The gift I wish someone had given the women before me 💛

Hi there,

Mother's Day has always made me think about inheritance.

Not money. Not things. The invisible kind. What gets passed down through the women in a family. What they carried. What they swallowed. What they never got to become.

My grandmother on my father's side became a widow with five children and had to rebuild her life from scratch. She became a librarian. Not because it was her dream, but because it was possible. My mother's mother was a geography teacher. My mother, one of the most creative and intuitive people I have ever known, dropped out of her master's program when I was one year old and contributed to the household income because that's what was needed. Not because it was chosen. Because it was required.

The women before me didn't get to choose their paths. They got to survive them, and they did it with a grace I am still in awe of.

And then there was little Meha.

Who got the lead role anyway. Who danced on stage anyway. Who built a company anyway. Who is now raising a daughter and trying to show her she doesn't have to choose.

But here's what I didn't understand until recently: for a long time, I was repeating the pattern without knowing it. Society has a way of doing that, dimming you so slowly you don't notice the light going out. The message wasn't always explicit. Sometimes it was subtle. A redirect. A raised eyebrow. A "that's not a real career." And so I folded myself smaller. I checked the boxes. I became very good at living a life that looked right from the outside.

It took pen to paper, and then a million journals, and then a company, and then a daughter, to finally understand who I was actually fighting for.

Her name is Anaya. She is fourteen months old and she has never once questioned whether she belongs in a room.

Last month we were at a winery, the kind of place with dim lighting and serious winemakers doing serious things, and she walked right up to the winemaker who was in the middle of giving us a tour, arms out, completely magnetic, like she'd been invited specifically. She captures every room she enters. She is so entirely herself it takes my breath away.

I never want her to lose that.

And I think about every woman who did. Who was handed a path instead of a choice. Who was told, explicitly or not, that her light was a little too much. Who learned, over time, to make herself more manageable.

That's who I built Silk + Sonder for.

There's something I've noticed lately that moves me deeply.

When women experience the transformation Silk + Sonder has to offer themselves, they look at the people they love the most and want that for them too. Daughters are gifting this to their mothers. Mothers are gifting it to their daughters. Not just a listening ear. Not just a shoulder to lean on. The actual tool that changes things. One member wrote: "We sit and journal together, do daily rituals together. She loves sharing in this with me and I with her." Another said she started it for herself, then ordered a second for her teenage daughter.

That's what connection actually looks like. Handing someone the thing that changed you.

This Mother's Day, give her the gift that lasts.

Whether she's your mom, your daughter, your sister, your best friend, or whether you're finally ready to give it to yourself, get 20% off member favorites like:

The Starter Set— A beautiful, tangible introduction to the Silk + Sonder ritual. One journal, everything she needs to begin. → Get 20% off the Starter Set with code MOTHERSDAY

The Annual Membership — A full year of monthly journals, app access, and Sonder Club community. Give her a month to try it, or give her a year to transform. → Get 20% off the Annual Membership with code MOTHERSDAY

And if you've been on the fence about starting yourself, this is your sign. You don't have to wait for someone to give this to you. You are allowed to choose yourself too.

The women before me didn't always get that choice.

We do.

With so much love and sonder, 

As seen in - Business Insider | CBS | Forbes | Huffington Post