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Retreat Yourself Ontario blows Stephen away

By Stephen Tweed

How to even put the Retreat Yourself Ontario 2018 experience into words has been a challenge.

To be honest, I didn’t know what to expect from the retreat. Twenty-odd young adults — some with supporters — all brought together with the shitty roll of the dice. We were from many walks of life, countries, and cultures which added to the magic of it all.

The night I arrived at the hotel, I was exhausted and napping when I woke to my hotel phone ringing. Not sure if it was YACC’s program director, Karine, I stumbled over to answer, half asleep.

“Hi, is this Stephen?” A brief call involved an invitation to swim which instead turned to getting food, face to face, getting to know someone from BC whose story I can’t even imagine having to go through. Then I met Karine and another leader for a drink, which included another invite to go swimming.

So what’s the deal with swimming? New people. Public swimming pool. Ostomy*.

Anxiety climbed a bit, but was able to take calm it and went in the water for the first time with this new body. Luckily, there was just us, so I had time to relax and be comfortable being in the water again, not worrying about the stoma. I was making a new friend and sharing our stories, tackling some of the isolation we felt in a way that can only be accomplished face-to-face.

*Bleep bloop* Unlocked achievable — stoma swim!

The next morning, I didn’t really know what to expect. I had a meal, and was joined by others who recognized me from my picture they saw on YACC’s private Facebook group. We had light and jovial conversations with some brief mention of cancer types or where you were from. Then it was time to head to the meeting room to make name tags and meet the other participants and facilitators as they slowly trickled in.

The word “diverse” almost doesn’t fully embrace the group that was forming. Some I recognized from the previous month’s Survivor Conference, but many were new faces. Light and jovial conversations, silly laughs, and making jokes about the name tags. The cancer types ranged from one extreme to the other. There were a few ostomates whom I shared my jokes with. We loaded onto a school bus to travel to the retreat location and reminisced of the last time we rode one. Some talked, some rested, some watched out the window and waited.

I had my head cover on, covering up my hair. The longer it gets, the more unruly it becomes. With the poof and curls hidden, I felt like Shepard Book from Firefly.

We got to the camp, and offloaded the bus and luggage. With free time until dinner, someone suggested going to the pool. Well — why not? Yesterday went okay, and it seemed like only one other person to go. Well, the group grew and included multiple strangers and people I hadn’t really met. Still, I went topless! Scandalous, I know!

I didn’t feel too bad about it. Granted this was with people who GOT IT. Cancer fucking sucks; it changes bodies and then some. Still, it was a pretty great feeling. I even went swimming again the next day, winding up with a really weird diagonal sunburn on my stomach and shoulders.

It wasn’t all pool parties and laughs — the group sessions and circles showed what we all went through. We started in large groups and then moved into smaller breakout sessions. We shared tears and laughter. We gradually grew closer.

I’ll admit, it’s hard to drop the “caregiver” role and let others take the reins. We had a lot of caregivers in this gaggle of strangers to look out for one another.

I didn’t expect for one of the exercises to hit me hard — writing about my experience and what I need. This prompt and the act of physically writing opened a floodgate. I have hated asking for help. The hardest part about asking out of the gate was people offering assistance, but having no clue where to even begin or know what was going to be needed.

My pen to the paper, writing in cursive, the words spilled out on paper. What was felt? Shame. To write out an actual list of needs? To be vulnerable? My walls started to crumble. When the pen drew to a stop, the next prompt came: write a letter to your body. Fuck.

The pen started to drag along the paper in lines, words forming as I wrote about the excess weight, the changes, the fears, and for a time to change.

The exercise ended. My soul was spent. Lunch was served, and off we went. I looked at the spread, tacos that day, I turned and left to bed I laid.

I felt guilt and shame to write out those needs, to even ask of anything. The letter wasn’t to anyone but to myself, but I spiraled to a depressive mindset nonetheless. Others have it worse, or their lives continue and don’t need me to be a burden.

Fuck. Thankfully the nap was able to reset me a bit. I planned to burn the letter later and forget it existed. I headed to more small groups and faced more tears and fears. As I learned more about each person, guards dropped, and I eventually opened back up. I shared some of the fear I was feeling. The honestly flowed easily. Everyone had such a shine, we all glowed or cried, allowing space to feel. It was amazing to see and be a part of. Kleenex boxes were emptied, laughter was shared. The comfort level with everyone was growing.

One night I sat in the common room, not wearing my shirt because of the burn. I covered my stoma with a towel — kind of a security blanket — but hey! Shirtless around people? Feeling comfortable in my own skin? Woah.

I even stopped wearing my head scarves and just let the poof win.

The people who were there were all so unique. Each was beautiful in their own way, with their own strengths and insights. We carried each other.

One of my favourite moments was the campfire on the second night. To say it was magical doesn’t even begin to explain it. The roar of the fire, the rustle of the trees, and the whisper of the creek flowing down the nook.

We had a few firsts in the group that night. Their first ever campfires happened, and the first s’mores or marshmallows toasted just right.

A young woman from Somalia was being taught how to roast a marshmallow to the background of someone playing a guitar and singing. She couldn’t have the marshmallow, but she cooked it to perfection and delivered it to the next visitor to the fire. Then she grabbed another and another, each one made perfectly. The smiles were bright, and love shone brighter than the fire. I’ll admit, the sight may have brought a few tears to my eye.

Remember the letter I wrote that I was going to burn to get rid of the need which felt like greed? I grabbed it when I went back to the lodge to help with snacks, but I was waiting to pop. I decided to share it, just with one person, to at least get it out. I could get a second opinion. She read and held space; I tried to read her face. She folded it neatly and suggested that I share.

Back at the fire, we sang songs and held space for each other. I saw my first firefly blinking down the creek — such a magical sight to see.

The last day was tough and rough for emotions, of course. Another emotional outpouring. In our final circle, I figured it was time. I shared my needs, my pain, and the rhyme. Tears. It was out. I was broken, but stronger than before.

I left for that camp, empty and drained. Surrounded by strangers. What I got in return was a new family. Each unique on their own, strong and full of love. Inspirational and amazing, and I can honestly say I look forward to their smiles the next time we meet. I’ll be there when they share their journeys, and I’ll watch for their posts. I’ll applaud their successes and watch them thrive. When any fall, I’ll be there to hold that space, to let them feel, and make sure they know they are not alone.

For me, well, I’m letting people in. Full vulnerability. I feel the space to be me, whatever form that is. I can’t thank my Retreat Yourself group enough. What I gained is priceless. Each one of them is carried with me. Recovery is a bitch. There is a lot to consider and a fair way to go.

It blew me away.

 

* An ostomy is a surgically-created opening of the colon for the purpose of eliminating waste from the body.

Read what other participants had to say:

“No words to describe” from Death To Bob

The understanding of others like me: YACC Retreat Yourself” from Soar Above Cancer

 

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