My story

My story doesn’t begin with retreats. It begins with a remembering.

I come from a lineage where knowledge was never a solitary pursuit. We learned at the hearth. We grew through story, through shared labor, through the unspoken curriculum of community. Wisdom was a thread passed hand to hand, woven into the fabric of “us.”

But the world I worked in had become one of silos. Of one-on-one sessions held in digital boxes. Of profound, yet isolated, transformation.

I saw the power in those sessions—please, do not misunderstand me. The sacred, focused alchemy between a guide and a seeker is real. But I felt a longing for something my ancestors would recognize: the collective heartbeat of communal learning.

I had spent years running youth camps—over 20 weekends of chaos, connection, and outdoor games. I saw firsthand how bonds formed in shared experience could shift a young person’s trajectory. But the traditional “camp” format—the dirt, the forced cheer, the regimented activities—never quite fit my spirit. I craved depth, not just fun. Intimacy, not just proximity. A space that felt like a sanctuary, not a playground.

I wanted clean lines. Nourishing food. A beautiful, held environment where the only “challenge” was the inner work, not the outer conditions. I wanted to remove every distraction—the laundry, the notifications, the to-do lists—so the only thing left to attend to was the soul.

So, I created a new container. A retreat.

Not as a replacement for the sacred one-on-one, but as its vital counterpart. A space where your clients could step out of the isolation of their daily lives and into a circle of witnesses. Where they could learn as much from the person sitting next to them as from the guide at the front. Where support became tangible, and healing became communal.

For the past eleven years, I have carefully crafted and held space for over 20 of these weekend sanctuaries. I’ve witnessed shy strangers become sacred mirrors for one another. I’ve seen insights land with triple the force because they were nodded into truth by the whole group. I’ve learned that when you remove the noise of the world and design for depth, people don’t just learn—they remember how to belong.

This is the call I now answer: to help guides like you build not just an event, but a temporary village. A sacred interlude where the medicine of community is the main curriculum, and your unique gift is the flame around which everyone gathers.