This blog is dedicated to my mom and all the amazing moms around the world
My mom raised five children, mostly on her own. Five. And she did it with a kind of quiet strength that I did not fully understand until I became a mother myself.
She never went to high school. But she had a depth of knowledge about agriculture, animals, food, and the land that most people spend years in school trying to learn. She understood the earth. She understood how things grow. She understood how to feed a family, not just with food, but with intention.
Her love language was cooking. It always was. A warm meal was her way of saying I see you, I care for you, I am here. You always knew you were loved when you sat at her table.
When I made the decision to move to the United States, I broke her heart. I know that now in a way I could not fully feel then. She never asked me to stay. She never made it about her pain. She held it quietly, because she knew I would have a better life, and that was enough for her. That is the kind of love that is almost impossible to put into words.
The sacrifice she made in that moment, letting go of her child so that child could grow, is something I carry with me every single day.
The final missing piece of the idea that eventually became Fafabiotic did not come from a lab or a research paper. It came from my mom.
When my daughter had sensitive skin, my mom told me to put yogurt on it. Just like she had done for me as a child. That simple suggestion stopped me in my tracks. It connected everything: my background, my expertise, my passion, my desire to create something meaningful. The thread running through all of it was her ancient, instinctive knowledge of fermentation and how it supports the body. She was not thinking about skincare science. She was just being a mom, passing down what she knew. That is who she is.
I did not fully appreciate her until I became a mom myself. And now, watching my own teenager navigate life with that “I know everything” confidence, I finally understand what she felt. I understand the patience it takes. The love it takes. The letting go it takes.
To my mom: thank you. Thank you for raising us with everything you had. Thank you for letting me go when it cost you something. Thank you for the yogurt, and for everything it quietly became. I love you more than I ever said out loud, and I am still learning how to say it better.
To every mom reading this: the sacrifices you make, seen and unseen, are not invisible. They shape people. They shape futures. They shape companies, and ideas, and lives.
Happy Mother’s Day.
With care,
Farzaneh
