I didn’t want to go back.

Not because the street had changed—Adelaide is still Adelaide, still loud in that specific Toronto way that makes you feel like you’re late, but you're not even sure what for. 

I didn’t want to go back because I had changed.

Before Trove was Trove, that space at 426 Adelaide St W was Hoame—a gorgeous meditation + mindfulness studio that existed before the world really knew it needed places like that. I honestly can’t remember how I first found it, but I do remember how it changed me. It was one block from our Evio office—which made it easy to go daily… sometimes even multiple times a day, like I was sneaking out for oxygen between meetings amidst the unsettling hustle of ‘girl boss’ era

Hoame held my nervous system the way a friend holds your hand when you’re trying not to cry in public. It didn’t ask me to be productive. It didn’t try to fix me. It just gave me a place to feel my own pulse again.

This address holds so many memories for me. It’s where I convinced my now-husband to meditate for the first time a few weeks into dating. I can still picture him—trying so hard to be chill about it while also looking like someone had dared him to do something deeply suspicious. You know that look. The one that says, I’m here because I love you, but I do not understand what we’re doing.

Years later, he admits he didn’t really get my obsession back then—but that first class became a quiet turning point—a door cracked open. Now he has a daily practice, and he’s had some of his most unforgettable spiritual moments in places like the sacred hills of Peru and the onsen of Japan—moments that all trace back to that first time he agreed to sit still with himself.

It’s funny how often transformation starts as something we’re only doing for someone else.

Hoame was also where I bonded with my best friend—mostly in silence. We’d lie beside each other in a silent savasana, and when we finally opened our eyes, we’d catch each other’s soft, relaxed smiles. No conversation needed. Just that look that said: we’re good. And then we’d step into the day feeling grounded—like we’d remembered who we were before the world got a hold of us.

And the salt cave.

That was my sacred place. My calm place. The place I went to disappear from the noise of the city and the constant pressure of scaling a company during an era where burnout was glorified and rest was something you earned after you hit a milestone that kept moving.

I’d go in there and feel my shoulders drop before I even sat down. Like my body had been waiting for permission.

If you’ve ever been a person who’s “fine,” but your skin is telling on you—tight, reactive, dull in that way that isn’t about products… it’s about cortisol—you know what I mean. You can do all the steps. You can drink the water. You can buy the fancy thing. But if your nervous system is screaming, your face will eventually join.

That salt cave didn’t solve my life. But it gave me space to stop bracing for it.

When Covid hit and Hoame closed, I was genuinely devastated. I held those memories close: the breakthroughs, the internal meltdowns, the quiet returns to myself. The city didn’t just lose a studio. It lost a checkpoint. A reset button. A place where you could go when you didn’t have the words yet, but you knew you needed relief.

So when I heard something new was opening in that same space—Trove—I’ll be honest: I was skeptical.

I couldn’t imagine anything living up to what Hoame had been for me.

But Trove proved to be exactly what I needed in this stage of my calm, and growth journey.

The first time I walked in, I was braced. I didn’t want to be disappointed. I didn’t want to be the person who compares everything new to a version of the past that only exists because I’m looking at it through the soft filter of nostalgia.

And then I saw it—the salt cave. Still there. Untouched in its physical form and in its calming energetic pull.

But the rest of the space? Completely transformed… intentional. Like someone took “calm” and gave it walls, light, texture. Like the whole place was built around one question:

What would it feel like to stop performing wellness, and actually practice it?

Here’s what I noticed most—what Trove did that felt different for me:

It didn’t demand that I arrive as the most evolved version of myself.

It felt built for the person who’s trying. The one who can intellectually explain nervous system regulation but still catches themselves holding their breath while answering emails—like I’ve been lately. 

I didn’t come to Trove because I was doing amazing or because I was falling apart. 

I came because I could feel myself slipping into that familiar state where everything becomes urgent and nothing feels satisfying—and like I was losing myself along the way. 

The thing about stress is it lies.

It tells you that if you slow down, you’ll fall behind. It tells you that rest is irresponsible. It tells you that you can’t afford to be calm until the work is done—when the work is literally never done.

So I tried something new (which is actually how The Calm Club was brought to life in the first place). I treated calm like a requirement, not a reward.

I booked time like I would for a meeting. I showed up like it mattered. And I let myself be held by the rituals—heat, cold, breath, stillness, silence. Not as a luxury, but as maintenance. The way you maintain your car. The way you charge your phone. The way you keep anything alive.

There’s a moment I keep thinking about. I was lying down—quiet, warm, eyes closed—and I could feel my mind reaching for its usual loops. The to-do list. The future. The conversation I should’ve handled differently. The email I was avoiding.

And then I felt it: that tiny internal flinch.

The one that happens right before we abandon ourselves. That flinch is familiar to me. It’s the same flinch that makes you check your phone when you’re lonely. It’s the flinch that makes you say yes when you mean no. It’s the flinch that keeps your face tense even when you’re “relaxing.”

And instead of following it, I did something small. I stayed. I put one hand on my chest, one on my stomach, and I took three slow breaths—like I was trying to convince my body that I wasn’t being chased.

That was it.

Not a breakthrough. Not a big cinematic healing moment. Just… staying still in the dimly lit, and beautifully designed meditation room at Trove. That’s what The Calm Club is really about. Not the aesthetic of calm. Not the performance of being calm.

It’s about catching yourself in the moment you’re about to leave your own body—and choosing to come back—and putting the tools in place to help you when you need it. 

So if you’re reading this and you’re in that season where you’re holding a lot—work, family, pressure, ambition, grief, change—here’s what I want to offer you, the way I’d offer it to a friend:

You don’t need to overhaul your entire life to feel better. You need a few honest interruptions. A place. A ritual. A moment that tells your nervous system: we’re safe enough to soften. Maybe Trove becomes that place for you.

And if your skin has been feeling like it’s carrying the weight with you—tight, reactive, tired-looking in a way sleep doesn’t fix—Evio can be your tool to help you get to calm.

A simple cleanse like you’re washing the day off, not scrubbing yourself into worthiness. An oil serum like you’re sealing in safety, not chasing perfection. The calm you practice on the inside shows up on the outside. Not as a glow-up. As relief. As presence. As a face that looks like it’s not bracing anymore. Trove & Evio can be tools to help, if you need it. 

I walked into Trove expecting to mourn Hoame all over again. Instead, I found a new chapter. Not the same story. But the same truth underneath it:

There is always a way back to yourself. Even on Adelaide. Even in a busy season. Even when your life is full. Especially then.

Brandi - xx
Founder