I became a mom in high school. I was still a kid myself, and suddenly I was responsible for this little human who looked at me like I was the whole world. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I knew I wanted to remember it.

At the time, I couldn’t afford to keep paying for mall photo packages, so I asked for and got gifted my first professional camera in 2012. I didn’t have a business plan. I just wanted to take pictures of my baby girl. That camera followed me through some of the hardest and most beautiful moments of my life.

I’d always played around with my parents’ film cameras and camcorders growing up, but this was the first time it felt a little more serious. Looking back, that moment planted a seed. I just didn’t know it yet.

There was a season in my life when I lost control. I drifted far from who I was meant to be. I won’t go into every detail, but I’ll just say I wasn’t showing up as the mother or the woman I wanted to be. I was numbing, avoiding, and escaping.

Until I met my now-husband.

At that time, I didn’t have dreams of a career or a big life. I just wanted peace. I wanted to build the home I never had growing up. And slowly, I started getting glimpses of that. We had our daughter, and this new little family became my world. My now husband gifted me a new camera, and once again, I found myself documenting my girls, freezing the tiny, beautiful moments I never wanted to forget.

Friends and coworkers started asking me to take their photos too. Maternity sessions. Kids. Little family milestones. I was still working full-time at Apple—almost nine years in corporate. I was burned out from traffic, office life, and the pressure of surviving every day without ever really living. I’d do photo sessions here and there, but I felt stuck. School didn’t feel like an option. I was just doing what I had to do.

Then in 2021, we planned our third baby with so much love, Alison, who was born in 2022. But what followed was the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through. I experienced postpartum psychosis, something I didn’t even know existed. It led to an injury I had never heard of either. I felt like my body betrayed me, like my mind disappeared overnight. And worse, I felt invisible to the world around me.

I kept asking God to heal me. Begging, honestly. And for a while, I didn’t feel heard. But I had family members praying for me constantly, some who held me up in prayer  when I couldn’t even pray for myself.

It felt like I was stuck in a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. Nobody died, but I felt dead. I had to mourn the woman I was before. And then somehow learn to live again as this new, broken version of her. Physically and mentally, I was no longer the same.

But God.

God answered. Not when I wanted Him to, but in His perfect timing.

There were moments I had suicidal thoughts. Moments I felt like I would never return to myself. My family didn’t know how to help. And yet… I stayed grounded when I was with my children. Even though I wasn’t the same mom, they were my lifeline.

And then one day after an appointment, I was  parked infront of a forested area near the clinic. I looked up and I swear, I saw the outline of Jesus’s face in the trees. I kept it to myself for so long because I already felt like I was going crazy I didnt want to get sent to a mental facility. But deep down, I knew… He was there. For me. Little ol’ me. If you knew how special I feel everytime I think about this part, makes me smile ear to ear! :')

I was in survival mode during this time, no sleep, no appetite, constant anxiety. It was 24/7 fight or flight mode activated. I didn’t think I’d make it through. But He never left me.

God healed me. And I will never stop saying that.

I’m not a perfect Christian. I fall short every day. But I will always speak of how good He is. How He kept me here. How He gave me purpose again, not just in motherhood, but in this art form I get to call work.

We all have a testimony. Some of us are still living ours. Maybe your purpose isn’t loud. Maybe it's to share a quiet story that changes one life, not a million. But that still matters. You still matter.

I see God’s love in my children.

I see His love in the people in front of my lens.

The way new parents hold their baby.

The joy of a couple just engaged.

The stillness of a wedding ceremony with God at the center.

Photography became my healing. It helped me see the light again. It let me focus on love when my mind wanted to spiral into fear. And every time I prayed for clients who saw my vision, God provided. I’ve met the most amazing people and been to places I never imagined… because of Him.

Sometimes we question God in our darkest moments. But now I know, sometimes He allows those seasons so we’ll look for only Him. He is the reason behind every good and beautiful thing in this world. And even when we don’t understand, He is always working.

He was working… even when I felt lost.

So… Does My Story Have a Happy Ending?

Well, no. This isn’t a fairy tale. Life is supposed to life LOL.

But what I can say is this, that season changed me forever.

It made me deeply aware of who I allow in my space, especially around my kids. I don’t keep people around just to be polite anymore. If something feels off, I trust that feeling. I’ve learned to set boundaries. To protect my peace. To no longer tolerate hurt disguised as love.

Yes, I still have bad days. But now I choose to trust God and move forward. What used to break me no longer holds that power. I’m stronger, not because I’m perfect, but because I’ve been carried.

Instead of asking, “Where is God?” when things fall apart, I ask:

“How is God using this for my good?”

“How is He showing up for me, even here?”

If you ever find yourself suffering, ask God for strength.

Even if you never fully understand the why, trust that there is purpose in it. And after every thunderstorm, there is a rainbow. Don’t let the enemy convince you otherwise.

Ask God for protection. For peace. For guidance in everything you do.

Have faith that everything will work out, because it is.

Ask for the peace that only He can give… the kind that surpasses all understanding.

Although I am healed, it still hurts my heart to think about what I went through. The first year with my daughter is a blur. I cry thinking about her as a newborn, because it feels like I wasn’t even fully there. But I’ve learned that it’s okay to mourn that. I’m allowed to grieve the moments I missed, while still being so grateful I made it through.

This isn’t the end of my story. Its an ongoing testimony of the most beautiful proof that God is alive and within us.

It’s the quiet comeback.

And it’s only just beginning.