Some of my earliest memories are stitched in fabric.
I grew up wearing handmade clothes because my mom is a maker at heart. She didn’t sew out of obligation — she sewed because she loved to create. Bringing ideas to life with her hands filled her with joy.
Some of her first markets featured embroidered jean shirts — pieces stitched with detail, personality, and care. I remember seeing how much pride she took in them. Creating wasn’t just something she did; it was part of who she was.
And I grew up inside that world of imagination and possibility.
My mom is the most creative person I know.
She doesn’t just see what something is — she sees what it could become. A piece of fabric becomes a garment. An idea becomes something tangible. Watching her create taught me that making isn’t just about skill — it’s about vision.
She has always been my biggest cheerleader. The first to believe I could. The first to say, “Try it.” The first to remind me that what I carry matters.
But more than that, she is one of my best friends.
If I could make a TV show with one person, it would be her. We would laugh too much, dream too big, and turn ideas into something meaningful — because that’s what she does. She brings life to whatever she touches.
Her faith has grounded me in ways I didn’t fully understand growing up. It taught me steadiness. It taught me trust in process. It taught me that creativity and calling can live in the same space — that making something with your hands can also be an act of purpose.
When I create today — when I choose to slow down, honour the materials, and design with intention — I know where that foundation came from.
