Support Return to Her: A Healing Retreat for Women

Hello, I’m Becky Leach, and I’m building a retreat to help women heal.

Women today are drowning in impossible expectations.

We’re carrying emotional, physical, and spiritual loads that were never meant to be borne alone.

We face grief, abuse, burnout, emotional neglect, and trauma — and yet we’re expected to just keep going. It wears us down. It dims what once burned bright inside of us. We forget our power. We forget that our lives can be joyful, restful, and real.

My Story

When I was young, I learned to serve. Serve my family, serve the people around me, serve without question.

And I put my whole heart into it. I was the model church girl — teaching Vacation Bible School, Sunday School, singing in choir, special music, speaking at churches, going on missions trips to Ghana, and Russia. At eighteen, I was even featured on the front page of the local newspaper as a shining example of a life of service.

I was seen as a success story by the spiritual community. I thought I was doing everything right. I was accepted, revered, cherished. It felt wonderful to be part of a community that supported me so wholeheartedly. That praise gave me purpose. But it also laid the foundation for everything I would later have to unlearn.

College was discouraged — not because I lacked the ability, but because “a woman’s highest calling” was to stay home and serve. So I stayed. I followed their instructions — all the way into a young marriage with a man who used me, broke me, and eventually threatened to kill me. He told me I should be afraid of him — that he had a plan to kill me and make sure my body was never found.

I now know what it’s like to be emotionally manipulated, silenced, and slowly erased. Not just physically threatened — but psychologically dismantled.

I had already endured the stillbirth of my first and only daughter. Planning a funeral at the tender age of 22, saying hello and goodbye at the same time.

After that, I gave birth to three sons. I fought for custody, raised them alone, and put myself through college while working full-time.

We lived in a small apartment for 6.5 years while I rebuilt our life from scratch. I mothered, I studied, I worked. I showed up every day — with almost no support. My family lived out of town, and the court did not allow me to take my children to a place where I was supported. So it was just me, and my babies. With no parachute.

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The Impact of Spiritual Abuse

No one told me I couldn’t come back to church — but I wasn’t really welcome anymore. I was no longer embraced, only observed. Judged. Pitied. I left abuse, and lost my community in the process.

I had been taught that obedience and submission were the only acceptable ways to show up as a woman. That my suffering somehow made me virtuous — or worse, that it was the consequence of some wrong I had committed.

That’s spiritual abuse — and it leaves marks people can’t see.

My community vanished. I thought I was the only one. I didn’t know there were other women living in the shadows of grief, trauma, and silence.

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The Long Climb Back

Eventually, I moved to Columbus, Ohio, to give my boys a better life. I built a career. I handled everything on my own.

I called my mother every day from 600 miles away because she was the only voice that reminded me I wasn’t crazy.

Every hardship taught me how to be brave, how to stand on my own, and how to keep moving — even when I was exhausted to the bone.

At work, I kept taking on more: HR. Payroll. ADA compliance. Disability. Wellness programs. FMLA.

The load never stopped growing. The burnout hit hard.

And I know I’m not the only one. There are so many women like me — doing everything, for everyone, with no space to fall apart.

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This Is Bigger Than Me

Even now, women are expected to smile through trauma, to look good while falling apart, to perform silent labor in marriages, in motherhood, in dating, in friendships, in workplaces — all while fearing retaliation if we try to change it. All while being dismissed, discredited, or quietly erased.

We exist in a system that is not designed for us to thrive.

Every one of them. The court system, the marriage, the family dynamic, the workplace, the church. Women are made to feel that there is no choice but to come last. Serving, silent, subdued.

We are simmering. Seething. Grieving. Exhausted. And somehow, deep within us, there is a glimmer of hope that keeps us going. We hope for lives with lighter weight. We dream of something softer, safer, freer. We tell ourselves, “Maybe it will come when the kids are older.” “Maybe it will come when my husband supports me more.” “Maybe when the promotion comes… or when I’m making more money… or when I can finally slow down.”

If I can just endure a little longer… maybe it will all work itself out.

But the truth is — it never does. We live in a constant state of postponed peace, always hoping for better… while dragging our bodies through now.

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The Power of Sisterhood

In recent years, I began reconnecting more deeply with my sisters — and together, we started unlearning the messages that broke us. We’ve been healing in real time, side by side. Holding each other through grief. Laughing during late-night calls. Untangling shame, naming old wounds. Remembering our worth, our strength — piece by piece. Truly seeing each other — and we are in awe.

We’re not the same women we were when we started. We’re softer now, and stronger. We speak more boldly. We rest more deeply. We give each other permission to fall apart — and to rise again. This isn’t just sisterhood. It’s resurrection.

We’ve been getting to know each other again — and getting to know ourselves, too. Rebuilding something sacred while reckoning, honestly, with what it means to be a woman in a world that was never built for our flourishing.

In our sisterhood, healing began. And in sisterhood, healing will continue — for every woman who walks through our doors.

There is something alchemizing (I’d like to think it’s magical) that happens when women truly begin to see each other. Not perform. Not compete. Just see. It’s a kind of knowing that lives beneath language — an ancient tenderness that wakes up when we gather. No one else understands us the way we do. No one else can lift us — out of our burdens, out of the silence — and love us into wholeness the way only another woman can. Not to fix. Not to rescue. But to witness. To honor. To adore. This is what we were meant for. And this is what we’re building.

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The Vision

I believe in the kind of community women build when we gather — not to perform, but to tell the truth. When we rest together… when we reflect… when we remember who we are — that is sacred. And that is where healing begins.

Saying “no” to the system that demands our productivity is an act of resistance.

Rest is rebellion. Slowness is survival.

We need places where women can step off the hamster wheel and simply be — even if only for a few days.

Because here’s the truth: When we finally pause… when we breathe… when we reflect — we begin to see clearly. We notice the heaviness we’ve been carrying. We remember that we’re allowed to choose.

Maybe you return to your life as it is — but this time, it’s on your terms.

Or maybe you realize: this isn’t the life I want anymore.

And from that quiet knowing, the path forward begins to emerge.

That’s why I’m building Return to Her.

A place to remember.

A place to reclaim your life.

A place to begin again — in your own time, in your own way.

You don’t have to be ready. You just have to arrive.

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What It Will Include

This will be a healing retreat for women — nestled in nature, far from the noise, the pressure, and the performative masks we wear to survive.

Far from the expectations.

Far from the pressure.

Far from the ache of being needed but never nurtured.

Here, you’ll find space to exhale — fully, deeply, maybe for the first time in years.

There will be animals — gentle creatures who ask nothing from you but presence.

There will be rituals — small, sacred acts that help us release what no longer serves.

There will be creative expression — painting, candle-making, storytelling, and spell jars — because healing isn't always found in words.

There will be stillness and silence — unhurried mornings, soft light, space to be alone without being abandoned.

There will be music and movement, meditation and laughter.

There will be firelight and moonlight, barefoot moments, and warm, nourishing meals made with care.

We will bring in guest speakers — women who have walked through fire and lived to tell about it.

We will listen to each other’s stories, and offer our own, not as performance but as nourishment — because shared truth is its own kind of medicine.

We will speak openly about what it means to survive in a system that was never built for us to thrive, and we will learn how to gently resist.

We will reclaim creativity not as a hobby, but as a survival skill — learning small, beautiful ways to pause, breathe, and reconnect with ourselves in our day-to-day lives.

And most of all — there will be honest, unfiltered sisterhood.

The kind where nothing has to be explained.

The kind that makes you feel known, not managed.

True inclusivity means building a retreat where rest isn’t reserved for the privileged. Unlike polished wellness retreats built for the few, this space isn’t about luxury or performance — it’s about truth.

We’re not promoting a spa experience. We’re creating a sanctuary.

A place where women who’ve been overlooked, overworked, or quietly broken by systems can find rest without needing to explain themselves.

A space designed with inclusivity at its core — for disabled women, queer women, fat women, women of color, neurodivergent women, and anyone who’s ever been told they were too much or not enough.

This isn’t about escape.

It’s about return.

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Built to Reflect Our Values

We believe women deserve to be held — in spaces that are tender, comforting, and thoughtfully created for our healing.

We value beauty without perfection. Comfort without guilt. Slowness without apology.

We believe the environment matters — and that being surrounded by care, intention, and softness is part of what allows us to finally exhale.

The physical space will reflect those values.

Guests will stay in shared cabins — each with heat, A/C, and private toilets. There will be two communal bathhouses designed with beauty and comfort in mind, and a central lodge with room to gather, grieve, rest, and create. A full kitchen and dining area will serve meals that feel like a hug. The grounds will make room for the animals who will be part of the healing — goats, donkeys, chickens, ducks, and perhaps a cat curled up in a sunbeam.

We will move slowly.

We will speak truth.

We will remember who we are — and who we were before the world told us to shrink.

And we will learn to find joy in existing as a woman again.

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The Numbers

The total cost to build this dream is $2 million.

If we raise $515,000 (including estimated fees), we’ll net $500,000 for a down payment and secure a business loan for the rest. That’s how I’ll keep retreat pricing accessible for the women who need it most — while covering startup costs responsibly.

That’s what I’m asking for now.

But here’s my quiet, not-so-secret hope:

If we raise the full $2 million, we can build everything without debt. No interest payments. No pressure to fill every single retreat just to stay afloat.

That freedom would allow me to center what matters most: making space for women who can’t afford to come otherwise.

We could offer scholarships from day one. Host more sliding-scale retreats. Invite more women from underserved backgrounds. Build a sanctuary that isn't only for those who can pay — but for those who need it most.

This dream is already big. But with your help, it could be even softer, freer, and more generous than I ever imagined.

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The Bigger Dream

This retreat is only the beginning.

My long-term vision is to create a village — a permanent community where women can come not just to rest, but to live.

A place where healing isn’t a weekend escape, but a way of life. Where women who are rebuilding their lives — after divorce, after loss, after trauma — have space to land, to grow, and to belong.

Return to Her is the first step toward that vision.

Whether you’re rebuilding after loss… Or simply longing for rest, sisterhood, and a space to breathe — This retreat is for you.

You don’t have to name it grief for it to be heavy. You don’t have to name it trauma for it to be valid.

If you're tired of being everything for everyone else, and you're ready to feel like you again — this is your place.

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How You Can Help

If this speaks to your soul — if you’ve been her, if you’ve known her, if you’ve loved her — please consider helping me bring this to life.

• Give, if you can.

• Share this campaign with your circles.

• Send a word of encouragement if that’s all you can do.

This is no longer just my dream. This is my life’s work.

And I believe — deep in my bones — that it will reach women who are ready to return to themselves.

Thank you for believing in this with me.

Becky