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When my taxi rolled up to Aleenta Phuket Phang Nga Resort & Spa, a luxurious beach hideaway north of Phuket—and far from Thailand's overcrowded beach towns like Patong—I was a shell of a human, on the verge of burnout. My body was teetering toward a full system shutdown; my gut was a mess. My under-eye bags could double as carry-ons.
The night before, I’d been in Bangkok stuffing my face with chef Gaggan Anand’s voluptuous swimmer crab curry at Ms. Maria & Mr. Singh. The indulgence had led to a bizarre dream where a genie-like figure asked me, “Have you ever been in love before?”
“I have not,” I replied.
“You were 1,000 years ago, and you will be again soon,” it said.
I woke up drenched in sweat, my hotel bed a metaphysical hot seat. What did it mean?
It was a wild send-off, followed by a quick AirAsia flight to Phuket, where I would dive into Aleenta’s seven-night Cleanse Life program—something I’d signed myself up for a few months prior as a way to kick off the new year. After my dream, I hoped and wished that whatever this “cleanse” entailed, with all of its promised blood tests, wellness assessments, and chakra analysis, I’d have a quick fix and be on my merry way.
On arrival, the verdict laid down by Aleenta staff was swift: My physical health was fine, except for the ten pounds I needed to lose, based on BMI. I chuckled, noting that my job as a food journalist is an occupational hazard.
But my chakras? A disaster.
“Your heart is cold, and your root chakra is flighty,” Kanchalika Meesuk, the resort’s resident master healer and holistic doctor (with an alternative medicine license) informed me. My heart chakra was blocked, which was translated to mean that I feel unworthy of love. Unsure of whether or not I bought into the entire premise, I had to admit that it tracked: I have a huge fear of intimacy and closeness in relationships. “Honestly, a health issue would be easier to fix than doing real work on yourself,” Meesuk said. In retrospect, I agree.
At that moment, sitting in the stark, white medical room inside the resort, ugly tears poured down my face—prompting Meesuk to give me a motherly hug. My prescription for the next week was to find balance: “Until you love yourself, you can’t love anyone else,” she said. The words stung. I was eerily eminded of the genie in my dream. Maybe it had a point—the plot twist was that I'd be my own love interest.
I unpacked at my grand deluxe pool villa, or as I later called it, my “wellness box.” Was it a coincidence that my room number matched my birthday? Completely private, with walls surrounding the room and a plunge pool steps from my bed, it seemed like the ideal spot for a retreat—or a breakdown.
Every day followed the same rhythm. Each morning began with a soft 6:15 a.m. knock at my door for kombucha and citrus-infused water. Still half-asleep, and inevitably naked, I’d scramble for my velvet fringe cover-up pretending I'd already been up and at 'em. Later, I'd realize that these deliveries came to be one of my favorite parts of the routine—though in real-time they were seriously annoying. After a 7:00 a.m. beach workout under the tropical sun, we usually moved on to breathing or meditation sessions, and then lunch. I ate exclusively from a custom menu that featured dishes like lotus root curry and cauliflower “pizza.” There was no booze.
In the evenings, I’d collapse into an oversized bean bag by the sea in the sand like Gumby, staring up at the sky. Here I was, forced to sit with my thoughts, my frustrations… and my cold heart.
By day three, the strict routine of meals sandwiched by meditation and breath-work sessions, training classes, and spa time was slightly driving me nuts. My routine was as free-flowing as a Swiss train schedule, and in the always-on-schedule rotation of ginger tea, veggie-centric meals, and beach walks, there was no escape from myself. I wrote in my journal: “It’s like Groundhog Day here, but I’m the only thing that changes.” I can't tell if I believed the latter part, or simply hoped it were true.
After my daily session with Khun Ken, a healer and massage therapist with the calmest energy and magic hands, I’d robotically shuffle back to my villa and journal my frustrations while sipping more tea. The sessions, an effort to try and unblock my heart chakra, consisted of targeted massages to help open the heart center and move stagnant energy. Yet, for the first couple of days, Khun Ken would gently announce at the end of our session that he was so sorry, but that no progress was made.
By day five, I’d had enough of the routine. I was intentionally late to my massage to shake things up, but the universe remained unbothered. How does one get annoyed by too many massages? By being a flighty Cancer crab, that’s how. I even faked my period to try and shorten a massage. Spoiler alert: It didn’t work; Ken opted for an even lengthier facial treatment and upper body massage to make up for it.
Communication with the outside world was allowed, but I felt the pull disconnect. It would help me give myself the attention I needed, I though. I didn’t get on my phone much, but I did text a close girlfriend trying to explain that I was going stir crazy with routine. My friend had zero sympathy from afar, especially after I explained that part of this grounding retreat on a white sand beach in Southern Thailand included a one-hour massage every day. I felt increasingly unhinged, looking for ways to break free from the routine—so much so, that I barely noticed the glow my skin had taken on, or the fact that I felt lighter—physically, but also emotionally.
Coincidentally my trip fell over Valentine's Day, which hit me harder than I could have expected. Khun Ken was off, and I was a wreck. I picked up the phone and texted my Italian ex, apologizing, with tears rolling down my face, for having been so wishy washy. Watching couples at the resort be lovey-dovey while I ate cauliflower “pizza” for dinner, accompanied by the property's soundtrack of cheesy 90s love songs, wasn’t exactly my idea of a celebration. But the next day, I had new material to bring to my sessions. “Do you ever get angry?” I asked Khun Ken. “Sometimes I hug a tree to let it all out,” he replied, so earnestly that I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or find a tree to hug myself.
Though I was guided to follow my diet regiment, Iwas able to break free one night for dinner at Seasons, the fine-dining restaurant on property with an all-vegan menu. I was overly excited. Out came an artfully plated har gao—which, here, meant steamed dumplings infused with spirulina and local tofu, and served with sea grapes and coconut cider vinegar dip. The eight-course meal was seductive, and I enjoyed every bite. Somehow, the next day’s routine felt a little less restrictive.
On my final day, I sat on the beach, watching the waves roll in. My heart was lighter, my thoughts quieter. Despite the food plans and massages, the real cleanse wasn’t the one detoxing my body—it was, instead, shedding enough of my thick skin to realize that I was, in fact, the problem. If I didn’t start caring for myself, my cold heart would remain just that. I wasn’t cured, but I was closer than I’d ever been.