Cascada Spa, Portland - Oregon: For the First Time in a Long Time, I Didn't Want to Hide My Body

Cascada Spa and Thermal Springs

For the First Time in a Long Time, I Didn't Want to Hide My Body

I’ve spent most of my adult life trying to shrink into spaces that weren’t built for women like me — not just physically, but emotionally. I’ve stood in dressing rooms avoiding mirrors. I’ve untagged photos. I’ve chosen the towel instead of the pool. And I’ve told myself, silently and constantly, maybe when I lose the weight, I’ll deserve it.

But something changed the day I walked into Cascada, Portland’s subterranean thermal spa tucked under the Alberta Arts District. I didn’t come there looking for transformation. I came because I was tired. Because my back hurt. Because I was 40 and starting to realize that loving your body isn’t something you earn — it’s something you decide to begin. And I needed a beginning.

If you know the neighborhood, you know it’s not pristine — and that’s what I love about it. It’s textured. Full of murals, indie bookstores, vintage shops, global food carts, and community spaces that feel lived in. The kind of place where you don’t need to look a certain way to belong — you just need to show up. Which is what I did.

Jason and I checked into the Loft Suite, and everything about it felt like an invitation to let go — of tension, of performing, of comparison. Arched windows, soft textures, a bed that felt like exhale. Even the pillows were a revelation. Cascada Spa is not the kind of place that whispers, “You should look different.” It’s the kind that says, “You’re allowed to rest.”

They gave us wristbands at check-in — sleek and simple — that served as keys to our locker, suite, café tab. No need to fumble, no need to carry. Just ease.

We started our session in The Sanctuary, Cascada’s underground thermal circuit. For \$100, you get three hours to move through cycles of heat, cold, and stillness. That’s it. But it’s everything.

We began in the dry sauna, where I sat awkwardly in my robe at first, tugging the hem a little too much, aware of every inch of me that wasn’t tiny or toned. But soon the heat softened that voice. Then came the cold plunge, which Jason crushed — three minutes total, one full submersion. I dipped in slowly, gasping and laughing and clenching, but I did it. And I didn’t look around to check if anyone was judging. Because I was proud of myself.

From there we moved through the full cycle:

Ambient pool (82°F, surrounded by a 25-foot living wall)Steam room, herbal and humid, where my skin felt both cleansed and held.

Ice fountain, where I rubbed shavings onto my arms and let myself giggle.

The mineral pool, rich and buoyant, where I could just float and not hold anything in.

And the newly opened Secret Garden, where moss, basalt stone, and firelight reminded me what grounding actually feels like.

Each round pulled me deeper into my body — not in judgment, but in presence. And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like I had to hide. I didn’t need to look like a fitness influencer to deserve this experience. I just needed to show up.

We rested in the Observatory, a softly lit, greenhouse-like space centered around an ambient pool. The ceilings arched like a cathedral. Plants climbed the walls. The water was 82°F — just enough to hold you, not shock you. Around us, people were journaling, reading, even meditating. It wasn’t performative wellness — just people returning to quiet.

We didn’t book a spa service this time — though I’m already eyeing their massage, body scrub, and mineral soaks — but we did stop for an almond milk latte from their Alberta Coffee bar. We sat near other guests: some in towels, some in robes, all different ages and bodies and energies. No one was hiding.

Cascada also offers live music, sound baths, breathwork, yoga, mobility and strength classes, and honestly, I felt like I’d stumbled into a version of wellness that didn’t center flat stomachs or gym metrics — just care.

Later that night, we floated up to Terra Mae for dinner — which, as you know by now, was its own form of healing. We felt fed in every sense of the word.

I’m not saying a three-hour spa changed everything. But I am saying: it started something. And for any woman like me — who has ever walked into a space and wondered if you were “too much” or “not enough” — this place holds a different kind of mirror. One that reflects back a version of you who deserves to be cared for. Right now. As you are.