For a long time, I lived with the feeling that rest came afterwards.<\/p>\n
As if stopping were a reward.<\/p>\n
First do. Then, if there was space left, rest.<\/p>\n
Over time, I began to notice something in my body.<\/p>\n
Even when I stopped, I didn’t quite manage to rest fully.<\/p>\n
And that is when I began to understand something that wasn’t entirely comfortable to acknowledge:<\/p>\n
I didn’t know how to rest without feeling that I had to earn it first.<\/p>\n
As if rest were a prize reserved for when there is nothing left to do.<\/p>\n
Over the years, I have seen that this is not just my own struggle.<\/p>\n
It is something that appears time and again in the women I accompany.<\/p>\n
And who often do not know how to stop without feeling guilt.<\/p>\n
But the body does not understand merit.<\/p>\n
The body understands rhythm.<\/p>\n
And when the body has space to let its guard down, things happen that are very simple and very profound at the same time.<\/p>\n
Not because we have done something extraordinary.<\/p>\n
But because we stop pushing ourselves.<\/p>\n
That is why, when I think of the retreats I facilitate, I don’t think of them as an escape.<\/p>\n
I think of them as spaces where rest does not have to be justified.<\/p>\n
Places where you don’t have to prove anything in order to stop.<\/p>\n
Where the body can remember how it feels to live from a different rhythm.<\/p>\n
This year, there are still two gatherings where you can open that pause.<\/p>\n
The Spring Retreat<\/strong>, a more intimate space where we work through the body, listening, and presence, exploring precisely those parts of us that live in demand.<\/p>\n And the Azores Retreat<\/strong>, surrounded by nature and ocean, where the environment helps us remember something very simple: that we can also live from another tempo.<\/p>\n They are different spaces, but they are born from the same place.<\/p>\n The desire to create real pauses.<\/p>\n Roc\u00edo<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>