This is it. This is my “why.”
You can have the accolades, you can have the social media likes, you can even have the paycheck. None of it comes close to this feeling.
Nothing makes me happier than showing my clients their worth.
They don’t come to me to feel worthy. They come to me for a service. They come for a new headshot, for a branding session, for a “just because” portrait.
And they walk in carrying so much baggage.
They walk in, and the first thing they do is apologize.
“I’m so sorry, I’m so awkward in front of a camera.”
“I hate my arms.”
“I’m not photogenic at all, so… good luck.”
“Can you edit out… all of this?”
They come in shrinking. They come in with their shoulders hunched, holding their breath, ready to perform and “get it over with.” They are reciting a script of self-criticism that the world has handed them, a script they’ve been practicing in the mirror for decades.
My job, as I see it, isn’t to give them worth. You can’t give someone something they already possess.
My job is to hold up a mirror.
My job is to create a space so safe, so free of judgment, that they finally have permission to put the baggage down.
So we talk. We laugh. I tell them they can’t do it “wrong.” I watch as the “apologetic” energy starts to fade. I see the shoulders drop. I see the real, unguarded smile start to peek through. The person they are with their best friend, the person they are when they’re dancing alone in their kitchen—that person starts to show up.
And I capture it.
Then, the moment comes. The best moment. The reveal.
I turn the camera around, or I bring them in to see the final gallery.
And I wait.
First, there is always silence. A sharp, quiet intake of breath.
Their eyes get wide. They lean in, their nose almost touching the screen.
And then, without fail, they say some version of the same, beautiful, heart-shattering phrase:
“…That’s me?”
Sometimes they whisper it. Sometimes their hand flies up to cover their mouth. Sometimes the tears start to well up immediately.
It’s not a question of “Is this technically my face?”
It’s a question of disbelief. “Is that powerful, beautiful, confident, radiant person… really me?”
And I get to be the one who looks them in the eye and says, “Yes. That is exactly who you are. This is what I’ve been seeing this whole time.”
That is the paycheck. That is the entire ballgame.
It’s the moment they see their own light. The light that was always there, just buried under years of “not good enough” and “too much.”
I didn’t invent that light. I didn’t create that worth. I just held up a mirror that wasn’t cracked by self-doubt.
Nothing makes me happier. It is the greatest honor of my life, every single time.
