Wellness Retreat in Scotland: A Corporate Girlie’s Escape from Burnout

I’ve always been a corporate girlie and proudly so. I live for work: the pace, the pressure, the dopamine hit of a project landing well. But after one of the most intense and rewarding years of my career, I realised something I’d avoided admitting out loud: I was done. Not tired, but exhausted. 

I’d cancelled two holidays already this year, telling myself “next time,” but I’d run out of next times. I didn’t need a getaway. I needed a reset.

My first instinct was Bali or Southeast Asia; a glossy “find yourself” montage. Except I’m a nervous flyer, and backpacking has never been my thing. I like comfy bathrobes. I like fine dining. I like goose feather pillows.

So I looked closer to home. A weekend in Rome costs the same as a month in an English cottage (don’t ask me to explain the math or logic), and for a moment I considered the Cotswolds. But it was too photogenic. I’d be distracted, more influencer than introspective. I needed stillness, not aesthetics.

So I did what I’ve always done when I needed grounding: I headed north. 

Back to Scotland.

My Arrival

My little Scottish cottage felt like an exhale made of stone and soft light. Log burner. Dragonfly curtains. Mismatched mugs. A big wooden desk waiting for thoughts I’d been too busy to write. And a bathtub deep enough to stay in forever.

My favourite part of each day quickly became the mornings. I’d wake early, move my body gently, shower, then settle into the conservatory with a coffee and breakfast, looking out across miles of farmland. No deadlines. No Slack notifications. Just the quiet of an empty day.

Walks became a ritual too. I’d spend an hour or so wandering through fields where deer grazed freely and hares darted across my path. It felt like nature had decided I was part of the neighbourhood now.

Slow Days, Small Adventures

Of course, I didn’t spend every day tucked away in my cottage like a Victorian poet. Part of the joy of Scotland is that it has a way of nudging you outside. So I sprinkled my slow days with little adventures.

One morning I drove to Culzean Castle, a National Trust showpiece on the Ayrshire cliffs, all turrets, drama and ocean mist. It has American ties too: the top floor was gifted to General Eisenhower after WWII. That part of the castle is not open to daily visitors, but it is a hotel you can stay in now. Just imagine waking up to those clifftop views.

Another day took me to Bladnoch Distillery, one of the few remaining Lowland (or “Border”) distilleries. Over 200 years old, with whisky tied deeply to the land and community, it felt like a place where craftsmanship truly lives. Border whisky is light, floral, and dangerously smooth. The sort you sip politely and then suddenly wonder how you’re on your third glass.

And of course there were the castle ruins - endless, atmospheric, dramatic under grey skies. Scotland hands you history the way some people hand you mints. “You’d like another? Here’s eight more.”

These excursions were lovely, but they weren’t the main attraction. They were breathers between the real point of my trip: writing.

Making Space to Create

My novel had been living only in the margins of my life; half-scribbled paragraphs, notes written between meetings, ideas saved for “when things calm down.” In Scotland, they finally had room.

Most days followed a gentle rhythm:
write → walk → reflect → repeat.

Some days the words flowed. Other days I stared at the wall and questioned everything. The writer’s journey. 

I journaled too and deleted TikTok to protect my peace (iykyk). The quiet worked on me from the inside out. The countryside has a way of doing that.

The Cost of Free Time

My brother summed it up perfectly on the phone one evening. He said, “Isn’t it funny? You paid to have free time.”

He wasn’t wrong. Free time has become a luxury, something we have to carve out financially and schedule like any other appointment. I’m deeply aware of how privileged I am to step away from work, even briefly. So I didn’t take a moment of it for granted.

What’s funny is that before the trip, I felt guilty for even considering taking that much time off. As if rest was some irresponsible indulgence. As if the “sensible” thing would have been to keep working, keep producing, keep doing. But being here made the truth embarrassingly obvious: rest is just as important as work. Maybe more so.

For the first time in years, I didn’t collapse into rest. I chose it.
And that felt revolutionary for me.

What Scotland Gave Me

When my month came to a close, I didn’t leave with grand revelations. I left with something better: clarity. A quieter mind. A heart that wasn’t racing at the speed of my inbox. I could hear myself again.

And returning felt poetic. I lived in Scotland from 2019 to 2022, during one of the biggest shifts of my life. This country changed everything for me - my career, my confidence, my sense of home. It’s because of Scotland that I fell in love with country living. Because of Scotland that I learned to be braver, and why I’m the multifaceted producer I am today.

Coming back now, when I needed grounding, felt like closing a loop, as if the place that once rerouted my life was gently course-correcting me again.

Scotland didn’t fix me.
It reminded me I didn’t need fixing. It reminded me that rest is a right, not a reward, and that time spent thinking, breathing, or simply existing - is not time wasted.

And whenever life picks up its pace (because it will), I’ll think back to those quiet mornings in the conservatory, coffee in hand, watching deer cross the fields like it was the most ordinary thing in the world.

A reminder that stillness is always available, if we choose it.