My mother was the first story I ever carried.

I remember the day she died. But no one remembers the day she was born.

I’ve spent a lifetime finding the words to hold her story, and mine. So I choose one day each year to honor her.

At thirteen, I heard Oprah’s story in a church service. The pastor looked at me and said,

“Your dream keeps you going, even when everything around you seems not working.”

That moment lit something in me and that day, I started to believe that a story could change someone’s life.

Now, I hold space for others to find what lit them, and to carry it forward.

This space was born out of that ache and that honoring.

It’s for anyone who’s lost a version of themselves, or someone they loved.

This is for the ones in the middle of transition.

For those rebuilding.

For anyone who needs to hear: you are not alone.

It’s for anyone standing between who they were… and who they’re becoming.