The Journey Here
The Retreat Strength Gym isn’t just another fitness space—it’s the result of over twenty years of experience across the fitness, wellness, and post-clinical industries.

Through this journey, we’ve thoughtfully gathered the most effective elements from each domain: the autonomy and accessibility of open gyms, the focused attention of personal training, the holistic perspectives of clinical rehabilitation, and the individualized teaching style of Montessori education.

Every aspect of The Retreat is intentional, blending these approaches into something unique. We’ve built a collective brain here—a think tank where diverse expertise in movement, wellness, and rehabilitation combines to create an experience that’s bigger than any single workout or plan.

Built For You
The Retreat was made for people who never quite felt at home in typical gyms.

Whether you’re unsure what to do with the equipment, don’t fit the typical “gym person” mold, or need help trusting your body to move safely—this space was created for you.

Our members care about feeling confident and capable, building a better relationship with their bodies, and protecting their most valuable resource: time.

They’re not trying to become fitness influencers or competitive athletes—they just want to live their real lives better, to do more of what they love with the people they care about.

We know the gym is often third, fifth, or even lower on the list of life’s priorities. Self-care often falls into the same category. Our programming, coaching, and accountability are designed to meet you where you are—and take you where you want to go.

A Space That Works
We stripped away the usual gym distractions and built a space that’s both engaging and beautiful.

The design is rooted in principles that support those with traumatic histories—but it naturally helps anyone who walks through our doors take a deep breath and relax.

Beautiful, but purposeful. Welcoming, but not overwhelming.

At The Retreat, coaching goes deeper than physical movement. It’s about understanding where each person is—mentally and physically—every time they come in.

Everything here has a purpose: from the equipment we choose, to the art on the walls, to the way you move through the space.

The gym itself is part of the experience—designed to support your practice, your progress, and your well-being.

There was no single moment that set me on this path. Coaching has always been what I was doing, even before I had a name for it. It’s where I naturally leaned. What made sense.

I’ve been doing this work for a long time—long enough to know that learning doesn’t come all at once. It comes in moments. Some clear. Some confusing. Often quiet.

You learn by getting it wrong, then trying again. You learn by listening—really listening—to the people you serve. You learn from mentors who see something in you before you see it in yourself. And if you’re paying attention, you learn from the people you coach just as much as they learn from you. Maybe more.

What’s kept me here, all these years, is something small—and powerful. It’s the moment someone begins to trust themselves a little more than they did just a moment before. You can see it in their breath, their eyes, the way they carry themselves. That shift can’t be undone. And it stays with them.

I’ve been in this field for over two decades. I didn’t follow a conventional academic route. I learned by doing—by immersing myself in the work, by seeking out teachers worth listening to, by saying yes to experiences that reshaped how I understood movement, recovery, and growth.

I’ve worked with people in pain—physical and emotional. With those navigating injuries, chronic conditions, and the quieter challenges that can change how a person moves through the world. That work taught me to value clarity, consistency, and care in every part of coaching.

In 2020, I started The Retreat. I wanted to test an idea: that the space itself matters. That a gym can feel just as supportive and intentional as the programming and the coaching. That a thoughtfully designed environment can help people feel calm, safe, and ready to step into themselves a little more fully.

We opened during uncertain times. But we’ve continued, steadily and deliberately.

This work has always drawn me toward people who carry real obstacles—those who’ve had to work harder just to feel like they belong in a space like this. They don’t need fixing. They’re not trying to reinvent themselves. They just want to live a little better, move with more confidence, and spend more time doing what they love with the people who matter.

That’s what I care about. That’s what I’m here for. And that’s what this place was built to support.

My path in mental health began in 2011, working with young females in a behavioral health facility. There, I witnessed how movement-based interventions could reach people struggling with trauma when words couldn’t. This led me to work with eating disorder patients, where I saw the devastating way these illnesses could transform movement and exercise from a source of joy into a weapon of self-harm.

Walking alongside these individuals, I observed how eating disorders could manipulate one’s relationship with movement – sometimes making it a form of punishment, other times making it seem so overwhelming that people wouldn’t try at all. While I haven’t experienced an eating disorder diagnosis, I’ve faced my own struggles with disordered eating and using exercise as compensation. These experiences gave me a unique perspective on both the destructive and healing potential of movement.

Everything changed in 2018 when I competed in my first strongwoman competition. Instead of focusing on what my body looked like or what it should do, I began to marvel at what it could accomplish when treated with kindness. I found myself thinking, “Look at all the cool, powerful things my body can do when I am kind to it.”

This revelation drives my work today. I’ve witnessed movement’s transformative power both personally and professionally – not as mere exercise, but as a pathway to mental wellness and healing. This is why I believe movement isn’t just physical activity – it’s life-changing medicine for both body and mind.