20 People Locked In A Room, No Rules (Pt. 1 & 2)

This is the first two parts of a three-part series.

Disclaimer: Words can only do so much—this retreat is something you truly have to experience for yourself. My account barely scratches the surface of what it offers. To get the full picture, check out their website or, better yet, attend and feel it firsthand.

PART 1: I'm in.

It was only my second week living in Canggu and I was already ready to leave as the allure of Bali’s south-western tip, Uluwatu, beckoned with its beautiful beaches (read: hot Australians). I sifted through the posts in a Bali Housing WhatsApp chat and found a suitable listing that I could visit the next day.

The host welcomed me with a tour of the property, his packed bags catching my attention. When I asked why he was leaving, he revealed he was heading to a retreat in Northern Bali—an event his ex had described as life-changing. He casually mentioned there was one spot left, ideally for a woman, and offered to connect me with the organizer.

Skeptical but intruiged, I reached out. Within minutes I heard back: “We start tomorrow at 10 AM. Let’s talk ASAP.” There was a presentation attached about a program called The Dojo, a transformational, experimental training ground focused on psychosomatic, trauma-informed group processing. Whatever that means.

Feeling a little out of my league, I replied, citing work commitments as my reason to pass (excuse number 1). They encouraged me to hop on a call with them.

In the time it took me to get back to my Canggu villa, I had already listed about ten other excuses to not go. I had early morning meetings, my laundry was still at the cleaners, I didn't have enough clothes for a week, it was too expensive, blah blah blah. I paced around my kitchen as I waited for the call.

The phone rang. I answered. Addmittedly, I was lost even with their extensive attempts to explain the program and manage my expectations. I didn't know if it was them or me, but I took it as another sign to pass. As soon as I started to rattle off the excuses I had prepared, they stopped me to explain that the retreat started tomorrow. I had some time (not too much) to sit on it, and to let them know if its something I wanted to join.

The call ended, and before I could even place my phone down on the counter, a wave of chills spiraled down from the top of my head to my toes. Apparently, that was all the sign I needed because without thinking, I redialed the organizer's number. "I'm in."

And that was that. Not only were they able to give me a scolarship rate and a private room to do my work and meetings in, but I knew I made the right decision when I recived a text from the laundromat minutes later informing me that my laundry was ready for pickup. As a final token on validity from the universe, as I would learn in the coming day, a friend from my childhood was also at this retreat--we hadn't had contact in almost 20 years.

PART 2: The Dojo.

The retreat is impossible to describe, but I’ll try. At a high level, think: 20 people locked in a room, no talking, no rules, just pure, unbridled chaos for up to eight hours a day. Let's talk about it.

I arrived at the retreat center around 8 a.m., where I had the opportunity to meet two long-time Dojo veterans. As we chatted, I explained the peculiarity of my situation: I’d been living in Bali for less than two weeks and had only decided to join the retreat the night before. Their reactions were a mix of validation and mild concern. Wide eyed, they explained that it must be the island's infamous magic at work--to find myself at such an intense retreat like the Dojo so soon after arrival.

Once the other retreat members arrived, the facilitators laid out the structure of the retreat. Day one, they explained, was about laying the groundwork. We explored concepts like spiral dynamics (google it) and learned strategies for processing emotions and triggers. These lessons, they hinted, would be crucial for what they ominously described as "pulses" in the days ahead—sessions that would delve into themes like trauma, anger, playfulness, and sexuality. The provided schedule revealed that for the remainder of the week, we’d be participating in two four-hour "pulses" each day.

To this day, I find it difficult to define what a pulse is. At its core, it involves using spiral dynamics at a personal level to identify and explore emotions or memories tied to past traumas. Once a feeling is identified, the goal is to allow it to rise and release using psychosomatic methods (less talking, more moving). At this point, the release can often have a triggering effect on the other participants, allowing the cycle to continue as the energy in the room becomes chaotic and eruptive. Often, this process leads you to energetically regress to a specific age or even to the womb (we'll get back to this in part 3).

To simplify: imagine 20 people locked in a room—no rules, no talking—just triggers everywhere. The goal? Let them hit, let your body process, no resistance.

During our first pulse, the room descended into chaos. There was shrieking, crying, laughing, and uninhibited play. I found myself curled up in a fetal position next to the one other American girl. We exchanged bewildered glances as if to say: what the fuck did we just get outselves into? I can recall watching the behaviors of the retreat members and thinking that these people are pretty messed up--I definitely do not have trauma like this (spoiler alert: I was wrong).

Yes, it was as dramatic as it sounds—chaotic, overwhelming, scary, and above all, cathartic. As advertised, it was a transformative way to confront and heal my hidden wounds.

To learn more about my specific experiences in the pulses, head to Part 3.