I began losing my mother when I was seven, long before she died. I knew she loved me deeply. The trauma she lived through in her own childhood made it hard for her, and some of what she never got to process grew heavier over time. By the time I was 22, both of my parents were gone. Nobody handed me a map for that kind of loss, so I did what so many women do. I stayed busy, I stayed strong, and I kept going because life didn’t stop.
What I learned, slowly and personally, is that grief doesn’t wait forever. It returns, gently or loudly, until it is finally witnessed. And when it finally was, I learned the truth that now sits at the center of everything I do.
“Those wounds are always healable.”
My mom’s love taught me what a mother’s presence means. Losing her taught me what its absence does. My mission is to help you believe your wounds are healable too, and to give you the training, the tools, and the steady company that healing asks for.