The 7-Year Itch (For Freedom)

A story about motherhood, hosting retreats for moms, and building a life of freedom in Joshua Tree

Seven years ago I hosted my first Mom & Little One retreat.

I had a two-year-old, a three-month-old, and absolutely no idea how to price anything.

My business strategy at the time was basically:

Ask my friends what they'd pay and hope for the best.

Which is a polite way of saying I subsidized everyone else’s vacation while doing all the work.

The first retreat had everything.

Babies crying.

Mamas bonding.

And… bed bugs.

Yes. Bed bugs.

My sister-in-law — who happened to be a hotel manager at the time — spotted them first. Her literal worst nightmare come true. She played it so cool at first, thinking maybe her mind was playing tricks on her.

Until she saw one.

Lucky for me, she was family.

She moved into my house mid-retreat, I gave her back money, and I silently prayed the other moms wouldn’t discover anything. The owner refused to refund me, but I knew what felt right.

Even with all that chaos, I remember looking over during dinner and seeing her sitting at a little bar table with her two-and-a-half-year-old son. Just the two of them on stools, sharing a quiet dinner.

It was such a small moment.

And weirdly… I was a little jealous.

Because that was exactly why I started these retreats in the first place — to give moms space to have those tiny sacred moments with their kids.

I'm not even sure I broke even that weekend.

But I still went home feeling like I had done something important.

Seven Years Later

Last week I hosted my twelfth retreat here in Joshua Tree.

My kids are now 1, 4, 7, and 8.

Instead of bed bugs, there was a beautiful house with a pool.

Instead of spending money on food, one of my best friends was our chef in exchange for a spot.

Instead of chaos, there was rhythm.

But the moment that stopped me in my tracks wasn’t the pool or the food.

It was the last night.

We were all gathered around the dinner table — the chef, the mama who stayed until the end, all of our little ones running around, my mom, and the photographer (who is also a dear friend).

My husband sat in the living room while I served platters of the most colorful dinner: salmon, couscous stuffed into roasted eggplant, butter noodles, hummus, pita bread, and these strange rainbow carrots that looked almost too pretty to eat.

Everyone was laughing.

Kids weaving through our legs.

The kind of messy, loud dinner that only happens when people feel like they belong.

After we finished eating, we walked outside for a hula hoop workshop led by my mom.

Yes — my mom.

None of us expected what happened next.

She pulled out a class itinerary poster board and photos of me as a little girl — dressed up, hula hooping like my life depended on it.

Everyone burst out laughing.

Apparently, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

As the sun began to set behind the desert mountains, my mom led this group of millennial women and their multi-age kids in a joyful hula hoop dance in the driveway.

The first song she played?

“Circle of Life.”

Of course.

And standing there watching everyone spin those hoops, I had one of those surreal moments where your brain whispers:

Is this real life?

The Hot Springs Drive

The second night, we drove to the hot springs.

I was actually driving — which almost never happens because my mom usually takes the wheel.

One mom sat in the passenger seat.

Another in the back.

Sara had paid for the retreat in money.

Jackie, our chef, had paid in time and love and food.

We were chatting like old friends.

At one point Sara asked me:

“Do you stay friends with the moms who come to these retreats?”

I thought about it.

And honestly?

Yes. Many of them.

Not all — I’ve hosted 52 women across 12 retreats — but many of them are still in my life.

Which is exactly why I don’t want to host too many.

Because these aren’t just yoga retreats for moms.

(To be honest, we don't do very much western yoga at these retreats anyway).

They become something deeper than that.

Somewhere during that drive I had a strange feeling in my chest.

Part pride.

Part sadness.

Because I wasn’t sure if this might be my last retreat.

My husband and I both know these retreats take time away from building the long-term freedom we’re working toward as a family.

And yet…

Listening to these women talk about how healing the week had been, how much they needed it, how rare it was to have space like this with their children…

I felt something else too.

A quiet voice saying:

This matters.

Sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is simply receive the love instead of explaining it away.

The Kids Perspective

My kids love the retreats.

They love the babies most of all.

Their favorite guest this time was Franklin — an almost two-year-old — though they assured me that their little brother Arvid still holds first place.

Kerstin (4) and Arvid (18 months) were with me the entire retreat.

The two older ones helped set up everything beforehand.

Then they did something hilarious.

They skipped school one day to swim, play with the babies, and host their own version of recess at the retreat.

When we got home from the hot springs that night all the little kids were asleep — but we invited our older kids to spend the night.

At one point, Jackie, my chef/bestie, and I looked at each other and joked:

“What did we do to ourselves?”

Because suddenly we had a house full of kids playing hide-and-seek.

And honestly?

It was one of the best parts of the entire week.

The next day we decorated Mommy & Me picture frames and swam together.

At one point I looked up from the pool and watched my older kids climbing out and jump-wrestling back in.

And I had that cliché realization every parent talks about.

They are getting big.

So fast.

And more often than not these days, I’m enjoying every second.

The Kitchen Conversation

The day the retreat ended, I ran an idea by my husband.

We were standing in the kitchen.

I told him my gut reaction was to offer a generous monetary refund to the Mom who left early when her kiddo was sick- that would have erased our profit for the week.

He looked at me and said something simple:

“We can’t do another one if we don’t make any money.”

At first that felt uncomfortable.

But he was right.

If I want these retreats to continue — if I want to keep creating spaces where mothers can rest and reconnect — I have to own the value of what I’m building.

That conversation changed something in me.

Because the truth is, I’ve probably made about $3.50 an hour running these retreats over the years.

Entrepreneurship is a long game.

And I’m finally learning how to simplify things and focus on what actually matters. 

So I feel good about giving her credit to use when the right time comes for both of us.

Bringing the Wild Home

For a long time I thought my life had to exist in separate boxes.

Yoga teacher.

Retreat leader.

Wellness-focused real estate developer.

Holistic wealth educator.

Author of Wild Mama Rising.

Mom.

Different websites. Different audiences. Different energy.

But lately I’ve realized something important.

Fragmentation is just another form of busy work.

So I’m bringing it all home.

Everything — the retreats, the writing, the wild motherhood conversations, and the desert life we’re building — will now live together here.

One place.

One rhythm.

One story.

One step at a time :)

If You're Reading This…

Maybe you’re a mom who feels the pull toward something deeper.

Maybe you’ve been dreaming about a retreat for mothers where you can actually breathe again.

Or maybe you just stumbled onto this story and needed a reminder that life doesn’t have to be perfect to be meaningful.

Either way, I hope this made you pause for a moment.

Laugh a little.

Maybe tear up a little.

And look around your own life with fresh eyes.

Because sometimes the wild life you’re searching for…is already spinning all around you.

Like a hula hoop.

The Next Chapter

When and if I host retreats in the future, they will be deeply intentional.

If your soul whispers “that’s for me”, you’ll know.

You can join the waitlist below to hear when the next Joshua Tree retreat for mothers opens.

And if this story simply made you smile today…

That’s enough too :)

With love, desert dust, and a still-spinning hula hoop,

Jennica