The Silence That Gave Me My Voice Back
The sun filtered gently through the glass doors of the Fairmont Pacific Rim, like a spring morning finally showing up to apologize for the long winter. It was my first breath of sunlight after months dragged out under grey skies, dry skin, and an endless wait for clear blue overhead.
That day, I dropped Caetano — now almost one — at daycare so I could, for the first time in what felt like forever (a time that sometimes seems endless and, at others, too brief), simply be me for a few hours. Without guilt. Only care.
Normally, I’d leave the house with plenty of time to soak up the warmth of the sun on my skin as I walked down Burrard St., silently amused at the thought of everyone stuck in traffic while I strolled toward my favorite spa (at least for now). I’d walk down the hill admiring the mountains — still dusted with snow at the peaks this time of year — still in awe of this city even after six years of calling it home. I’d sip a coffee from Giovanni, perfectly brewed and silky, before heading up to the fifth floor, arriving with my now-Canadian punctuality: 15 minutes early.
But not this time.
Caetano needed to be dropped off later than planned — because, among many other lessons, motherhood has taught me that making plans is a cosmic inside joke. I hit traffic on the Lions Gate Bridge both ways (as expected), which irritates me just as much as it mesmerizes with that breathtaking view. I texted my husband to wait at the door so we could swap: he’d hop in the car, and I’d head off to the hotel.
No morning walk under the sun. No silent smugness. No poetic mountain views. No coffee. But I got there. Took the elevator up to the fifth floor and, as quickly as I rushed to the spa reception, I was gently slowed down by the receptionist. She sensed my frantic energy, softened her tone and pace, called me by my first name like she didn’t need to look it up, and handed me a cup of tea that tasted like it had been brewed by someone who understood my emotional state.
The spa at the Fairmont Pacific Rim is always calm, but never dull. Every detail is designed to engage your senses: towels and robes that caress your skin, scents that balance citrus, herbal, and woody notes in perfect harmony, playlists tailored to your intention (relaxation or renewal), elegant little bites, and a structure that goes far beyond a massage — think saunas, sensory showers, and magnesium-rich jacuzzis with mountain views.
Whether you’re a spa veteran or a blissful first-timer, the staff at Willowstream are always gentle and informative. They walk you through what to expect, how to get the most out of your visit, and make everyone feel welcome — not just in the space, but in that whole world.
In the women’s locker room, you get a designated locker with a robe and slippers (and yes, they have sizes for those of us whose feet stopped growing at age twelve). The facilities are so complete — with showers, fully stocked hygiene stations, and a vanity area with Dyson tools, brushes, flat irons, and curling wands — that all you really need to bring is your swimsuit to enjoy the common spa areas.
After changing, I walked to the waiting area and met my therapist, Taylor. She called me by name, looked me in the eyes, and asked how I was — like she truly wanted to know, no matter how short or, more likely in my case, long-winded the answer might be. She led me to a spacious treatment room softly lit by indirect light, offered me a choice of scents and playlists, explained how to settle in, and gave me a few moments alone.
And in that brief silence, taking in every intentional detail of the room, I closed my eyes and, for the first time in months, felt genuinely seen and cared for.
The massage followed the same rhythm of care. Every touch felt deliberate, like part of a silent ballet of movements and pressure — guiding each exhale back to its natural, unhurried pace.
Being immersed in so much attentiveness — both in grand gestures and subtle details — did more than relax me. It reawakened me. And there, lying on one of the outdoor loungers, letting the sun warm my legs still tired from months of cold, flipping through a few local magazines, I realized how much inspiration was still alive inside me.
As much as my head was telling me to stay and enjoy every second of this rare solo day, my heart wanted something else: to put it all into words.
So as a small tribute to that spark, I dedicate this first review to a place that, from my first to my fourth visit, has given me everything — and more.
Because sometimes the greatest healing isn’t rest.
It’s the spark that reignites.