The Part I Don’t Always Say Out Loud
Some days I wonder if I should just stop. Not because the work isn’t good — I know it is. People who actually see it tell me so. But there’s this gap between knowing my work has value and watching it reach the people who need to see it. I pour myself into every shoot, every edit, every detail. And then I watch other photographers with half the intention get bookings while I’m still fighting to be found. On those days, quitting feels easier than continuing.
And if I’m being completely honest? The frustration of not booking enough isn’t even the hardest part. The hardest part is what happens inside my own head when things are quiet. The voice that whispers: maybe you’re not actually good enough. Maybe this isn’t really your purpose. Maybe you’ve been fooling yourself this whole time.
That’s the part I don’t always say out loud. The imposter syndrome. The feeling of being unworthy of the work I actually love. I’ll look at my own gallery — images I poured my heart into — and somehow still find a way to talk myself out of believing they’re enough. I’ll compare my behind-the-scenes to someone else’s highlight reel and wonder why I even try.
But here’s what I’ve had to remind myself: that voice is a liar.
Why I Can’t Actually Quit
Because the moment I’m behind the camera with a couple, none of that noise matters. When I’m capturing the way a groom looks at his bride, or the genuine laughter between a family who actually likes each other, I remember why I started. That connection is real. That work means something. No algorithm, no slow inquiry season, no comparison spiral can take that feeling away from me.
And when someone finally does see what I’ve created and says “this is beautiful” — it hits different when you know how hard you fought to get there. Not just the fight for visibility, but the internal fight. The one where you choose to keep going even when your own mind is working against you.
I think I’ve spent too much time measuring my worth by my booking count instead of by the actual work. By the couples who do find me. By the trust they place in me to show up for their most important moments. Those people see what I see. They feel what I feel in those images. And maybe being seen by the right people, even if it takes longer than I want, matters more than being seen by everyone.
Staying Anyway
I don’t have the visibility figured out yet. I’m still learning, still showing up, still trying to get in front of the right eyes. Some days that’s discouraging. Some days it makes me question everything I’ve built and everything I’ve believed about myself.
But then I pick up my camera. And I remember.
This is mine. The way I see light. The way I move through a room and find the quiet moments no one else noticed. The way I sit with a couple before their ceremony and somehow make them forget they’re about to walk down the aisle. That is not something anyone can replicate. That is not something to quit.
So I’m staying. Not because I’ve conquered the doubt. Not because the bookings are rolling in. But because on the days when I’m shooting, when I’m creating, when I’m genuinely connecting — I remember that this is who I am. And that is worth fighting for.
Even on the hard days.
Check out my work!
