Dr Joe Dispenza Week-Long Retreat Review: Highlights, Challenges & What I Learned

In September 2026, I spent two weeks away.

The first was in Basel, where I attended Dr Joe Dispenza’s Progressive Retreat.

Then I flew to Copenhagen for the week-long retreat at the Bella Center.

I had followed Joe's work for many years.

I first encountered him through What the Bleep Do We Know? around 2006 or 2007 and began practising some of his meditations more regularly around 2014 or 2015.

But this was the first time I had immersed myself so deeply in the work.

And I went at an interesting moment in my life.

Why I went

My wife Michelle died in February 2025.

Earlier this year came the first anniversary of her death and then her birthday.

I scattered the remainder of her ashes around the land where we had lived together.

And underneath everything, I realised I was struggling.

I was sad.

Perhaps more depressed than I had allowed myself to acknowledge.

I had also been enormously busy.

Work.

The documentary.

Compassionate Leaders.

Clients.

Projects.

Sometimes busyness is useful.

And sometimes it stops us feeling what is underneath.

So I booked several retreats.

I needed some space.

The people were one of the greatest gifts

One of my favourite aspects of Copenhagen was simply the people.

There were around 3,500 participants.

And I met some extraordinary human beings.

Open.

Interested.

Heart-centred.

Curious.

The long breakfast and lunch breaks meant there was actually time to connect properly rather than continually rushing from one session to another.

I made friendships that have continued since returning home.

That feels particularly significant after Michelle’s death.

There is something healing about being around people with whom we share interests and values.

Since returning, I have even connected with a local walking meditation group.

Perhaps one of the lessons wasn't complicated at all:

I need community.

“I am healed”

During registration, cards were being handed out.

Each had a different message.

Mine said:

“I am healed.”

Initially I thought:

I don't particularly think I need healing.

Then the week unfolded.

And I realised there was still something around grief.

Something around connection.

Something spiritual.

As a child, after some of the trauma I experienced, including abuse by a priest, I became angry with God.

I pushed that dimension of life away.

And after Michelle died, I noticed a similar movement.

Closing.

Pushing away.

Protecting myself.

The retreat gave me enough stillness to notice that.

Feeling Michelle again

There were several moments during meditation when I sensed Michelle very strongly.

At one point, lying down, I felt as though she placed her hand on me.

During a coherence healing, I later put my hands over my own heart.

And I had this profound felt sense of her arms wrapping around me.

I cried.

A lot.

It was beautiful.

This was my experience.

After several years of intense work and then bereavement, I realised how much I had stopped allowing myself simply to be still enough to feel her.

The week reopened something.

The power of immersion

Another highlight was the immersive nature of the retreat.

I have some familiarity with this from my years living in a Buddhist monastery.

There, we would rise very early and meditate every morning.

At Copenhagen, the days were also long.

Some began around six in the morning and continued until eight or nine at night.

One day began at four in the morning.

Yet surprisingly, I found myself able to stay engaged.

We weren't simply sitting still all day.

There were seated meditations.

Lying-down practices.

Walking meditations.

Teaching.

Movement.

That variation helped me enter deeper states than I sometimes experience on more traditional silent retreats. 

Meditation and contemplative practice have been important parts of my own personal development and coaching journey for many years.

Learning is important to me

Anyone who has seen the number of books in my house probably knows this already.

I love studying.

I took pages and pages of notes.

The teachings around meditation, attention, the quantum field and different states of consciousness gave me plenty to reflect on.

And because the retreat was so immersive, I found that ideas I had heard before seemed to land at another level.

Not merely intellectually.

Experientially.

That distinction matters to me.

We can read about meditation for twenty years.

At some point we have to sit down and meditate.

And then came the shadow

The week wasn't entirely comfortable.

Being amongst 3,500 people brought things up.

I went alone.

I didn't know anybody initially.

And I noticed something familiar:

Do they like me?

Do I fit in?

Am I doing this correctly?

What will people think?

That was fascinating.

Because I recognised an old pattern.

It reminded me of boarding school.

I have written and spoken extensively about boarding school syndrome and how children can learn to adapt themselves to survive socially.

Fit in.

Don't stand out too much.

Monitor yourself.

Watch what everyone else is doing.

Don't expose vulnerability.

Years later, those strategies can still appear.

“Can I actually just be myself?”

This showed up particularly strongly during some of the walking meditations.

My body wanted to move.

Almost dance.

Part of me immediately began wondering:

Is that allowed?

Will people think I'm strange?

There was the old self-censorship.

Then later Joe mentioned that at more advanced retreats people may move and dance more freely.

I remember thinking:

Perhaps I wasn't doing it wrong after all.

But that wasn't really the important insight.

The important insight was:

Why was I so worried about doing it wrong?

That's useful psychological information.

Growth can be uncomfortable

One of the teachings that resonated was that change often feels uncomfortable.

I saw that directly.

Not because something bad was happening.

But because I was outside my normal environment.

My nervous system is used to my home.

My work.

Small groups.

Familiarity.

Since Michelle died, I've spent quite a lot of time alone.

Suddenly I was surrounded by thousands of people.

Of course something got activated.

And rather than seeing that discomfort as evidence that I shouldn't be there, I began becoming curious about it.

That is also something I explore regularly through An Evolving Man Podcast: how our present reactions can reveal patterns that were established much earlier in life.

I realised I had been depressed

This was perhaps one of the simplest but most important insights.

I realised:

I've actually been quite depressed.

Not catastrophically.

But noticeably.

I had been pushing.

Working.

Managing things.

Carrying responsibilities.

And beneath it:

I miss my wife.

I miss companionship.

I miss some of the joy we had together.

Once I acknowledged that, it made complete sense. 

Sometimes insight isn't discovering something extraordinarily complicated.

It is simply finally admitting what is already true.

Remembering joy

This may have been the deepest lesson of the whole experience.

Remember the joy.

There were moments during the retreats when one person began laughing during a meditation.

Then someone else laughed.

And suddenly laughter moved through the room.

It was wonderful.

Light.

Human.

Alive.

It reminded me of Michelle.

She was very good at silliness.

Putting on funny videos.

Tickling me.

Laughing.

Bringing lightness.

Somewhere amongst grief, work, healing and personal development, I had forgotten some of that.

Healing shouldn't become another job.

Gratitude has to be felt

I practise gratitude regularly.

But there is a difference between writing:

“I'm grateful for my house.”

and actually stopping to feel:

I love where I live.

There is a difference between thinking:

“I'm grateful for my friends.”

and allowing the heart to register:

I'm incredibly fortunate to have these people in my life.

The retreat reminded me of that distinction.

Gratitude as an idea is pleasant.

Gratitude as a felt experience is different.

Stop postponing happiness

Another insight was seeing how easily we postpone joy.

When I finish this project...

When I earn that amount...

When I heal...

When the business reaches that level...

Then I'll relax.

Then I'll enjoy myself.

Then I'll be happy.

But perhaps we have the order backwards.

What if joy isn't merely the reward at the end?

What if joy is part of how we travel?

That is something I want to bring much more consciously into my work and life.

Coming back to the present

The final major lesson was presence.

This wasn't new.

Buddhism has taught me this for decades.

But sometimes an old teaching arrives in a new way.

During meditations I would suddenly notice:

Thinking about work.

Thinking about Compassionate Leaders.

Thinking about a conversation I needed to have.

Planning.

Solving.

And then:

Come back.

Again.

And again.

And again.

My Buddhist teacher once used the analogy of a small child learning to walk.

They fall.

We don't scream at them.

We gently help them back up.

Meditation is similar.

The mind wanders.

Come back.

No judgement.

Come back.

What did I bring home?

I came home with several things.

A renewed sense of spiritual connection.

New friendships.

A deeper understanding of some old wounds around fitting in.

A recognition of my grief and depression.

And three words:

Gratitude.

Joy.

Presence.

My intention is to attend another retreat.

But perhaps the real measure of an experience like this isn't what happens inside the retreat centre.

It is what happens afterwards.

Can I live differently?

Can I become less self-conscious?

Can I allow more joy?

Can I stop occasionally?

Can I appreciate what I already have?

Can I keep returning to the present moment?

That feels like the practice now.

Watch my full Joe Dispenza retreat reflection

You can also explore more conversations on healing, meditation, spirituality and personal growth through An Evolving Man Podcast.