I’ll never forget the hundreds of days I spent laying in bed, laying on the couch, getting lightheaded walking to the car for a doctors appointment, days filled with endless questions, and zero answers. I remember wondering if this was my new forever. If this was the thing I was supposed to call life. 

Was this living. 
Or was I simply existing? 

I remember hearing about a new app, a place to share photos. There were cool filters (shout out to Lo-Fi!) and my friends were all using it. I downloaded Instagram to my iPod touch and had no idea how it would change my life.

During that season I was the farthest thing from a photographer, and while I loved to write I didn’t do it often at all. That was about to change. With Instagram as the bridge, I laid on my couch, and connected with moms around the world. Moms busy in their own kitchens making dinner while their baby napped for not quite long enough. 

Between panic attacks or dizzy spells or some new treatment I was trying, I started to tell our story. My story. Life as a chronically ill mama. Life as a boy mama. Life as a mama and also a woman and learning how to be both. I bared my soul to thousands on the internet. I was lonely and I found out I was not the only one. 

What a beautiful thing that sisterhood was.

I found myself surrounded by the mama community on Instagram. Countless mamas looking for camaraderie, friendship, solidarity, laughter, and support. I found in there, in those tiny squares, behind the hashtags and the feature pages (remember those?) beautiful, strong, kindred spirit women who wrapped their love around me while I struggled and grieved and healed. And I did the same for them.

But little did I know, during that desert season, the suffering and the tears were together refining a passion I didn’t even know lived in my heart. Slowly, and then suddenly all at once, a deep passion for visual storytelling burst forth. It was my lifeline, it was my healing, it was the thing that brought me back to life, it was the map telling me where to go next. 

Beautiful things often grow in barren places. 

While I was still laying on my couch, trying to raise my babies, too sick to move but dreaming of how I could tell more stories, dreaming of one day being strong enough to be the storyteller for someone who couldn’t tell it themselves, the doorbell rang.

Beloved friends had sent me a brand new laptop. While I wondered how I’d find the strength to cook dinner, they were busy believing in my gift of writing and knew I would tell more stories. They wanted me to know that day was coming.

A few days later the doorbell rang again.

Another dear friend, without knowing what I had already received, had sent me a package. I opened it and found a brand new Canon DSLR camera. I had never owned a camera, unless you count all the disposable Kodak cameras I used to document high school. Yet here was another friend, knowing how sick I was, but reminding me that beautiful things grow in barren places. They believed in my photography and they believed in my ability to make beautiful things even while standing in the desert.

So I did.

I wrote hundreds of thousands of words on that laptop.
I took countless photos on that camera. 
I taught myself to use the camera well, and how to use Lightroom and Photoshop to edit.
I found strength I didn’t know I had behind that lens.
I found a calling I didn’t feel worthy of.
I found myself.

That’s why I tell my story.
That’s why I will tell every story I am given the gift of sharing
Because before you read this you might have thought, “Oh she’s a mom who takes pretty pictures.”

No. I was a broken, sick and anxious mama who fought like hell for healing and along the way I learned the power of story and the strength it takes to tell yours. 

Now the world needs to hear your story.
And my dream is to help you tell it. 

I would never consider asking you to trust me with your story until you knew mine. I hope hearing it makes you feel bold and courageous and ready to share your story with those who need to hear it.

xo, Kelsey