A Story of Identity Loss & Rediscovery

There's a past version of me that could clearly answer "so, what do you do?"

Senior Director, Product Development. I launched programs. I managed teams. I had a title that felt like proof. An accomplishment. And I wasn't shy about telling people.

Then came baby.

I quit my job the week my maternity leave was up, and suddenly I couldn't answer that question anymore.

The Identity I Didn't Know I'd Lost

Staying home was never the plan. The decision surprised me. It made sense in my heart, and it still felt strange to say it out loud.

I loved my son. I loved being home with him. And I also — wasn't 100% fulfilled.

I realized now that those things can be true at the same time. But it took me a while to give myself permission to admit it.

I'm not Martha Stewart. I'm not great at room mom stuff or meal planning or any of the things that seem to come naturally to women who are made for this season of life. I was good at corporate life. And suddenly I wasn't doing that anymore, and I didn't have a clean identity to replace it with. I was buried in diapers and dishes.

So I did what any reasonable person does when their sense of self starts to quietly crumble:

I cried in a pile of laundry.

The Photos That Started Everything

We had just received Carter's 1 year professional photos. And I just stared.

The quality. The detail. The way the photographer caught something in his face that I couldn't get with my phone, no matter how many times I tried.

And underneath the admiration, there was something else. Something a little like panic.

My brain was total mush. (mom brain is no joke!)

I was starting to realize that the details I thought I was holding onto were slipping. The toothless grin. His Michelin-man arms. Those in-between moments that don't make it into posed photos.

I remember thinking: I need to learn how to do this. I can't afford to forget.

This wasn't an artistic awakening. It wasn't a creative calling. It was just a mom terrified of losing the details of childhood. And who found a tool that felt like hope.

A Million Classes and a Purpose

I've never considered myself a creative person. Let's be honest.

What I am is someone who loves to learn. When I get interested in something, I go all in. So I dove.

We had received a nice camera as an engagement gift. Not perfect, but a start. So I started taking classes. A million classes. Understanding light. Shooting in manual. Composition. Allll of it.

And the fog started to lift.

Not all at once. Not dramatically. But I was learning again, and my brain — the one I'd been quietly grieving — started to wake up. I had a focus. A direction. A purpose I so desperately needed.

So I practiced. A lot. Carter was my first subject (victim). Then friends. Then their friends. Then their friends. And somewhere in all of that showing up and shooting and getting it wrong and getting it a little more right, a business started to take shape.

By the time Carter started school, it was real.

What I Carried With Me

Here's the thing nobody tells you about leaving a corporate career to become a portrait photographer: you don't actually leave the career behind.

This business isn't just clicking a shutter. I'm also the accountant, the web designer, the marketing strategist and the one researching why Instagram flopped last Tuesday.

Fifteen years of marketing and product management? I use all of it. Every. Single. Day.

The winding path wasn't wasted. It just took a minute to see where it was going.

The Part I Still Sit With

I'd be lying if I said the guilt is completely gone. It's not.

This job — especially in peak season — means nights away shooting and late nights editing. That's a sacrifice for sure. My family feels it. And even now, years into running a business I genuinely love, that guilt sneaks up on me.

I don't have a tidy bow to put on that. I just know that wanting something for yourself doesn't make you a bad mom. It makes you human. And modeling that for your children — that it's okay to figure out who you are and go after it — is worthwhile too.

A woman holds a smiling boy in a sweater outdoors at clarkston mi park, with greenery in the background

Family of five smiling outdoors, wearing holiday sweaters, standing in front of lush greenery at clarkston park for christmas picture

For Whoever Needs to Hear This

If you feel similar — questioning whether your current role is enough — you're not alone. And it's okay to want more. It doesn't mean you're ungrateful. It doesn't mean you're failing at the season you're in.

Sometimes a camera is just a camera. And sometimes it's the thing that gives you purpose 🤎

I'm Kasey. I'm a senior and family photographer based in Clarkston, Michigan. It was a bit bumpy getting here, but I'm grateful every day that I have. And I cry a little less at the laundry now.

If you want to connect, I'd love to hear your story 😊

LET'S CONNECT!

clarkston photographer, blanck canvas photography, clarkston senior photographer, clarkston family photographer

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the laundry. tears. and a camera.

A Story of Identity Loss & Rediscovery

The Identity I Didn't Know I'd Lost

The Photos That Started Everything

A Million Classes and a Purpose

What I Carried With Me

The Part I Still Sit With

For Whoever Needs to Hear This

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