Early motherhood cracked something open in me. Not in a poetic, awakened kind of way—a crying on the bathroom floor, rage-in-your-throat kind of way. My identity shifted before I even realized it was happening, and I didn’t have language for the loss I felt. No one around me did either.

When the baby fog lifted, I looked around and saw nothing familiar. No clear sense of self. No community. No career. No time that belonged to me.

I started creating space for women not as a business strategy but as survival. And what I found was…magic. Not dramatic or flashy, but sacred in its simplicity: a room full of women who understood each other because they were living it too.

That space became a sanctuary. And eventually, it became a calling.

I’ve outgrown the baby stage, but I haven’t outgrown the need. I still need that space where it’s safe to take the mask off. Where we don’t have to explain ourselves. Where we can be soft, powerful, messy, and whole.

I hold these gatherings for the women who need that space. And I hold them for me, too. Because when we show up together, we remember we were never meant to do this alone.