About

Doris is named after my mother.

I have one photograph of her. She is wearing her Air Force uniform. She was seventeen and a half years old when she joined. Still a kid, really. She left the East Coast and moved across the country to Nevada and then California. I look at that photo often and wonder what she felt in that moment. Was she scared. Was she proud. Did she feel alone. Did she believe she was becoming someone new.

I will never know.

Over her life, my mother became many things. She was a service member. A mother of two. An auto mechanic. College graduate. A chef. A community leader. She was the person people leaned on. She taught my niece and me how to be independent, how to take risks, how to create something for ourselves. Long before I ever thought of building a company, she taught me how to think like an entrepreneur.

But what’s missing is her inner life.

I don’t know what music she listened to when she needed strength. I don’t know who she talked to late at night when no one else was around. I don’t know how it felt to carry responsibility so young, or how she changed as the years passed.

All of that disappeared when she did.

That loss is why Doris exists.

Today, our lives are quietly recording themselves. Our heart rate changes when we are anxious, in love, or afraid. Our music follows us through grief and joy. Our messages reveal who mattered. Our calendars show the weight of appointments we never talk about. The signals of a life are already there.

But they are scattered. Forgotten. Lost inside apps that were never meant to remember us.

Doris brings those signals together and turns them into something human. A story. Not a report. Not a dashboard. A narrative that feels like you.

A pregnancy is not just a medical event. It is months of anticipation, fear, physical change, and hope. Doris can see that. A hard season of life is not just a date on a calendar. It lives in sleep patterns, heart rate, music, and who we reach out to. Doris captures what we never think to write down.

I am building Doris because I wish I had it for my mother.

I wish I could read her days. I wish I could know how she felt as she lived them. I wish I had more than a single photograph to understand a lifetime.

Doris exists so that ordinary lives are no longer lost.
So that feelings are not erased by time.
So that people are remembered not just for what they did, but for who they were while they were becoming.

That is why this company matters to me.
And that is why I believe it will matter to others.