My Nanna Christine was born into an already determined line of strong women — strength forged not through privilege but through survival. My great-nan was the first matriarch I knew, a mother of ten; my Nanna was her eldest daughter, second of all those children. Whether by birth order, by something innate, or by some blend of both — she became a true mother in every sense of the word.

Despite the hardships, the traumas, the suffering both inward and outward that threaded through her life from her earliest years until she passed — her heart never wavered. Her strength, her generosity, her maternal love held constant. For this, and for the immeasurable hand she held in raising me, she was my love and my foundation.

My Nanna is the reason I want to work with women across every season of their lives. For the young woman newly stepping into the world — finding her voice, claiming her independence, learning early to build the boundaries that will carry her safely through the decades ahead. For the mother — who gives everything of herself, always, and somehow more still — to be witnessed as both the fierce protector and the tender, open-hearted woman that motherhood asks her to be. And for the elder — she who has moved through generations of change and challenge and hard-won wisdom — it is among my deepest values to witness her, to lift her up, to admire her fiercely. For she carries something that cannot be taught, only lived: a tenderness and a knowing that arrive only through decades of navigating life, loss, and the quiet mothering of so many souls along the way