It’s been a year since it was declared legally over.
It’s been three years since the day I caught a glimpse of his face and there was zero empathy radiating back.
It’s been a little over five years since the kid in this photo had a rage filled tirade with tears as big as soup bowls during a homework assignment about the possibility of Donald Trump becoming the next president.
It’s been nine long years since I woke to a voicemail letting me know she had left peacefully in her sleep, never to return and forcing me into roles I didn’t feel mature enough to play.
It’s the midlife crises that started prematurely and turned my life upside down.
And real talk, I wouldn’t change a thing.
Since I am super hardheaded, I suspect this was the only way the universe knew how to slow me down, grab my attention by the balls and force me to look straightaway.
Let it be known, I’m the worst overthinker. I burn so many calories thinking about what to do and how to get it done that one might say all that thinking could shave about ten stones off my body.
Doctors have diagnosed my overthinking problem as an OCD addiction. My “drug” of choice (DOC) is rumination.
ru·mi·na·tion/noun/a deep or considered thought about something.
I’m not alone with this sort of addiction because anyone who’s ever been given a dual diagnosis of CPTSD (complex post-traumatic stress disorder) suffers the same way I do daily.
While I can’t speak for anyone else but a common theme for CPTSD suffers is/was childhood abuse and neglect.
Then add on top of it, spending years…decades in a toxic relationship, my “addiction” kept the hamster wheel of thoughts going 160mph day in and day out.
Nothing seems to slow my active thoughts down enough to be present in the moment, except for documentary family photography.
But I have trouble sharing what I’ve learned about myself and my photography work because most of my interest is focused on taboo topics like the mental health benefits of photography.
Here’s the thing, my best work isn’t some preconceived idea stowing away inside my head.
Holding a camera forces me to be present in the moment. It gives me a feeling, a sense of control back from the anxiety and hypervigilance that comes from overthinking too much.
It’s a therapeutic healing tool for not only myself, but for the individual families who choose me to photograph their family.
Being able to see the beautiful details of someone else’s world has for the last 10-12 years fostered an appreciation to keep me anchored in reality.
I need to
write document with my camera almost as much as I need air to breathe.
That’s all I got, thanks for letting me share.