Marines Don’t Do Subtle: The Day I Took a Direct Hit on Facebook
Earlier this week, a stranger accused me of ripping off veterans. Here’s what actually happened.
My heart rate spiked. My chest clenched. All because of one Facebook comment.
And in true Marine fashion, she didn’t hold back - direct fire, no cover, full assault. She called my work “a rip off,” “a disguise,” and “absolutely appalling.”
Other members piled on, circling like it was blood in the water.
That old familiar surge hit: fight-or-flight rising fast, shame mixing with the urge to defend. I know that sensation well. The way your body braces before impact. My jaw tightened and my shoulders tensed, the way they used to before a convoy rolled out in Afghanistan.
Last week I shared about my October retreat in a popular military and veterans travel group. Within minutes, the admin came for me.
Because she wasn’t just disagreeing with a price tag. She was accusing me of exploiting the very community I’ve spent over 20 years serving and protecting.
And that cut deep.
What I did next
So, I did what I teach my clients to do.
I stepped away from the screen and I felt my feet press into the floor. I put one hand on my chest. And I slowed my breath.
Four counts in. Six counts out. Again and again until I stopped seeing red.
It didn’t erase the sting of her words or the falsehood of her accusation. But it gave my nervous system the message it needed most in that moment: you are safe right now.
Because that’s what regulation really is. It’s not pretending you’re calm when you’re not. It’s not shaming yourself for reacting. It’s giving your body the signal that the danger is over so you can come back to yourself instead of getting swept away.
The long exhale tells the vagus nerve: stand down. That shift back into safety gave me the clarity to step away and take the high road instead of lashing out. Without it, I probably would have fired off a defensive comment, fueled the fire, and regretted it later.
Instead, I chose differently.
The ambush & what was really happening
After I stepped away, regulated, and let my breath slow, I realized something important: we weren’t even talking about the same thing. It took me a while to see it, but this wasn’t really about me.
I had wandered into the middle of a retreat industry turf war: high volume yoga retreats vs. luxury retreats. Low-cost, high-volume weekends crammed into bunkhouses on one side. Extreme $12,000 “luxury escapes” with champagne breakfasts on the other.
And there I was, ambushed before I even knew a battle was being fought.
She runs yoga retreats. Shared rooms. Budget pricing. Large groups. “Rad vibes.”
And there’s nothing wrong with that. Those kinds of trips serve a purpose for people who want a cheap getaway and some connection. I had to laugh later. Of course she came at me like that. Marines don’t do subtle. Especially when they feel threatened.
But my retreats aren’t yoga retreats or crowded bunkhouses. They aren’t designed to squeeze in the most days for the lowest price.
They’re built for something entirely different: deep nervous system recovery for high-functioning women who are done living in survival mode.
Here’s the truth: I don’t belong to either camp.
I reject both methods.
Because cheap and crowded isn’t safe for a nervous system that’s been braced for years. And luxury for the sake of luxury - curated silk pillowcases and wine pairings with a $12k price tag - isn’t the same thing as healing.
I’m not here to copy either model. I’m here to carve a new path.
A path built around real nervous system reset. Accessible enough to be sustainable.
Premium enough to be safe. Infused with the kind of care and integration that actually changes lives.
I’m not in the retreat industry war.
I’m building something different.
Why my retreats look the way they do
When women come to me, they’re not craving another group hangout. They’re craving safety. Privacy. A place where they can stop performing and finally exhale.
That’s why I build my retreats this way:
Private lodging: because a dysregulated nervous system doesn’t heal when you’re sleeping in a room with 12 bunk beds next to strangers.
Chef-prepared meals: because food can either nourish and heal or inflame and irritate. I serve grass fed gluten free bison lasagna at my retreats, not pizza. And women deserve to be nourished instead of planning, cooking, or cleaning up.
Adventure and embodied experiences: because healing isn’t just sitting in a circle; it’s moving, breathing, being outside, and receiving gentle reminders along the way that remembering your body belongs to you.
Integration support: because three days of “ahhh, that was nice” won’t change a lifetime of bracing. Each retreat includes a post retreat coaching call, personalized integration plan, and a 3-month NEUROFIT subscription so the reset actually sticks.
This is why I say: It’s not a vacation. It’s a reset.
The profit conversation
And since we’re talking about money, let me be transparent.
No, I’m not “ripping people off.”
On a retreat like this, the return on investment for me as the host is about 30-35%.
That means two-thirds of what you pay goes directly to lodging, chef-prepared real meals, adventure activities, insurance, travel logistics, integration tools like NEUROFIT, and the dozens of invisible details it takes to create a safe and transformative container.
Could I slash those costs? Pack women into bunkrooms, cut the food budget, skip the integration, and call it a “budget retreat”?
Sure.
But that’s not the work I’m here to do. I don’t run retreats to get rich. I run them to serve.
But service has to be sustainable. Profitability isn’t greed. It’s what allows me to keep holding these spaces without burning out, and to keep creating experiences that actually change lives instead of just offering another weekend escape.
My retreats aren’t designed to be the cheapest option.
They’re designed to be the most transformative one.
The reframe
So when she called it “appalling”?
What she really meant was: “It’s not what I offer.”
And she’s right. It’s not.
My retreats aren’t meant to be accessible to everyone. They’re not built for bargain-hunters or “rad group vibes.”
They’re built to be life-changing for women who’ve been holding it all together for years - women who don’t need another self-care weekend. They need a space where they can finally set it all down, be held, and rebuild.
Why I’m telling you this
Because maybe you’ve been there too. Maybe you’ve been publicly misunderstood.
Maybe someone told you that you were “too much,” “too expensive,” or “not for everyone.” And maybe you believed them, at least for a moment.
But here’s what I want you to hear: not everyone is supposed to get it. Not everyone is supposed to be your people.
And when you’re offering something real, something that goes deeper than surface-level fixes, there will always be people who scoff. It doesn’t mean you’re wrong. It means you’re building for a different kind of person.
My invitation
If you’ve been living in survival mode - exhausted, inflamed, holding it all together on the outside while collapsing inside - you don’t need another yoga mat and a pretty view.
You need a nervous system reset. You need privacy, care, adventure, and integration.
You need a container where your body can remember what safety feels like.
That’s what these retreats are built for.
If that’s you, I built this for you.
If you are a man reading this, share it with the woman who holds down the fort for you - she needs renewal too.