Becoming a mother at a young age changed the way I see photography long before I ever started taking it seriously as a career.
I became a mom at eighteen, and I think growing up alongside my child made me understand how quickly life changes in a way I probably would not have understood otherwise.
One minute, you are overwhelmed by the sleepless nights, the messes, the exhaustion, and the constant feeling that you are just trying to keep your head above water. Then somehow, without realizing it, years have already passed. The tiny baby you carried everywhere suddenly becomes more independent. Their face changes. Their voice changes. The little habits you thought would last forever slowly disappear.
And the hardest part is that most of those changes happen quietly while you are busy surviving them.
I think that is why photographs became so emotional for me.
Not because I needed everything to look perfect, but because I started realizing how important it is to hold onto the moments that feel ordinary while you are living them. The things that seem small in the moment eventually become the things you miss the most.
The way your child reaches for your hand without thinking. The way they look at you when they are excited. The little expressions and routines that slowly fade as they grow older.
As moms, especially young moms, I think we can be incredibly hard on ourselves. We spend so much time feeling like we need to do more, be more, look better, hold everything together better. We are exhausted, overstimulated, emotional, and carrying invisible responsibilities almost constantly.
So when a camera turns toward us, it is easy to focus on every insecurity before anything else.
“I look tired.” “I have gained weight.” “I just do not feel confident right now.” “Just get the kids.”
But children do not see us through that same critical lens.
They are not looking at photographs judging whether we looked perfect. They are looking for comfort. Familiarity. Love. Presence.
They are looking for their mom.
One day, our children are going to treasure the photographs that prove we were there beside them. Not because everything was perfectly styled or because life was perfectly together, but because those photographs hold evidence of love and connection during a season of life that can never fully be recreated.
I think that is one of the reasons I care so deeply about emotional photography now. I know firsthand how quickly childhood moves. I know how easy it is for mothers to disappear behind the camera while documenting everyone else’s lives. I know how tempting it is to wait until you feel more confident, more rested, or more like yourself again before stepping into photos.
But life keeps moving while we wait.
The most meaningful photographs are rarely the perfect ones. They are the honest ones. The images filled with movement, emotion, comfort, and connection. The ones that allow you to look back years later and remember not just what life looked like, but what it felt like to live it.
As mothers, we deserve to exist in our family’s memories too.
Not because we looked perfect, but because we were there.
