A Story Only a Mother Could Write

There are moments in motherhood so quiet, so fleeting, that they might go unnoticed—unless you're a mother. The soft brushing of tangled morning hair. The way a small hand instinctively reaches for yours in a crowd. The sparkle of defiance in a daughter’s eyes that is, somehow, also yours. These are the stories only a mother could tell, and they’re the threads I sew into everything I create.

Before I became a mother, I was already a designer. But I didn’t truly understand why I made clothes and jewelry until I had children. Creating was always a way to make beauty out of chaos, to give form to the formless. But it wasn’t until I looked into the eyes of my daughters—my muses—that I realized: I wasn’t just making fashion. I was stitching together pieces of my own healing.

Each collection I’ve designed since becoming a mother has been a conversation—with my past, with my hopes, and with my girls. The softness of a fabric, the way a dress moves, the deliberate clasp of a necklace—these choices are no longer just aesthetic. They’re emotional. They’re part of the story of becoming someone who is strong and soft. Someone who is still learning how to be whole, through the act of loving others completely.

My children remind me daily of how important it is to stay curious, to play, to feel. They inspire me to create pieces that aren’t just beautiful, but alive—filled with meaning, intention, and memory. They challenge me to slow down, to listen, to reinvent. And in those reinventions, I find myself healing.

There are designs I’ve made while listening to lullabies. Others, while wiping away tears—mine or theirs. And then there are those made in stillness, when everyone is finally asleep, and I return to my sketchbook not just as a designer, but as a woman rebuilding the pieces of her own story.

Motherhood is not a break from art. It is art. Raw. Emotional. Chaotic. Transformative.

So this one is for them—my daughters. My forever muses. You are the reason I dream in color, work with my hands, and pour love into every hem, clasp, and fold. Thank you for inspiring me to be better. Not just as a mother. But as an artist.