There are times when a photo becomes a landing place for something unsaid, or that we can’t quite find the words for. Perhaps even something that we don’t want to write down but deeply crave to remember. Photos become a canvas for the stories we can tell subtly, where the viewer might see one thing but the deeper story behind it is clear as day to us, holding it safely for us for when we need to remember again.
I had one of those moments recently where I was feeling tender and needed a place to let those feelings rest in. This became that photo.
The story behind it begins in a safe, comfortable room full of women, all cozied into the comfy living room at the lodge during the Your Story Retreat.
At these events Liz creates space for beautiful, brave, deep, vulnerable conversation. It is really incredible.
This was one of those moments and I could tell that this was a conversation about motherhood that was incredibly powerful for the mothers in the room. It was one of those conversations that I think must often go unspoken or might be held back, but in the safety of this space it was beautiful to see them feel safe enough to speak these truths.
But I could feel the sadness welling up in my throat.
I wanted to honour that this conversation was truly vital for these women and not try to change the subject but the not-yet-a-mother in me needed some nurturing. So I quietly stepped out (because Liz really encourages us to do what we need to take care of ourselves at the retreats) and went for a walk out to the ocean.
I held in the tears for a few blocks and as I got to where pavement meets sand, it was as though it was the threshold and I didn’t have to hold it in anymore and they started flowing. I felt tender that I’m not yet a mom but at the same time chock full of gratitude for where life has taken me. I’m starting to clearly understand that I needed this time to really find my life’s work and I need to hold onto hope for the pieces of the puzzle of my life I can’t yet find.
I walked towards the ocean. At this spot in Gearhart you wander down a long stretch of dunes before finally getting to the top of a dune and there is the epic ocean.
I looked up.
And stopped.
I saw how much of the path lay before me.
And something unexpected came into my thoughts and said:
‘You’re just a lil’ one’.
I wept some more because it was so true. I may feel the pressures of hitting 36, one past that age we are told our fertility goes down at. But I still have so much ahead of me, and on this day I was really conscious that this is a privilege. Of course none of us know how long we have, but I felt clear in that moment that I still have a lot ahead of me still and I don’t know, I can’t know, exactly how it is going to unfold.
So I pulled out my iPhone and let this simple tool capture the story of that moment.
I took it because I wanted to remember this realization.
I took it because it visually reminds me that there is a path still ahead of me.
I took it because sometimes telling stories through photos feels like therapy to me and this moment felt particularly healing to capture.
I took it because I knew it would give a place for these emotions to land and let me return to the group ready to be present again to the collective energy.
I took it because I needed to, because there are just some photos we need to take.