Unmasked and Unplugged Retreat 2025
A wrap up by Kory
Just over a year ago, in a very on-brand 6 a.m. Monday morning shower, I had one of those big “Kory ideas." I would host an unmasking retreat. Simple as that (or so I thought).I had recently attended a writers retreat and was reminded of the power of leaving home, the magic of immersion, and the comfort of being surrounded by people that were “just like you.”
Forty-eight hours later, in true Kory fashion, I put down a hefty deposit on a gorgeous home and crossed my fingers that if I built it, they would come.
They did. And what began as a sleepy, impulsive dream soon unfolded into something far bigger and more meaningful than I could have imagined. Our 2024 retreaters left after three transformative days feeling changed. Accepted. Validated. Seen in ways the Neurotypical world rarely allows. We shed our masks and connected in ways that felt natural and organic to us. When it came time to say goodbye, gratitude and tears flowed freely. Promises to stay in touch were made. And beneath it all, one undeniable truth lingered: we were all leaving different.
The moment that door shut behind the last guest, I already couldn’t wait to do it again.
I’ve had the privilege to attend quite a few retreats before hosting my own: writing retreats, photography retreats, on-location trainings. Every time, something clicked. Connection. Possibility. Learning. Self-love.
Finding new pieces of myself at those retreats often felt like cheating on the “me” I was at home. She was worried, stretched thin, and consumed with kids, work, and the exhausting reality of how hard life can feel. She didn’t have things that were just hers.
Retreat Kory? She was different. Funnier. More social. Spontaneous. She knew her worth, asked smart questions, and felt casually cool and brave. She didn’t have the world weighing her down. But finding her wasn’t an affair. I didn’t leave OG Kory behind. Each time, I brought home a little more self-love, a version of me shaped and reflected back through the eyes of like-minded retreaters. They acted as a mirror, helping me see parts of myself I couldn’t access at home.
This year, I wanted to turn the volume up. I dreamed of something bigger, better, warmer, and fuzzier. In my wildest dreams, I couldn’t have imagined what unfolded this weekend.
Strangers arrived as individuals, and left as friends. Together, we gently unpacked years of being misunderstood, isolated, and confused by the way thew world never seemed built for us. We faced “grelief” head-on, the complicated blend of grief and relief following an adult autism diagnosis.
We nerded out. Hard.
Books, movies, meteorology, board games, coffee, birds, puzzles, cults, murder podcasts, Rubik’s cubes, computers, quilting, autism, forensics, law special education advocacy, libraries, trees, foreign languages, linguistics, fashion, politics, celebrity gossip, seasonal color analysis, wok cooking, knives, Star Trek, empathy, emotions, psychology, philosophy, culture, fire, oracles, and Enneagrams. You name it, we talked about it. AND WE LOVED IT. Object based connection is real. (My favorite moment was SECONDS into our first day when a puzzle on the counter led to a connceting talk amongst strangers about the USA Jigsaw Nationals…it was Neurodivergent smalltalk perfection….and yes that's a thing.)
We stayed up late. We got up early. We laughed until our stomachs hurt. We cried and tried not to apologize for it.
We saw each other. Not the way people see each other out in the real world. We REALLY saw each other. The beautiful parts that come easily, and the dark, shame-filled parts that don’t. And we found that giving those parts a voice in a safe place was something that was deeply healing. We even offloaded some of that shame on index cards that we put in a jar, to share and rip up later. We were “not bringing that shit home.”
What we found, above all else, was connection and safety. This came from being accommodated, many of us for the first time.
In this house, accommodations were the norm. Solo spaces to regroup, no explanations required. Foods that didn’t make us sick. Quiet when needed. Rooms without sensory overwhelm. Saying “no” without guilt. Monologuing and tangents without interruption. Saying everything or nothing, and being met with acceptance either way. We assumed good intent. And as predicted, we saw that people who are safe and accommodated transform into the best versions of themselves.
This retreat is my Super Bowl, what I wait for all year. It’s my proudest creation. Watching this group simply be was enough. I felt it too, the exhale when I walked in the door. The way I laughed too loud. The way I overshared and was met with nods, not judgment. I talked and talked, and so did they. I also had time and energy to listen in a way that day to day life doesn't allow for.
Yesterday morning we shared our “Autiphanies” and gratitude with one another before heading back to our regularly scheduled lives. The words of our retreaters hit me in the feels in the best way possible:
“Thank you all for being you and real. Some of the personal conversations we had, I feel so much less alone.”
“I have a lot of quirks that I hide. I said before this, I have no interest in friends, I was sure of it. I realized here so many of the connections and intimacies I’m missing. Sharing life experiences. I can’t put it into words.”
“I think the word is regulation? Maybe co-regulation. But I only really feel that here.”
“I went to the pool and I got out and I was like what is that feeling that I’m feeling? It was happiness. I haven’t felt that without it being weighed down by a bunch of other things. It’s a great feeling."
“There’s so many times when I’m in a situation and my body is telling me this is too loud, or too much. The thing keeping me there is embarrassment, or societal norms. To be in a situation when I was thinking, “I want to be here,” was refreshing.
“I feel like this was exactly what I needed. I am struggling with internalized ableism and I’m not judging any of you for the things I judge me for. It was so important to see that.”
As we prepared to leave, second-time retreater, Fenix shared a quote from a book, “Undrowned.” The words, about dolphins scarred and bonded through shared wounds, resonated deeply:
“Within these groups though, observers have noticed a pattern…What marks these cliques within the pod! Actual marks. They are "heavily scarred.”…
I wonder why sometimes we congregate with those who have been hurt in ways that look similar to how we have been hurt….About how we sometimes (me too) name identities and even whole organizations based on our scars…Are my wounds the most convenient ways for you to know me? Why do they shape so much of how I know myself?”
Minutes after they read this passage, Ethan told us all to look outside. Dozens of dolphins swam, just feet from shore, passing our house as if right on cue. The timing and the beauty of this moment was impossible to ignore.
As we sat in quiet acknowledgment of our own scars, and the way they drew us together, the dolphins we read about swam past us, as a group. Vibrant, connected, and unexpectedly beautiful just as they are.
I was as if nature was reminding us to keep going, together. Maybe that’s what I want it to mean.
Those of us on dry land spent the weekend doing exactly that, sitting with our own scars, the ones less visible than those of the dolphins. And after two retreats, this much is clear: We don’t heal in isolation.
We heal in spaces safe enough to be fully, messily ourselves.
And we are going to keep building those spaces for us, for each other, and for everyone who needs to know they don’t have to do this alone.
(My super symbolic picture of the dolphins however will only feature one solo dolphin because I was clapping instead of accurately preserving this metaphor. Very Kory move.)
