Quiet Strength: A Reflection on My Uncle, and What Retreat Can Mean
Quiet Strength: A Reflection on My Uncle, and What Retreat Can Mean
I went to my uncle’s funeral.
I wrote this on January 31st at 3:33pm — a day after he passed away (a night, really). And I keep coming back to one simple truth:
What I loved about my uncle was his quiet strength.
He never needed the front seat or the hot seat. He didn’t reach for attention. He chose what mattered: being a family man, an incredible professor, and a steady presence.
The way he loved my aunt was something to witness — traditional, devoted, protective in the best way. He believed in coupling with intention… in taking the time to build real security inside a family.
They went for walks together almost every day — especially in retirement — and their love was a felt experience. Solid. Consistent. Real.
His children are some of the most gifted people I know, and he created the kind of home where they could become fully themselves. I’m in awe of my family — they were a mirror of what’s possible. My parents looked to them when they came to this country. And my mom is truly blessed to have a sister so brilliant and gifted.
He never missed wishing me a happy birthday. His love was the definition of appropriate — steady, clear, and present. This week has been a beautiful time to reflect on what his love felt like.
It felt secure.
He survived cancer for over nine years, and I believe love was a major part of how he did it.
I dedicate this week to his spirit and the energy he shared — the definition of love in action.
Thank you for being who you are.
May you rest in peace.
When someone asks, “When is your next retreat?”
After the funeral, I met his daughter. She said, “I want to come visit — when is the next retreat?”
And I paused.
Because I don’t host retreats in the traditional sense.
But I also understand what she meant.
Sometimes “retreat” isn’t a scheduled event. It’s a moment in life when your system knows it’s time to step away from the noise — and come back to yourself.
And in that way… the place is a retreat.
It’s a choose-your-own-adventure kind of healing.
You can come for classes. You can do deeper somatic work. You can walk around Town Lake and let your thoughts settle into your body. You can jump in Barton Springs and let the water reset your nervous system. You can come visit me in Salado.
There’s no rigid itinerary you have to follow to be “doing it right.”
There’s just an invitation: to slow down enough to feel what’s true.
The kind of help I offer
I’m self-led — and I help people do the deeper work that allows the body to do a deeper resetting.
Not by forcing transformation.
But by creating the conditions where transformation becomes possible:
Safety in the body
Space to grieve, breathe, and feel
Simple rituals that bring you back to center
Practices that help the nervous system unwind
Because so much of healing is not about “fixing.”
It’s about remembering.
Remembering what steadiness feels like.
Remembering what secure love feels like.
Remembering that the body knows how to come home — when we stop rushing it.
Love in action
My uncle’s life was a lesson in love as a practice.
Not love as performance.
Love as consistency.
Love as devotion.
Love as protection.
Love as presence.
And maybe that’s what I’m honoring right now — in my own way.
By creating spaces where people can step out of survival mode.
By offering a place that feels like a retreat, even without the label.
By living the question: what would it look like to build a life that feels secure?
May his quiet strength continue to ripple through our family.
And may we each find the kind of love that helps us live — fully, steadily, and true.