Take a break before you break.
Burnout. Quiet quitting. The sense something's wrong but you can't name it. This isn't how it's meant to feel.
Tell Us Your StoryNot all toxicity is obvious. Sometimes it's the quiet erosion of boundaries, the creeping sense that work has swallowed everything else. The notifications that follow you home, the mental tab that never closes, the way your body holds tension you didn't know you were carrying.
It's the forgetting that you used to have hobbies, used to sit without scrolling, used to feel present in conversations. The way "just checking email" turns into an hour of reactive motion, pulled in directions you didn't choose.
It's efficient, they say. It's connection. It's opportunity. Until the body starts saying no.
Until we forget what deep rest feels like.
This isn't a wellness hack or a productivity system. It's not about optimizing your relationship with technology or finding better work-life balance.
It's about remembering what it feels like to be fully here. To have thoughts that aren't interrupted, conversations that aren't competing with screens, sleep that isn't negotiated with anxiety.
Come to the mountains. A return to rhythm, to land, to what matters.
A glimpse into the stillness we're creating
We're building the first retreat now. Join the list to stay in touch.
Join Waitlist Share Your StoryI've been chasing gold stars since before I could name them.
Straight A's, early promotions, the next level, the next achievement. Technology was supposed to make it all easier, more efficient, more connected. Instead, it made everything urgent and nothing restful.
I found myself checking emails at 11 PM, scrolling through work Slack on Sundays, feeling guilty for not responding immediately to messages that weren't emergencies. The gold stars kept coming, but I had forgotten how to celebrate them.
The retreat that changed my life didn't have WiFi. For three days, I remembered what it felt like to be bored, to have a complete thought, to sleep without my phone charging next to my head. I remembered who I was before I became what I accomplished.
This is for everyone who's forgotten, too.