There’s a photo I took last week. It was golden hour, the kind of light that wraps around you like a hug. I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection of my lens—smiling, eyes clear, breath steady. And for the first time in a long time, I whispered to myself: “There you are.”
I lost myself for a while.
I was wrapped up in something that preached wonderful values—values I believe in with my whole heart. But over the year, I slowly lost so much of myself. My joy turned into exhaustion. My confidence crumbled. My health—mental, emotional, even physical—took a hit from the pressure, the hustle, the never-enough feeling.
And still, I gave more.
I poured in my creativity, my time, my passion—everything that made me me. I gave more of me than I should have, believing I would be appreciated. I said yes when I should’ve and could've said no.
Somewhere along the way, I stopped showing up for the people who matter most—my kids, my partner, my friends… myself. I found myself apologizing to my children recently, with tears in my eyes, for not being the mother I know I can be. I told them I’m sorry for giving my best to something that didn’t deserve it, when that energy should’ve gone to them. To us.
But I’m here now. I’m back.
And to anyone reading this—if you're in a situation that makes you feel smaller, that makes you question your worth, that drains your light instead of igniting it—I want you to hear this loud and clear:
You don’t have to stay.
You are allowed to leave the job, the relationship, the friendship, or the environment that makes you feel less than.
You are allowed to protect your peace. You are allowed to choose you.
I left. And I’m breathing again.
I’m creating again—not out of survival, but out of joy. I’m taking pictures that make my soul sing. I’m waking up with clarity. I’m laughing with my kids, dancing in the kitchen, and feeling like myself again for the first time in a long time.
This is what healing looks like. This is what freedom feels like.
To everyone who has supported me, booked with me, encouraged me—I see you. Thank you. From the bottom of my heart.
And to the brave ones still trying to find the exit: You’re not alone. There is life—and light—on the other side. I promise.
