To the mothers who were our first homes.
it wasn't just your hands that raised me. it was your silence. your staying. you were bone. wild root. floral-hearted. rough-soled. and you loved in a way you had to first learn to offer yourself. you carried your mother’s silence, and I carry the sound of your trying sometimes the most honest mothering we do is admit that we’re still learning how- still figuring out how to loosen the knot that cannot be pulled one end without tightening the other.
Generational healing doesn’t happen in one lifetime; we are not here to complete the journey alone, but we can become a vital wingbeat in that long, invisible migration home—each of us carrying a piece of the return, lightened by forgiveness, guided by love, sincere in our trying.


Beautiful words. Beautiful truth. Beautiful photos.
Happy Mother’s Day 🌺🪻
Happy Mother's Day to one of my favorite light-bringers. May this and every day be a reflection of the love you steadily share.