Reflection from Survivor Retreat Participant

At our first survivor retreat of 2026, one of our retreatants offered this beautiful reflection at the opening welcome session on Friday evening. We share these words with her permission:

Hello everyone. My name is Patty, and I live in Baltimore, Maryland. This is the fourth Awake retreat I have attended, and every time I come back, I find myself remembering what it felt like to walk through those doors for the very first time.

I can still picture that Friday evening. On the outside, everything seemed fine. People were welcoming, dinner was delicious, and conversations flowed easily. But on the inside, I was a bundle of nerves.

As we gathered in this room, I remember looking around and wondering, “What am I doing here?” Then another question quickly followed: “Why would I ever want to talk about this with strangers?”

For most of my life, I had kept my experience of abuse hidden. It was something I rarely talked about and certainly not something I wanted to share with people I had just met. I felt anxious, vulnerable, and very alone. If I’m being completely honest, part of me wanted to leave before the retreat even began.

The only reason I stayed was because I hadn’t driven myself from Baltimore to Milwaukee. Looking back now, I can laugh a little and say that was probably God’s way of keeping me where I needed to be. If I had my own car, I might have left—and knowing my sense of direction, I probably would have gotten lost before I made it out of town.

When Sara asked us to introduce ourselves and share what would help us feel safe, I realized I didn’t even know how to answer the question. I had spent so many years protecting myself that I wasn’t sure what feeling safe actually felt like.

Then another retreatant shared that she wanted to know she would be accepted and not judged, even though she wanted nothing to do with the Catholic Church. Hearing her say that helped me discover my own answer. What I needed was to know that I would be accepted and not judged for staying in the Catholic Church. Many people I loved questioned that decision, and some were angry about it. I carried that hurt with me into the retreat. But what I found at the retreat was a place where were all welcome, just as we are, without any judgement about the decisions we have made about religion or anything else

As the evening went on, people began sharing emotions that were deep and raw—anger, fear, sadness, confusion. Normally that would have made me uncomfortable. For much of my life, strong emotions felt dangerous because I never knew how others would react. But something different happened here. No one tried to fix anyone. No one minimized anyone’s pain. People simply listened. They accepted one another exactly where they were.

That simple act of acceptance started to soften something inside me.

Later that evening, I met the women in my small group. I remember feeling an immediate sense of relief. For the first time in a very long time, I didn’t feel like I had to explain myself. These women understood. We came from different places and had different stories, but there was a connection that came from shared experience.

The prayer service that night invited us to recognize and grieve the losses we carried. As I stood there, I found myself acknowledging losses I had never fully named before. It was painful, but it was also freeing. In that moment, I realized that healing sometimes begins when we finally tell the truth—to ourselves and to God.

Saturday brought more presentations, small-group conversations, quiet reflection, and shared meals. One of my favorite memories happened during lunch. I paused and simply listened.

I heard laughter.

Then more laughter.

I heard people telling stories, making connections, and enjoying one another’s company.

I remember sitting there thinking, “This is not what I expected.”

I had assumed a retreat for survivors would feel heavy all weekend. Instead, I discovered that healing also includes joy. There was room for tears, but there was also room for friendship, humor, and hope.

Throughout the weekend, I was continually struck by the care that had gone into creating a safe environment. Whether it was the opportunity to talk with trusted leaders, spend time with carefully vetted priests, participate in art or prayer, take a walk, or simply rest, every detail seemed designed to remind us that our well-being mattered.

By Sunday morning, something had changed.

I woke up early and took a walk around the property. The same fears that had accompanied me on Friday were still there, but they no longer felt so overwhelming. It was as if the weekend had opened a window and let in some light.

At our closing Mass and final gathering, I found myself reflecting on how different I felt from the person who had arrived two days earlier.

I had come to the retreat believing I was alone.

I came carrying shame.

I came carrying guilt.

I came believing that no one could really understand my experience.

What I discovered was exactly the opposite.

I discovered that I was not alone.

I discovered that others understood in ways I never imagined.

I discovered that the shame and guilt I had carried for so long did not belong to me.

Most importantly, I discovered that healing happens in community.

As I left that first retreat, I wasn’t suddenly healed, and all my questions weren’t answered. But I left with something I hadn’t had when I arrived: hope.

Hope that healing was possible.

Hope that I didn’t have to carry my story by myself.

Hope that God had not abandoned me.

And hope that even in our deepest wounds, light can begin to break through the darkness.

Thank you.