One of the hardest lessons I learned as a young woman is to never put people, especially those you love, on a pedestal. For years as a child, teenager, and young woman, I held my mother in such high regard that I thought she could do no wrong. She was absolutely perfect in every way. Unfortunately, I was setting up our relationship for failure. When I discovered her brokenness, the glass house I meticulously built around her in my head shattered. It was devastating to find out she had flaws that ran very deep and parallel to my own. Oh how my pride and vanity melded into anger. It took a long time to accept the person, the mother, I discovered in the wreckage. I now realize how unfair it was to put her up on that perch in the first place. This is a lesson I certainly learned the hard way, and one I desperately want you to avoid.
I love walking into a clients home and observing how light supports their family’s story. Every client's home has its own unique story of light. Walking into a new space is a treasure hunt for me. This newborn session from New Year's Eve was a treasure trove of beautiful light and precious newborn details. The kind of sweet details that make your heart melt.
It's quite an honor and humbling to observe motherhood behind my lens. Whether it's my own family or a client's family. I take this job seriously. The fact of the matter is, I believe there is beauty in our own homes, amidst our mundane daily routines. I believe this so much, I'm starting to slowly restructure my photography around this idea.
In college I was a part of a reading program that helped at-risk students. We were required to pick out a book to read together once a week; the idea was to work on reading fluency, comprehension, etc. I remember going to the local bookstore and picking up C.S Lewis’ The Magician’s Nephew. As I flipped through the pages of the book, I imagined what it would be like to introduce the beauty Narnia to my own children. In that moment, I began dreaming of what being a mother of an elementary aged reader would be like--magical.
The most misleading part of motherhood is the dream of motherhood-- turning dreams into expectations. In my fantasies, I pictured myself curled up with my children, delving into adventures and relationships with books in a way that I experienced as a child. In all of my time spent imagining the future, I failed to factor in the actual journey. Would we struggle with processing? Would we feel frustrated with the process of learning? Abandoning my own plan and embracing the journey is a type of vulnerability that not only forces me to see the beauty of the REAL in my own family but also appreciate how hard won each sight word victory is for my hardworking son.
As a special ed teacher, I never dreamed of being on the parental side of a learning disability. But here I sit— I am on the other side of the table, and I feel vulnerable. I am educated and prepared to help children in this position, but I find myself in my own brain stutter. I want to step in and fix it for my son, but this is something he has to do for himself. He is wonderfully and perfectly made; I can only give him the tools and watch him grow. At this very moment, reading is our challenge. It hasn’t come with the ease I dreamed of all those years ago. As with any new adventure, I know there will be frustration, laughter, and tears from us both. As his mother I FEEL his frustration and anxieties, and I wear them on my shoulders like they are my own. Fear and doubt is a funny beast; it suffocates and keeps us from our truest potential, but that’s not going to happen here because we are striving for progress, not perfection. We can do hard things when we put forth time and effort and don't compare ourselves to others. Out of our mistakes and frustrations there is growth, IF we acknowledge it. I make no promises that this is going to be easy, but I know that he is brave and can do hard things.
I see our destination sitting on the bookshelf.. .into the woods we must go. The way may not be clear, but we’ll reach a magical destination together.
Welcome to Artifact Motherhood. This is a collaboration of artists from around the world who have come together to share our stories of the joys and struggles of our journey. Through our writings and visual records we want to create memories that are more than photographs with dates written on the back. These are the artifacts we are leaving behind for our children and for generations to come. Up next is the amazingly talented Diana Hagues click here to follow the link.
You can also read more about Artifact Motherhood by clicking here.
At this very moment I’m sitting in our living room watching the sun slip below the roofline. It’s last rays illuminating a trail of legos and trucks strung across the floor. I have no intention of picking any of it up. I’m utterly exhausted from a weekend full of lots of adventure and exploring. Right now I'm wanting nothing more than to climb into bed and close my eyes. This is how many, many of my evenings end. Your dad and I put you three to bed. I come down stairs and analyze everything that wasn't able to get done; making mental notes for the next day. The house is quiet and in this little bit of time, I can be still.
I look at my hands and I see my mother’s hands. My mom is very youthful, but her hands are a dead giveaway to her age. Miles women’s hands age in a way that the rest of them doesn’t. It's reflective of who they are. They’re providers. The Miles women--it’s a definitive trait of theirs. They’re hard working women. When I look at my hands I definitely see that nurturing, selfless quality that my mother, my aunts and grandmother’s hands have. I think it’s easy to think you’re not a selfless, nurturing person, but in the last few years it’s definitely something I’ve learned. I will do things for other people until I have nothing left to give. My son, Rockne, has given me the opportunity to be more selfless. I have to practice everyday--putting his needs before my own.
