Last month, I joined my best friend on his annual birthday tradition, something he’s turned into a ritual of self-reflection and grounding. Every year, he celebrates his birthday by stepping away from everything and resetting in solitude. This year, he extended the invitation, and we made our way to Puerto Rico.
Now, I’ve been to Puerto Rico many times. Normally, it’s sun, music, beaches, nightlife, the whole vibe. But this trip was different. This time, we were deep in El Yunque, surrounded by rainforest, in a house tucked far away from the world.
The quiet hit immediately. Yes, there was WiFi, but we collectively agreed to detach. No phones constantly in our hands. No scrolling. No checking email like our lives depended on it.
We cooked together most days. One night, we brought in a chef. Mornings began with meditation as the sun rose through the trees. Yoga sessions pushed our bodies while reminding our minds to slow down.
We had long, honest conversations about life, fear, purpose, love, and the future. We talked about who we’ve been and who we want to become. It was healing in the most unforced way.
And somewhere between the sound of rainfall, laughter in the kitchen, intentional stillness, and family, I realized: more Black men need this. More Black men need to silence the noise.
We’re constantly absorbing pressure. Whether it’s from society, work, family expectations, or simply the demand to “keep pushing,” there is rarely a moment when Black men are allowed to just be.
Even when we travel, it often becomes performance; trips centered around flexing, nightlife, constant stimulation, and proving that we’re “living life.” But what if part of living life is learning how to pause?
Right now, we’re living in a time where every headline feels heavy. Violence, political chaos, uncertainty, the rising cost of living, it’s nonstop.
Add to that the everyday hustle of just surviving, and for many of us, also being entrepreneurs, leaders, creatives, and caregivers. A lot of us are trying to start businesses. Others are fighting to keep theirs alive. Some are grinding to scale what they’ve already built. Either way, the pressure doesn’t let up.
And that’s exactly why a wellness retreat matters.
Black men deserve softness. We deserve rest. We deserve intentional quiet. We deserve spaces where healing doesn’t feel foreign. Nature has a way of reminding you that you are human, not a machine. The air hits different. Your body releases tension you didn’t even know you were carrying.
Your spirit resets. Your thoughts slow down. Suddenly, you can hear yourself again.
Wellness retreats don’t mean luxury spas with white robes and cucumber water, although that’s great too. Sometimes it simply looks like:
A house surrounded by nature.
Phones on Do Not Disturb.
Deep, grounding breaths.
Movement that feels like care, not punishment.
Conversations that aren’t rooted in bravado, ego, or survival.
Black men also need safe spaces with other Black men where vulnerability isn’t judged. Too often, we only gather for celebration or survival. We don’t gather enough for restoration. Sitting in a circle talking about fears, doubts, dreams, mental health, heartbreak, and purpose shouldn’t feel radical, but for many of us, it still does.
Retreats remind us that we’re not alone.
They remind us that peace is not something reserved for other people. That joy doesn’t always require noise. That slowing down doesn’t make you weak; it makes you sustainable.
And the truth is: wellness shouldn’t be reactive. It shouldn’t only come after burnout, panic attacks, health scares, or emotional collapse. It should be planned, prioritized, and valued the same way we value success.
To the Black men reading this: you deserve to unplug. You deserve to hear your own breath. You deserve mornings where your only responsibility is pouring into yourself. You deserve community that feels like healing instead of pressure.
Plan that retreat. Book that cabin. Sit by the ocean. Go to the mountains. Find a space where nature is the soundtrack and peace is the agenda.
Take time out.
Unplug.
Come back to yourself.
Because the world is going to keep demanding more of you, and you don’t have to keep giving from an empty place.
