I started moving before I could read - ballet at four, then yoga, Krav Maga, Tai Chi, and dance studies at Cal State Long Beach. But it was Pilates that pulled me back in for good, after the birth of my son. My body and mind changed in ways I never imagined, and somewhere in that first year I felt called to return to movement. I was struggling with postpartum, a fractured tailbone, and grief from the death of my father. I turned to Pilates and found healing, not just physically but mentally. I met my body in its new place and began to understand that I could take what I was learning and share it with others on their own journeys. I realized I wanted to be a resource for people when they felt lost at sea.
I trained formally through Balanced Body’s Comprehensive Teacher Training program in San Francisco, and I’m certified in pre- and postnatal training through Girls Gone Strong. I’ve kept studying since - anatomy, somatic education, rehab-aligned technique - because bodies keep teaching me things I didn’t know to ask about.
Some of my clients have been with me for years now, through pregnancies, injuries, moves, whole seasons of life changing around them. That kind of longevity isn’t something you can plan for. It comes from paying attention, session after session, and letting the practice change shape as they do.
I think that’s because of how I was taught to listen, long before I ever taught anyone else. At thirteen, I played cello at a music camp in the redwoods of Northern California, and I still remember the feeling of Brahms resonating out through the trees - small and entirely rooted, both at once. I’ve felt that same thing on the Mediterranean coast in Israel, wind moving through me like it carried something older than I could account for. Those moments taught me what presence actually feels like in a body, and it’s what I’m listening for in every session I teach.
I wear my mother’s chai around my neck every day, the way she did before me - the Hebrew letter for life. One day I’ll pass it to my own daughter. It’s a small, constant reminder that bodies carry history, and they deserve to be met with care, not corrected into shape.
Imma is Hebrew for mother. Qi means balance. That’s where the name comes from - and it’s the thread running through every session: presence, attention, and the belief that your body already knows more than it’s usually given credit for.
Meet Honu, the resident studio dog. He’s usually curled up nearby during sessions - a calm, steady presence while you work. If you’re a dog person, don’t be surprised if he says hello.