Ripple effect
a special Camp Joy edition
I’ve never felt water so cold in my life.
This was no tentative toe in, slow easing past my waistline, eventual submersion kind of entry. With water as chilly as a melted iceberg, opaline blue and sparkling, the only way was to go all in, all at once.
The water was so achingly cold my breath stopped before my body surged back to life. It was bracing and exhilarating, like being rewritten from the inside out.
In a way, it became the perfect metaphor for the Camp Joy experience, where stepping in fully is always an invitation, but never an expectation.
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?—The Summer Day, Mary Oliver
A quick search for “women’s retreats” returns hundreds of thousands of results — from yoga getaways, and clean-eating intensives to writing workshops, nature hikes, leadership weekends, and journaling circles. Yet, Camp Joy stands out not because of its scale, but because of its intentional simplicity: no pressure, just space for real change to gently unfold.
So where does Camp Joy fit in the galaxy of women’s retreats?
It doesn’t promise a breakthrough or a blueprint. There are no mandatory group activities, no strict schedules, no juice cleanses or self-improvement mantras. One of Camp Joy’s quiet superpowers is the Inner Joy program: a gentle, grounding invitation to spark the joy that lives in all of us. From the first session, you’re free to continue as much or as little as you like. Led by Marea and offered alongside optional daily yoga and meditation, these sessions offer space to sift through what’s been weighing on you and leave behind what you no longer need.
For me, it came back to what Oliver’s The Summer Day quietly suggests: that simply paying attention — to your own life, your own breath, your own joy — might be the beginning of something truly wild and precious.
Sharing the experience with my sister was part of what made it feel quietly, unexpectedly magical.
“Sister each other. It’s a verb now.”
— Untamed, Glennon Doyle
The women who gathered there came from different places, with different lives, but the same longing: to reconnect, to root down, to remember something we had forgotten we even lost.
In hours—not days—we were already laughing in that wide-open, heart-cracked kind of way. Stories spilled out like water over stones. Tears came, not from pain alone, but from release. From recognition. From being seen.
What unfolded over those few days was something I couldn’t have planned, named, or prepared for. In only the way the unexpected can something be, it was wondrous beyond measure—an experience that was far greater than the sum of its parts.
The retreat took place at a French mas so beautiful it felt like a dream—stone walls with stories in them, sunlit terraces, space to gather, space to roam, space to be quiet.
We shared meals at a communal table beneath the open sky, passed wine and fresh bread like offerings. One evening we made our own pizzas in the wood-burning oven, laughter rising with the smoke. There was a pool that shimmered under the sun, pétanque and paints and corners to gather your thoughts or a handful of the blooming roses, lavender, wild fennel, thyme that we were surrounded by.
We spent an entire day in Cotignac, weaving through its vibrant market like children at play. With my sister beside me and a circle of new sisters forming around me, we tried on linen dresses, bought bundles of lavender, sampled olives, gathered treasures to savour later. A visit to a quiet stone church tucked into the hillside was more contemplative. We lit candles for those we’ve lost. There was no rush, no ritual beyond presence. Just time to feel what we often avoid—the ache of absence, and the beauty of remembering.
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“An awake heart is like a sky that pours light.”
—Hafiz, Persian mystical poet
Halfway through the week, June’s gorgeous Strawberry Moon rose, full and bright, with that beautiful pink light, almost as if Camp Joy had ordered it up just for us. I remember looking around at the soft glow on our faces, the garden and the pool reflecting back the sky, and feeling something shift—gently but completely.
Next to me, my sister. The one who’s known me longest. The one I was somehow meeting again in a whole new way. We didn’t need to say much. We were both full—with something tender and very, very alive.
When it was time to leave Camp Joy, I wasn’t ready—but I wasn’t sad either. Because I knew I wasn’t actually leaving anything behind.
The magic wasn’t something I had to grasp or hold onto. It had rooted itself inside me. In all of us. A ripple effect that continues still.
Sometimes, what we’re looking for isn’t waiting out there.
Sometimes, it’s waiting in here—inside a cold river, a bustling market, a shared meal, or a sister’s hand under the light of a full moon.
And sometimes, the most magical thing isn’t what you find.
It’s what finds you.
The Invitation
by Oriah Mountain Dreamer
It doesn't interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for,
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.
It doesn't interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love,
for your dream,
for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon.
I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow,
if you have been opened by life's betrayals
or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own,
without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own;
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us to be careful,
to be realistic,
to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true.
I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself;
if you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul;
if you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see beauty
even when it is not pretty every day,
and if you can source your life
from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine,
and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon,
"Yes!"
It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair,
weary and bruised to the bone,
and do what needs to be done to feed the children.
It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me
and not shrink back.
It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep
in the empty moments.
About Camp Joy
Camp Joy was founded by sisters Monique and Marea Kavanagh, who turned their lifelong love of meaningful travel into a retreat experience unlike any other. Starting in Provence and now expanding to other beautiful corners of the world, Camp Joy offers women a chance to slow down, reconnect, and rediscover what brings them alive. At its centre is the Inner Joy program — a gentle, grounding thread that runs through each retreat, inviting presence, reflection, and the kind of joy that lingers long after you return home.
If you want to learn more about Camp Joy and the upcoming retreat in Menerbes, France, drop me a message or leave a comment below!
Everything is so beautiful, and it looks like everyone is having such a nice time!
This is beautiful and I now have a longing for this experience. And that poem was the reading I chose for my wedding. Just seeing this title brought a smile to my face and happiness to my soul.