This is a photo I took from our apartment after we moved from NYC to NC. In 2021.
Do you remember what life felt like in 2021?
We were in the later half of the pandemic. Masks were still everywhere. The roads weren’t nearly as crowded as they are now.
Luka had just turned one when we moved to North Carolina in September 2021. I was far from New York, far from my parents and all the help I had always known. Suddenly, I was his sole caregiver.
My husband was busy with work and with picking up and dropping off Levi. Most of my days revolved around Luka, who wasn’t even walking yet.
I remember those days so clearly. His schedule was my schedule, I was his whole world, and he was mine. I was a SAHM. I was just a mom.
The days felt incredibly long.
I didn’t have hobbies. I didn’t have any friends. I couldn't drive, I didn't have a car, I walked with Luka in his stroller to the grocery stores, the library, and the playground, and that's the farthest I could get. And the dreams I once had seemed so far away that I wasn’t even sure they were still mine.
Almost every afternoon, I would sit Luka in his stroller and walk around our neighborhood. Somewhere along those walks, I started listening to podcasts. I think I was simply longing to hear another human voice—to hear a conversation, to feel connected to the world outside my own little bubble, to fill the void inside me.
I was listening to How to Be a Better Human by Chris Duffy.
One day, while walking with Luka, I listened to a woman talk about putting her PhD pursuit on hold after having a baby. She described how, after staying home with her child, she began to feel as though she had lost her sense of self. She questioned her identity.
Who was she without the label of “mom”?
Then she said something that stopped me:
“I had this romantic idea that I was important…”
It hit me so hard.
I was reaching the greenway that connects Cornelius and Davidson when I heard those words. I couldn’t hold back my tears.
"I had this romantic idea, that I was important.." But who knew that I was there? That I lived?
Luka knew nothing about any of it. He was happily sitting in his stroller, looking at the greenery around him.
And I felt guilty for feeling the way I did.
I judged myself. I wondered if I was a bad mother. How can I have other thoughts than being happy to be his mom?
I loved my son. I cherished the time I had with him. I was grateful for him.
But deep inside, there was anxiety. There was a void. There was a quiet fear that perhaps I would never become anything beyond being someone’s mother. That maybe I would never fulfill whatever purpose I was supposed to have.
Who am I?
What happened to my dreams?
Will I ever feel free again?
Those questions were tearing me apart.
Fast forward five years.
Today, I call myself a photographer.
Photography became the bridge that brought me back to the world.
It connected me to so many beautiful souls—clients who have become friends, fellow photographers who have guided me not only in photography but also in life, mentors who believed in me, and a village I never knew I would have. Photography is the hand that pushed open the window that opened to the sky.
I could never have imagined that the woman walking that greenway five years ago, wondering whether she still had anything to offer the world, would become the woman I am today.
When I stand in front of someone with my camera, I feel less unworthy.
I feel that I have something to say.
Something to show the world.
I have a voice.
I have weight.
Looking back, I am grateful for those lonely years.
Being a SAHM taught me to cherish the life I have now in a way I might never have understood otherwise. Those years I spent with Luka has created such a deep and special bond, he is another me, he is close to my heart, and I to his.
And to the people who have seen me, heard me, accepted me, encouraged me, and chosen to stay by my side —
Thank you.
