THE MEDICINE BEHIND THE COLLECTION

Last winter, my life cracked open.

My separation split me at the seams — blindsided me, broke me, and forced me to become something new while still pregnant, still preparing for birth, still tending to a life already growing inside me and to my son.
The breaking happened fast, but the rebuilding took time.
And the freebirth wasn’t the breaking — it was the alchemy.
It was the first gold that flowed into the cracks.

This past year has been a slow and sacred repair.
A year of returning to my own body after a lifetime of endometriosis.
A year of becoming the strongest and fittest I’ve ever been — not through force, but through devotion.
A year of inner child work, outer adult work, and independence.
A year of becoming a steadier, clearer, quieter, louder, more balanced mother.
A year of creativity shifting shape, of medicine becoming fully embodied in a way I never could have predicted during my last shop update.

Through every rupture, I kept gathering threads —
rose, saffron, lime flower, nettle, shatavari, lavender —
and stitching myself back together with food, ritual, herbs, rest, and the ancestral memory of Jewish kitchens, women’s hands, and winter bowls of nourishment.

Some of these remedies began visiting me before the rupture.
The idea for my Scottish herbal ghee came to me in the bath the night before the break.
The Ashkenazi herbalism book fell into my hands days before.
The threads were already forming, even as I didn’t know what was coming.

Now, a year later, I feel like a different woman.
More mother.
More medicine woman.
More Baba With Moon.
More myself than I have ever been.

Not perfect — but in the mending.
Rewoven.
Gold-lit at every seam.

This collection is for that version of you, too:
the one who has cracked, or is cracking, or is quietly reassembling themself in the dark of winter.

I want you to feel held.
Nourished.
Seen in your own fractures.
Invited into deep rest, renewal, and the grace of becoming your next-self.

I’ve never feared aging — only doing it without nourishment.
And so this deep wintering collection is an offering for the liminal seasons of womanhood:
for mothers, for motherers, for those stepping into their elder years, for those transitioning through something profound.
The most important part of resilience is rest.
These medicines help us meet our aging selves — and our becoming selves — from a place of nourishment and resource.

This is my story of cracking open and becoming whole again.
And these remedies are the gold-threaded vessels that held me through it.