✦ The full story
I'm just a woman who never stopped writing.
This is the part where I tell you everything. Who I am, where I came from, why I started Little Light House, and why I’m writing to you every single month — no matter what.
Photo coming
Where it all began
The little girl with the notebook.
I don’t remember a version of myself that didn’t write. As a little girl, I was entering poem competitions at the library — putting words to feelings I barely had language for yet. I kept diaries. I kept journals. Writing was never a hobby for me. It was how I made sense of the world.
For years I wrote for other people — other voices, other brands, other stories that were never quite mine. I was good at it. But something always felt missing. Because when you pour your words into someone else’s vision, you never quite get to say what you actually mean.
Loud, bold, and then — quiet.
Before I was a mom, I was loud. Bold. The kind of woman who walked into a room and filled it. And then life happened, beautifully and chaotically, all at once.
Motherhood does something nobody warns you about. It makes you the person who holds everyone else together — the appointments, the school runs, the meals, the feelings, the entire invisible architecture of a family’s life — while quietly sidelining your own. You become so good at showing up for everyone else that one day you look up and realise you haven’t shown up for yourself in a very long time.
I didn’t have a friend to call when that happened. Not because I didn’t have people around me — but because some things feel too heavy to hand to the people already in your life. You don’t want to be a burden. You don’t want to be judged. You don’t want something private becoming someone else’s conversation. So you carry it quietly, and you keep going, and you hope the feeling passes.
It doesn’t always pass. Sometimes it just needs somewhere to go.
I’ve since learned this isn’t only a mother’s feeling. It’s a parent whose grown kids have their own full lives now. A grandparent whose house got quiet when no one was looking. A friend who used to talk for hours and now trades a “we should catch up soon” every few months. Different rooms, same quiet ache — and it’s why this letter is written for whoever needed to hear it today, not just for someone living my exact life.
The turning point
I built the thing I was missing.
Little Light House started as a simple, honest idea — what if I showed up for someone the way I wished someone had shown up for me? Not as a therapist. Not as a life coach. Just as a friend. The kind who writes to you. Who remembers you exist. Who shows up in your mailbox on the 1st of every month and says — hey. I’m here. How are you really doing?
I wanted to create something to look forward to. Something that was mine. Something my girls could one day point to and say — she never gave up on herself. And something that quietly said to every person who opened that envelope — you are not forgotten.
I need this just as much as you do.
Writing these letters fills something in me that nothing else quite reaches. Every month I sit down, and I think about you — whoever you are, whatever you’re carrying — and I write. And in doing that, I find my way back to myself a little. The loud, bold, optimistic woman who believed she could build something that mattered. She’s still here. Little Light House is proof of that.
So when you open that envelope, know this — you’re not just receiving something. You’re giving something too. Every person who is part of this community holds a little light up for me, the same way I’m trying to hold one up for them.
That’s what Little Light House really is. Not a subscription. Not a brand. A friendship that goes both ways.
Every month I sit down and I write to you. About the season, what it feels like from where I’m standing, what’s on my mind. No filter. No script. Just me, showing up the way I always wished someone would show up for me.
I want to be your friend. I want to root for you — with no judgement and nothing in return. I love you.
— Sophia 🤍
Your first envelope ships August 1st. Founding member spots are limited.