Maybe some of you know how after I gave birth to Lilly and June, I cracked. 

 

In a million billion pieces- and how those two little girls stitched me back together sideways. Upside-down. Differently. In a way- recreated me. Maybe into this limitless person I was always destined to become?

 

But what became so loud and clear after holding them and realizing how rare and fragile they truly were, was me. I remembered the little me. It was like I had forgotten, shoved it all away.

I remembered how I grew up in the streets. How I felt hunger and pain in my little body. How I turned invisible when I was locked away in the homes of strangers and abusers. People that were supposed to take care of me. I remembered how I cried and prayed every, single, night, for someone to come and see me. To save me. 

 

That's when I start to think about all the little kids that’ll never have these bows in their hair- because I’m sad to tell you- they too are hidden in dark dirty rooms all around us. Turned invisible.

What happens to them?

 

And so here I am now, I’ve squished together my obsession of finding the perfect bow or dress to memorize Lilly and June in, my perspective of creating a different story, my curiosity of prints and smells, my belief that you can be anything, anything you want, and above all my conviction to make a difference. A real difference. 

 

And so you see? I was always destined for this. To create this when they stitched me up again.

 

Lilly and June clothing.

Meticulously picked, premium quality, clothing with a mission. 

To make the invisible, visible. 

Because I mattered.

Because mattering matters. 

Because every child matters. 

 

“This is a symptom of women who break the chains”