun sank into the ocean, its golden light shimmering across the waves, she spoke about the Taíno people, Puerto Rico’s original indigenous inhabitants, and how each moon phase invites reflection, release, and renewal. She reminded us that women move in cycles, our energy rising and falling like the tides. That hit me hard. In this postpartum period, everything felt static and relentless — diapers, dishes, deadlines. I’d lost my rhythm and had been on autopilot. Hearing that reminder made me realize maybe I could move slowly and mindfully. Perhaps it wasn’t about bouncing back at all, but instead learning to flow.

We each picked up rose petals, held them to our hearts, and thought about what we were ready to let go of. I stood there, toes in the sand, warm breeze on my face, quietly naming mine: guilt, fear, resentment, self-doubt. Then, one by one, we offered our petals to the sea. It was a quiet, powerful moment: simple but deeply grounding. I didn’t cry, but it stopped me in my tracks. For the first time in a long time, I felt still.

I’d always struggled with anxiety, but never depression — until postpartum. Now I know I’m not alone. Postpartum depression affects one in eight women, while postpartum anxiety impacts up to 21 percent. For many, this period marks their first encounter with mental health challenges.

Yet still, it’s rarely spoken about. I only wish I’d known how common it was. When you’re in the thick of it, the isolation can feel overwhelming. For me, these emotions were exacerbated by social media platforms like TikTok and Instagram, which seem to be full of moms sharing perfect motherhood moments. Those highlight reels can be deceiving — even, dare I say, toxic.

That’s why, for me, this retreat wasn’t a luxury. Now that I’ve seen the light at the end of the tunnel, I understand that asking for help is essential, not optional.

What I Took Home With Me

The retreat didn’t fix everything, and it’d be naive to think otherwise. I came home to the same babies, workload, and endless to-dos. I sleep better now — not great, but better — thanks in part to sleep training, which honestly brought its own wave of guilt.

But despite the constant pressure of balancing motherhood, work, partnership, cooking, and cleaning, I came back different. A little calmer. A bit more grounded. Slowly, I found myself again — the person I was before babies, and I’d missed her dearly.

I also brought home a jar of body scrub we made during a workshop — a blend of lavender, rosemary, and chamomile to promote rest and clarity. I ended up with two jars, thanks to the spa staff pouring leftovers into an extra container. (Even my scrub couldn’t travel light.) Now, nearly two months post-retreat, both jars sit in my shower — a subtle reminder I’m allowed to care for myself, that I can slow down, even in five-minute increments (bring on the everything showers).

To anyone in the thick of it: you’re not alone. You don’t have to do it all. You’re allowed to care for yourself — not just for others, but because you matter.

Lauren Dana Ellman is a New York-based freelance writer who has covered everything from travel and wellness to weddings and beauty. She’s especially passionate about maternal mental health, travel, and self-care. Lauren’s work has been published in Time Out, Travel + Leisure, Condé Nast Traveler, The Knot, InStyle, Reader’s Digest, PureWow, and more.