Built by Women

A love letter to the women who made me, the crew who surround me, and the generations we’re building for next. From the mother who taught me to speak boldly.

Happy Early Mother’s Day!

With Mother’s Day on the horizon, I’ve found myself reflecting deeply on the remarkable women who’ve shaped my life. I consider it one of my greatest privileges to have grown up surrounded by such powerful, nurturing, and fiercely supportive female role models. Their presence wasn’t just comforting, it was transformational. This has all been top of mind lately as we begin assembling the New York unit for our upcoming shoot. It’s been such a joy building a female-led crew alongside Leorah—collaborating with women who bring not only immense talent, but also deep care and camaraderie to the process. It’s reminded me just how powerful it is to create in spaces where women are trusted, heard, and empowered.

Because the truth is, being a woman isn’t simple. It’s not passive. To exist as a woman is to move through a world that often demands we compete with one another, that we shrink to make space, that we mistake comparison for connection. From the beginning of time, societal expectations and gender roles have worked overtime to make womanhood feel like a battleground. Misogyny (both external and internalized) is seeded early, urging us to doubt, diminish, and divide. But something is shifting. A new generation is stepping forward—Millennials, Gen Z, and beyond—trying to reclaim the narrative and rewrite the script. Terms like “girl’s girl” aren’t just cute labels anymore; they’re declarations of solidarity worn like badges of honor.

Still, even as I proudly embrace this evolving landscape of sisterhood in my twenties, I remain keenly aware of how easily old patterns creep in. Internalized misogyny doesn’t vanish overnight, and even the most self-assured among us aren’t immune. But lately, I’ve realized how fortunate I am to have never fallen into that trap myself. And I think a lot of that has to do with how Elizabeth Hand raised me.

I grew up in a household where women weren’t seen as threats—they were celebrated. My mom, Elizabeth Hand, and the group of strong, hilarious, brilliant women I affectionately call “my other moms,” were my blueprint. Watching them uplift one another, laugh with abandon, debate with fire, and support each other through every storm taught me the true meaning of feminine strength. These women weren’t perfect, but they were powerful. And they were never taught to dim each other’s light—only to make more room for it to shine.

Through their example, I learned that you cannot truly empower others without first being rooted in your own sense of self. The cliché rings true: you can’t love anyone else until you’ve learned to love yourself—and that goes far beyond romance. My mother’s friendships taught me that sisterhood is a superpower, that to have strong women by your side is to be truly rich. What made these friendships even more extraordinary was the fact that these women led vastly different lives. Some were career-driven, others chose to stay home and raise families; some were artists, others were educators, world travelers, caretakers, entrepreneurs. Their interests, personalities, and paths didn’t always align—but that never diluted their loyalty or admiration for one another. There was no competition, only celebration. They were secure enough in their own identities to cheer for each other’s wins and provide refuge during losses. Watching them honor each other’s differences so openly helped me understand that unity doesn’t require uniformity. In fact, it’s our differences that make sisterhood richer, more dynamic, and more necessary. That lesson has stayed with me in every room I’ve entered: as a collaborator, a friend, and a woman carving out a place for herself in the world.

Of all the women who shaped me, my mother remains the most formative influence. Not only through how she lived, but in how deliberately she raised me to be braver, sharper, and more self-possessed than society often encourages girls to be. She never asked me to shrink myself to be more palatable, never taught me that silence was safer than honesty. Instead, she encouraged curiosity, boldness, and critical thinking. She made it known that intelligence was something to celebrate, not temper—and that ambition was a strength, not a liability. From the time I was young, she treated my voice as if it already carried weight, reinforcing a belief that would become central to how I navigate my creative life, my career, and my relationships.

That foundation has shaped every corner of my identity. And especially as a woman working in the male-dominated world of film and television. My mother’s legacy lives not just in how she raised me, but in the standard she set: that empathy is a form of power, that true leadership is collaborative, and that claiming space is not an act of arrogance but of courage. Looking back on her example—and on the community of extraordinary women who helped raise me—I understand that their strength wasn’t just in their accomplishments, but in their unwavering presence for one another. Because of them, I walk into every room with the unshakable knowledge that my voice has value. That I’m at my best when I’m helping others recognize the value of theirs.

As I prepare to welcome my first niece into the world, I feel an even greater sense of purpose. I hope to be for her what my mother and her circle were for me: a source of encouragement, a reminder of her worth, and a mirror that reflects just how limitless she can be. If I can help lay even a fraction of the foundation my mother built for me, then she too will grow up knowing that womanhood is not a burden, but a birthright—and sisterhood, the greatest gift of all.