If someone had asked me before the retreat what I expected, I don’t think I could have answered. 

I knew I needed time away. Time with Allah. Time to think. But I was also carrying grief that I wasn’t ready to speak about. I wasn’t sure I would manage all the activities or have the emotional energy to be around people I had never met. 

Looking back now, I realise I didn’t need to have those worries. 

What I found wasn’t a programme that expected me to keep up. It was a space that met me exactly where I was. 

From the very beginning, the Ta Collective team created an environment where I felt seen without feeling exposed. They showed genuine kindness, but they also gave me something I hadn’t realised I needed so badly: permission to simply be. 

There were moments when I joined in wholeheartedly, moments when I quietly reflected, and moments when I just needed to sit with my thoughts. At no point did I feel judged or pressured. Instead, I felt respected. 

One thing I will always be grateful for is that my privacy was protected. The details of my grief remained mine. That trust allowed me to feel safe enough to begin processing emotions I had been carrying for a long time. 

The retreat brought together women from different generations, cultures, professions and walks of life. Some were students, some mothers, some professionals, some retired. We all looked different, lived different lives, and had different stories. 

Yet beneath all those differences was one thing that united us. 

Every one of us wanted to become closer to Allah. 

And every one of us was carrying something. 

Some struggles were spoken about. Others never were. It reminded me that we rarely know what another person is facing. The sister smiling beside you may be carrying a burden known only to Allah. 

One of the most beautiful lessons I took away was that intentional sisterhood isn’t about finding women who are the same as you. It’s about finding women who remind you of Allah. 

Women who make you feel accepted rather than compared. 

Women who listen more than they speak. 

Women who make du’a for you without needing to know every detail. 

Women who create a space where your relationship with Allah can grow. 

I also learnt something about myself. 

For so long I had convinced myself that being strong meant carrying everything alone. I realised during those few days that strength can also look like slowing down. Like allowing yourself to reflect. Like accepting kindness without feeling guilty for needing it. 

Sometimes we spend so much time looking after everyone else that we forget our own hearts need nurturing too. 

The retreat didn’t remove my grief. 

It didn’t magically answer every question I had. 

But it gave me something equally valuable. 

Perspective. 

Peace. 

And a reminder that Allah’s mercy reaches us in countless ways, sometimes through the people He places around us at exactly the right moment. 

I came home with a notebook full of reflections, new friendships that I pray will continue, and a heart that feels softer than it did before I arrived. 

Three nights cannot erase life’s hardships. 

But they can remind you that you were never meant to carry them without turning to Allah. 

If you’re wondering whether to attend a Muslim women’s retreat, my advice is simple. 

Don’t wait until life is perfect. 

Don’t wait until your iman feels strong. 

Don’t wait until you think you’re “ready”. 

Come exactly as you are. 

Allah already knows what you’re carrying. 

Sometimes all you need is a place where your heart is finally given permission to put it down for a little while.