A Reintroduction and a Reinvention
Once a family photographer focused on real life, now I write about it—motherhood, midlife, and the complicated, unfinished work of figuring out what comes next.
Listen here or scroll to read 👇
What slowly broke me were the increasingly bizarre requests: to photograph a family in a field on a couch, to edit out a scraped knee on a toddler, and—this one still hurts me—to “slim down” an 11-year-old girl because the mom thought she looked “chunky.” I cried inside.
I was a family photographer at the time, trying to build a business.
Nineteen years ago, I started a newsletter with 34 subscribers.
Back then, I mostly wrote about photography, a little about parenting, and whatever else I was trying to figure out.
I was struggling to keep my style: I wanted authentic, chaotic, day-to-day photos of families in their homes.
But people weren’t quite ready for lifestyle photos. They wanted pretty, posed, Pinterest-perfect images for their Christmas cards—basically the opposite of the reality I was trying to capture.
Because I can be annoyingly determined, I pressed on. I got better at vetting my clients and helping them shift their expectations from perfection to something more realistic.
Slowly—and I cannot emphasize the molasses pace enough—I found my people.
The families who wanted to remember how life looked and felt.
Sure, the sessions were wild and a bit out of control, but when I held the camera to my face, the noise faded, and I could see what was important.
Over time, I was able to see the moms, too.
Not just what they were doing, but how they felt.
There was often a quiet tension.
These women loved their kids deeply, but many of them, myself included, felt like something was missing.
It would take me a while to figure out what that was, and then I saw it everywhere.
Part of us had been dimmed or paused.
There was a collective uncertainty, and none of us knew what to do about it. I mean, how could we? We were too busy raising babies and toddlers to notice much else.
About four years in, I knew I would eventually transition out of photography and into helping moms find meaning beyond motherhood. It felt inevitable.
For a long time, writing helped me process what I was seeing and experiencing. Weekly blog posts, newsletters, and daily quips on Twitter (before it became whatever it is now).
I loved the process of thinking something through and shaping it into words.
A philosophy degree will do that to you. Once you start asking big questions, it’s hard to stop.
Then COVID hit, and life stalled. But in the stillness, I began to see things more clearly once again.
The domestic and parenting imbalance was glaring. And being forced to photograph families outside instead of in their homes felt like defeat.
But the most painful (and motivating) realization was seeing my kids.
They were getting older, and this life—the one that felt nonstop—was temporary.
In a few years, I wouldn’t have the noise and chaos of family life surrounding me. Like the women I photographed, my only reminder of these years would live in pictures.
By the end of 2020, I had a new vision and enthusiasm for my business.
It was time to close up my photo shop and double down on mentoring moms.
Our muted selves were about to get permission to get loud again, and I wanted us to be ready.
I’m approaching what I call the “on-call mom” stage of parenting, the technical empty nest.
My oldest is in college, and my youngest is winding down high school. I don’t know what the future holds, but I’m fairly certain it won’t look like the one I imagined when my kids were toddlers.
Most of us were raised to believe it’s 18 and out of the nest, but that’s not necessarily how it works anymore.
So over the past few years, I’ve been researching and making adjustments.
Re-thinking what matters and reimagining what the next phase could look like.
With the future feeling equal parts exciting and frightening, it’s time to give shape to what comes next.
This Substack—this space—is where to start.
A place to explore new ideas, revisit old passions, and imagine what life looks like on the other side of motherhood.
Today, I’m writing to more than 34 subscribers. Some of you have been here since my photography days, and I’m so glad you stayed.
For newer readers, here’s what you should know about me:
First things first, I’m hilarious.
I laugh a lot—dry humor, toddler humor, I’ll take it all. Laughing gives me life. Hard pass on the drama. No thank you. I can find the humor in almost anything. It’s a finely tuned survival skill that gets tested regularly these days.
My husband is one of my favorite people. He may drive me crazy some days, but let me tell you that man is kind, strong, and is genuinely trying his best (which, let’s be honest, is not universal).
And yes, 25+ years later, he still laughs at my jokes and brings me takeout more than he should.
I’d rather clean the toilets than cook another dinner.
I can’t find time to learn Spanish, but I always find time to go to the gym.
Mondays are my favorite day of the week, and the ’90s is my favorite decade.
Parenting has been one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done. There are moments when I’m furious at our culture for making motherhood so freaking hard.
I didn’t grow up dreaming about marriage and babies. I wanted a law degree and the option to adopt someday. But it turns out I’m actually pretty good at this mom gig (don’t ask my teenager).
Last year, I realized something important.
If I were to start writing again, I didn’t want to return to quick posts and half-formed thoughts.
I want longer, more thoughtful writing. Where ideas have time to expand, and stories feel honest and complete.
In a way, I want to write about life the same way I photographed it.
I’m looking for the real moments. Not the posed, polished ones.
Some days I want to close up shop and hide from the world. Other days, I feel fired up and ready to create.
Most mornings, I have no idea which version of me will show up when my feet hit the floor. But I do know this: having a plan—even a loose one—helps me feel connected to the future.
And right now, that future includes a lot of things.
Writing.
Thinking.
Deep conversations about parenting and midlife.
And a crap ton of honesty.
It also includes doing what I can, in my small corner of the world, to make sure our democracy doesn’t erode further. I hate that this is part of the conversation, but pretending it isn’t won’t help.
Like so much else in life, the only way to the other side is through.
So whether it’s writing here or making a YouTube video, I’m trying to show up.
And I’m really grateful you’re here with me.
If there’s anything you want to talk about or learn more about, let me know in the comments on the Substack app or by replying to this email. I read and respond to everything… especially the flattery.
P.S. I paused this writing to call my representatives. I use the 5 Calls app. It’s so simple. You give them your zip code, and they tell you who all of your reps are—state and federal. You can call right from the app, and they have a script or at least ideas for things you could call about.