I wasn’t there to book clients. I was there to inspire kids. And somehow, I ended up meeting the client I’d been waiting for
Mrs. Adams
The Business Card I Never Hand Out
I’m a photographer, but I rarely hand out business cards.
Not because I’m shy—I’m not. I love what I do. And if the conversation naturally turns to photography, I’ll tell someone. If they ask for my info, I’ll share it. But walking up to someone and handing over a card they didn’t ask for? That’s just not how I work.
Photography—especially maternity is personal. It’s about trust. It’s about connection. It’s not something I want to pitch in passing or rush through in a checkout line.
I’ve been on the receiving end of that before. Right after I moved to Clarksville, a photographer approached me in a store and handed me his card—no real conversation, just a quick handoff. I smiled and said thanks, but it felt off like I was supposed to feel interested when I wasn’t even sure what he was offering.
That moment stuck with me. I never want someone to feel like a transaction. I want it to feel right.
A few months ago, I was invited to participate in a local career day for 7th graders. I wasn’t there to book clients or promote my business—I didn’t even bring cards. I was just there to show kids that creativity has value and that photography is more than a hobby—it can be a real career.
That’s when I saw her.
She was standing toward the back, casually chatting with students. Her energy was so relaxed and natural that I honestly thought she was a student herself. She blended in so easily.
Then I saw it. The tiniest curve of a baby bump.
And out of nowhere—this thought hit me like a whisper:
She needs to be in front of your camera.
I remember thinking, Wait… what? Where did that come from? I never do that. I don’t project sessions onto people I don’t know. But something about her just... pulled at me.
Still, I said nothing. I stayed in my lane, and kept chatting with the students.
And then—she walked up to me.
No small talk. No backstory. Just a quiet, confident question:
“Do you offer maternity sessions?”
I smiled. “I do.”
She didn’t flip through albums or ask about pricing. I didn’t have cards on me because again—I wasn’t there for that. But she took out her phone and saved my contact.
Just like that.
Then, I found out she was my son’s teacher. Mrs. Adams.
Out of all the people in that building, she was already connected to my life.
And then—life happened. We didn’t speak again for five months.
Until one day, I walked into my son’s parent-teacher conference—and there she was.
Still glowing. Still pregnant. And this time, she brought it up.
“I’ve been thinking about that session,” she said with a smile. “I think I’m ready.”
And I just knew.
That was it. That was the moment we both felt it—now was the time. And even with just one week to plan, everything started falling into place like it had been waiting for us to say yes.
I told her the vision I had in mind: soft neutral tones, elevated styling, and a clean, modern feel. She loved it. I suggested a cream blazer if she could find one, and she said she’d try. I had just added a few new pieces to my client's closet—beautiful, minimal, and carefully chosen. In my gut, I knew they were meant for her.
She chose to do the session solo. No partner. No kids. Just her.
And that choice? It felt sacred. Strong. Like she was reclaiming a little piece of herself that had been put on pause.
Then came the surprises.
She showed up with a brand new pixie cut—completely different from the braids she had before.
Without thinking, I said, “Wait, what happened to your hair?”—and instantly regretted it.
She looked unsure. Her friend, who had come along for support, looked concerned too. They weren’t sure the cut had turned out the way they’d imagined. You could feel the hesitation in the room.
I knew I had to shift the energy fast.
I looked at her and said, “We’ve got this. You look beautiful. I’ll style it, photograph around it, touch it up if we need to. It’s going to be amazing.”
And then… she realized she’d forgotten the blazer.
But—and I promise I’m not making this up—that morning, something told me to grab one of mine. Just in case. I tossed in a cream blazer and a pair of cream pants I didn’t even remember owning.
When she tried them on? They fit like they were made for her.
Every detail just worked. Like the universe was saying, Yes. Keep going.
She let me take the lead on makeup and styling. Trusted me completely. And once the camera was in my hands, I knew we were capturing something more than just a maternity session.
We were capturing her.
But the part that stayed with me the most?
The image reveal.
We were sitting together, selecting her images—clicking through each one slowly, quietly. She didn’t say much at first. Just took it in. Let herself feel it.
Then, gently, she began to open up.
She told me how hard this pregnancy had been. How she’d been carrying so much—her students, her family, the day-to-day weight of life—and how, for months, she’d been wishing someone would just take care of her for once. She never considered canceling the session—but there had been this lingering feeling, this quiet hope, that maybe this experience would give her that moment she hadn’t even fully admitted she needed.
And in those images… she finally saw it.
Not just a maternity session. Not just beautiful portraits.
She saw herself—being held, supported, seen.
Not just a teacher. Not just a mom.
Her.
And yes, we both cried.
Because this wasn’t just about pretty pictures—it was about giving her space to feel cared for. To feel important. To feel like she still mattered.
Mama, You Deserve This Too
If you’re pregnant right now—whether it’s your first baby or your fourth—I want you to hear this:
I see you.
I know what it’s like to feel overwhelmed, tired, stretched too thin. I know what it’s like to feel disconnected from your own body. I’ve been there.
You might not feel “photo ready.”
You might think now’s not the right time.
You might feel like you’ve lost a piece of yourself in the middle of everything you’re carrying.
But here’s the truth: you are still you.
Still beautiful. Still powerful. Still worthy of being seen—exactly as you are.
So when you’re ready—when you want to reconnect with the version of yourself that feels lost or forgotten—I’ll be here. Ready to help you step into that light again.
Just like Mrs. Adams did.
Join the Conversation
If this story resonated with you, I’d love to hear yours.
Maybe you’ve had a maternity session. Maybe you skipped it. Maybe it didn’t feel like the right time—or maybe life just got in the way.
Whatever your story looks like, it matters.
Drop a comment below. Share your experience. Let’s create space for honest stories. Let’s remind each other we’re not alone in this messy, beautiful season called motherhood.
You deserve to be seen, mama.
And I’d be honored to help you see yourself again.