A Haven for Black Motherless Daughters
In 2015, my mom, Deborah, passed away. And if I’m being real with you, it shattered me. Not just in the way that loss shakes your world, but in the way that makes you question who you even are without the person who loved you first, knew you best, and held space for you without condition.
My mom was my person. She brought so much love, laughter, and warmth into my life that even now, I can still feel it in the spaces she once filled. She wasn’t just my mother—she was my greatest friend, my softest place, my compass in a world that can be so damn unkind to Black women. And let me tell you, I have never had a better friend in my life.
After she passed, I did what so many of us do—I stepped into her shoes. Without even thinking, I became the glue of the family, the one holding everything (and everyone) together. I hosted the holiday dinners. I showed up for everybody. I smiled when I was supposed to. And behind closed doors, I cried alone.
I grieved in silence because that’s what we’ve been taught to do, right? Keep moving. Stay strong. Be the rock. Another layer of that Black Superwoman Schema wrapping itself around me like armor I didn’t ask for.
But my mother didn’t raise me to be her—she raised me to be Jamila. And I had to unlearn the idea that honoring her meant becoming her. Because the greatest lesson she left me wasn’t how to serve—it was how to live, fully and unapologetically.
This Space Was Created for You
If you’ve ever looked in the mirror and seen your mother’s face staring back at you… If you’ve ever laughed and heard her voice in your own… If you’ve ever ached for just one more hug, one more conversation, one more moment where she called your name—Hunni, you are in the right place.
Grief doesn’t just show up in the big moments—it sneaks in when you least expect it. The empty space next to you at brunch. The number in your phone you still can’t delete. The scent that stops you mid-step because, for a second, you could swear she was there. Here, we hold those moments together.
That’s the Story of Love is not about trauma—it’s about legacy. It’s about keeping the bond, the joy, the wisdom alive in a way that allows us to move forward without leaving them behind.
It’s for the daughter who still reaches for the phone before remembering there’s no one to answer. It’s for the woman who struggles during the holidays, because nothing feels the same. It’s for the one who still hears her mother’s laughter in her own. And it’s for the one who wonders if anyone will ever love her in that way again.
Here, we honor the love that shaped us while making space for our own joy.
What You’ll Find Inside
- Quarterly Sacred Solace Healing Circles – Where we hold space for one another,
share stories, and remind each other that grief is not meant to be carried alone. - Monthly Letters to Mom Journal Prompts – Guided reflections to keep the connection
alive and give voice to the things we still long to say. - Legacy Reflection Prompts – A way to explore the wisdom, joy, and resilience she
passed down to you. - Our Stories of Love Member Spotlights – A chance to share your journey and
celebrate your mother’s legacy with a community that truly understands. - Exclusive Event Perks – First access and special pricing for retreats and gatherings
created just for us.
Because Their Love Never Leaves Us
She wasn’t just your mother—she was your first safe space, your biggest champion, your person. The one who gave you ‘the look’ in a crowded room and you knew exactly what it meant. The one who made your favorite plate even when she was exhausted. The one who left you with lessons you didn’t even realize you were learning until now. That love didn’t leave with her, Hunni. It still moves through you. And here, we honor that love, not just the loss.
You don’t have to grieve in silence. You don’t have to wonder if anyone else feels what you feel. You don’t have to carry this love—and this loss—alone. That’s the Story of Love is your space to remember, to honor, to hold and be held. It’s a place where your mother’s love still speaks. And it’s a place for you. Come in, Hunni. You belong here.
