I grew up believing that women were not to be trusted. Mending began as a necessity: a way to unlearn a distrust I had inherited but never chose. Over several years, at home and in the places my travels have taken me, I photographed women in friendship, in blood, and in chosen sisterhood, paying attention to the quiet gestures of care between them. Like a thread pulled through cloth, this mending reaches in two directions: back toward the women of my lineage who carried this wound before me, and forward toward those who come after, so they may carry less of it.
