I went looking for the village and found it scattered everywhere.
After my son was born, everyone wanted to know how he was doing.
Very few people knew how to ask about me.
I had grown him for 37 weeks, delivered him by C-section, watched him be taken to the NICU, and then came home expected to care for a newborn while healing from major abdominal surgery. I was grateful that my baby was home. I was also grieving, exhausted, physically unfamiliar to myself, and completely blindsided by how hard motherhood felt.
I kept waiting for someone to explain what was happening.
What had pregnancy and birth actually done to my body? Why did I feel so disconnected from myself? How was I supposed to rebuild my core and pelvic floor safely? What was normal after a C-section? Why did gratitude and grief live inside me at the same time? And where was I supposed to go when I desperately needed support but did not want to leave my baby behind?
So I searched.
I found pieces of what I needed in different places. A new mom class offered community, but we sat on the floor in an uncomfortable room and left before many of those relationships could truly deepen. A lactation consultant made me feel understood. An app finally explained the layers of my C-section recovery in a way that moved me to tears. Conversations with other breastfeeding mothers gave me morale. Therapy helped me name the identity loss. Wellness spaces offered moments of peace, but they were not designed for me to arrive with a baby. Traditional gyms made motherhood feel like an obstacle. Baby spaces were centered almost entirely on the child.
Everywhere I looked, I found one piece.
But I could not find one place that held all of them.
There was no beautiful, welcoming space where I could learn about my changing body, rebuild safely, feed my baby, preserve a nap, move at my own pace, receive restorative care, and sit beside women who understood this season without needing a long explanation.
And I kept thinking: Why should an already exhausted mother have to become the project manager of her own recovery?
Remember Her is the place I could not find.
It is being created to bring community, education, recovery, rest, movement, nourishment, and trusted support together under one roof with mothers at the center and babies genuinely welcome.
A place where you can take a class or simply stay awhile. Where you can meet mothers whose babies are in the same stage as yours. Where the seating supports a healing body, the lighting softens your nervous system, and the smallest details quietly tell you, someone thought about me too.
Remember Her is for the mother who loves her baby deeply and still misses herself.
For the mother who is grateful and grieving.
Who wants closeness and needs space.
Who wants to feel stronger without being rushed to “bounce back.”
Who does not need another person telling her to enjoy every moment. She needs somewhere she can be honest about all of them.
I am building Remember Her in Orange County, but I am not building it from my experience alone. Every survey response, interview, conversation, and founding waitlist member is helping shape what this community becomes.
Because this should not be my version of what mothers need.
It should be ours.
If you have ever wondered where the support for the mother went after the baby arrived, you already belong in this story.
Welcome to Remember Her.
— Jade Moore, Founder
Mother, hospitality professional, and woman building the village she needed herself
