Healing Beyond the Binary: Inclusive Healing Spaces

This past weekend, I had the privilege of attending a women’s retreat - an immersive, soulful, and empowering experience designed to connect, awaken, and uplift. From the moment we arrived, the air was thick with intention: over 60 women gathered with open hearts, carrying stories and struggles and dreams, hoping to find clarity, community, and maybe even a little magic. And in many ways, we did.

There were workshops that stirred something deep inside me, activities that challenged and centered me, and people- so many beautiful people- who showed up fully and courageously. I witnessed women weep openly. I saw arms reach instinctively to comfort. I heard laughter ring out over campfires. The energy was generous, strong, vulnerable, and radiant. For the most part, it felt like a kind of homecoming to the self.

And yet, I left with a strange hesitation in the back of my mind - not because of anyone doing anything wrong or malicious, but because of the unspoken rules and subtle frameworks that still quietly divide us, even in spaces designed for healing.

I want to be clear: this post is not a takedown. This is a love letter wrapped in a challenge, and a journal entry where I’m organizing my thoughts and feelings. Because what I experienced was beautiful. And I believe it could be even more so.

The Beauty of the Retreat

Let’s start here - because it matters. This retreat was led by strong, intuitive, compassionate women. The facilitators held space with care. The environment felt safe, well-orchestrated, and intentional. There was laughter and movement, reflection and stillness. I felt both held and expanded. I’m deeply grateful for the people who made it happen and for the collective energy of those who showed up.

I was not alone in that appreciation. My best friend, Alex, came with me. Alex is a trans man. His presence there, much like mine, was rooted in a desire to grow, to reflect, to heal. And he did. We both did. We found so much value in the sessions we attended, the conversations we had, and the open-heartedness we encountered.

But as the weekend wore on, a pattern emerged - subtle, often well-meaning, but persistent. There were questions about Alex’s identity and presence in the space - all coming from a place of love. Why would someone who now identifies as a man choose to attend a women’s retreat? Isn’t this supposed to be a feminine space?

And in a separate but connected experience, I found myself being labeled as someone with “masculine energy.” I was told this lovingly - an attempt, I think, to name the strength, decisiveness, and clarity I often bring. But the word didn’t sit right. It still doesn’t.

It made me wonder: why are we still assigning human traits such as confidence, strength, or even assertiveness to masculinity? Why are gentleness, vulnerability, and intuition still seen as feminine? And most importantly, why are these spaces - spaces of healing, growth, and self-reclamation - still built upon those binaries?

A Question of Belonging

Let’s talk about Alex.

Alex is a man. He is also someone who grew up being socialized as a girl. He has lived through the world’s expectations, limitations, and projections of femininity. He knows what it is to be diminished, dismissed, underestimated, and targeted for simply existing in a body perceived as female. That history doesn’t disappear because he transitioned. It informs who he is, how he moves through the world, and why he might seek spaces like this one.

So when people questioned his presence - not out of hostility, but out of genuine curiosity - it revealed something we need to name: many women’s spaces still don’t quite know what to do with people who blur the lines. And yet, isn’t blurring the lines often what healing requires?

To ask why Alex would want to be there is, in some ways, to ask why anyone would want to heal. Why anyone would seek community and reflection and soul work. Why anyone would follow the pull toward a space that promises a deeper understanding of self. 

The answer is simple: because it’s human. Because it matters. Because there are things we all deserve access to.

Let’s Talk About “Masculine Energy”

Now let’s come back to this idea of me being labeled as having “masculine energy.” It’s not a new experience. I’ve been hearing it for most of my adult life - especially when I speak boldly, stand firm, or take the lead, and especially among women. The implication is always the same: strength, confidence, fearlessness… these are qualities we associate with men. With masculinity. With a certain kind of power.

But here’s the thing: I don’t feel masculine. I feel me.

I am strong and soft. I am confident and curious. I am grounded and wild. These traits don’t belong to one gender or another. They’re human. And they’re mine.

So when I’m told that my energy is “masculine,” it doesn’t feel like a compliment. It feels like a miscategorization. It feels like an attempt to reconcile my power with a familiar framework, one that still sees strength and leadership as somehow incompatible with femininity - or worse, incompatible with being a woman. 

And isn’t that the very paradigm we’re trying to dismantle?

Expectations, Pain, and Gender

One of the most impactful workshops I attended during the retreat focused on healing from deep emotional wounds - betrayal, loss, deception, heartbreak. The facilitator said something that stopped me in my tracks:

“Most pain, in the end, comes from an unmet expectation.“

It struck a chord I didn’t even know I needed to hear. As a survivor of sexual assault and abusive relationship, I’ve lived through immense pain - pain I once thought stemmed from being unworthy, unlovable, uncherishable. But hearing this idea reframed it.

The pain, at its core, came from having reasonable, deeply human expectations… that simply weren’t met.

I expected to be loved and valued by my partner.

I expected to be cherished.

I expected my body to be respected.

I expected kindness. Safety. Dignity.

And those expectations weren’t met - not because they were wrong or naive, but because the people I trusted simply didn’t show up as they should have. Still, for years, I turned that pain inward. I thought, “There must be something wrong with me. Something that makes me uncherishable.”

But that’s not the truth.

The truth is: my expectations were valid. The people I placed them on just weren’t capable - or willing - to meet them. That doesn’t make me unworthy. It just means I need to be more discerning about who I give that sacred trust to.

And now, taking that insight a step further - what if we apply this to the way we talk about gender?

Gender Expectation: The Painful Illusion 

We expect men to be logical, tough, stoic.

We expect women to be soft, intuitive, nurturing.

We expect those who identify in between to somehow pick a side or balance both perfectly.

And when people don’t meet those expectations - when they show up as emotional men, or assertive women, or nonbinary people with a spectrum of traits - we label them “too much,” “too little,” “confusing,” “threatening,” or “out of alignment.”

But maybe the pain and friction and confusion many of us feel about gender today… is not about identity at all. Maybe it’s about unmet expectations - expectations that were never fair or true to begin with.

The fact is: we are not born with a full set of traits assigned by our chromosomes. Most of what we associate with gender - how we dress, how we emote, how we lead or follow, even how we sit - is socialized. Conditioned. Inherited.

University courses, sociological studies, psychological research - they all show that these “traits” are not fixed or hardwired. They’re taught. Modeled. Repeated. Reinforced. And often, weaponized.

So what if we did away with expectations around gender?

What if we dropped the assumption that women should be one way, and men another? What if we created spaces where a person could show up however they are - and be accepted fully?

The workshop taught me something essential: pain often comes from our expectations being unmet. But sometimes, healing comes from letting go of the expectation itself.

The problem with Gendered Healing Spaces

This brings me to the heart of what I want to say.

The retreat I attended was extraordinary. And it was also, in some ways, unnecessarily gendered in my opinion. Not in overt or exclusionary ways, but in the language, the assumptions, the metaphors, and the frameworks that continue to define feminine as one thing, and masculine as another.

It’s understandable. We live in a world that has long relied on binary structures. Male/female. Strong/soft. Rational/emotional. We’ve been taught to organize ourselves this way for centuries. But these binaries no longer serve us. They limit us. They confine us to boxes we never agreed to enter in the first place.

If the goal of these retreats is to help people reconnect with themselves, to come home to their truths, then shouldn’t we be creating frameworks that allow everyone to show up fully? Not just those who identify as women. Not just those who express themselves in ways we categorize as feminine. Not just those who neatly fit into a gendered ideal of what healing is supposed to look like.

We need healing spaces that are human-centered.

A Vision for the Future

Imagine a retreat designed not for “women,” but for humans seeking wholeness.

Imagine a community built not on shared gender, but on shared values: openness, reflection, growth, courage.

Imagine language that doesn’t assign your confidence to masculinity or your gentleness to femininity, but honors them as essential, complementary parts of your humanness.

Imagine asking not, “What kind of energy do you bring?” but “What part of yourself are you trying to reclaim?”

That’s the kind of space I want to be a part of. That’s the kind of space I believe many of us are ready for.

An Invitation, Not a Critique

I hope this doesn’t come across as a criticism of the retreat I attended. It isn’t. It’s a love letter. A thank you. A hope. 

The people who created this space did something beautiful. They held something sacred. They changed lives - including mine. And of course, there’s room for what they’re doing - clearly.

We don’t need to get rid of women-centered spaces. There’s value in having communities where shared experiences can be named, understood, and healed. But I think we also need to begin asking harder questions: Who else is carrying these wounds? Who else needs this kind of healing? And what does it cost us when we build walls around something that could be a sanctuary?

To the Creators of Healing Spaces

If you are a facilitator, a retreat organizer, a space holder - this is my ask:

Look beyond gender.

Build from values.

Invite people in not based on what’s between their legs or how they identify, but on whether they are ready to do the work.

Use language that makes room for nuance.

Retire binaries.

Reimagine what “feminine” and “masculine” mean - or better yet, ask whether we still need those terms at all. 

To Those Who Feel Like Outliers

If you are someone who has ever felt too masculine for a women’s space, or too feminine for a men’s one… If you’ve been asked to explain your presence in a room you were drawn to for healing… If you’ve been mislabeled, misunderstood, or made to feel like you didn’t quite belong - this is for you, too.

You are not alone.

You are not wrong.

You are not a disruption.

You are the future of this work.

You are the evolution it’s asking for.

Final Thoughts

I am grateful for the weekend I just had. Truly. It reminded me of the power of community, the beauty of introspection, and the importance of holding space for others and myself. And it also reminded me of where we still have room to grow.

Let’s keep growing.

Let’s keep making inclusive healings spaces.

Let’s keep redefining what healing looks like - together.

Because healing isn’t feminine or masculine. It’s human. And we all need it.

Ⓒ June 2025. Beki Lantos. All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form by any means without prior written permission of the author.