I wasn’t invited.
Honestly, that was the hardest part to get over.
Embarrassing? Maybe. But true.
There was no backstage pass. No handwritten envelope. No sparkly email. No nod from anyone “on the inside.” Just crickets.
But still—
I packed my camera, kissed my family goodbye, boarded a plane to New York Bridal Fashion Week, and walked into the room.
Not because someone said I belonged.
But because I did.
And what surprised me most wasn’t the gowns or the glamour.
It was the quiet, reverent truth pulsing beneath it all:
I almost didn’t go.
I almost let the lie that it was too late, too far, too old… keep me home.
For a long time, I subconsciously believed that dreams had expiration dates.
And that mine had been up for years.
There’s a subtle script that plays in the background of adulthood—
especially for women, especially for mothers.
It says: “You had your chance,” even if you never actually did.
If you didn’t chase it right out of college—before babies, before bills, before life happened—then it’s already passed you by.
The thing you want to do… that you didn’t even know you wanted yet.
I was 27 when I got married.
29 when I became a mother.
33 when I restructured my life and built a business from nothing but a camera and conviction.
I learned how to show up for everyone else long before I realized how to show up for myself.
And somewhere in all that beautiful, meaningful responsibility,
I shelved a deeper pull—
The one that whispered,
You belong in the rooms where art and fashion and bold vision come to life.
But I kept my dreams in the dark, telling myself that room must be for someone else.
Someone younger.
Someone with fewer spreadsheets and less laundry.
Until I realized the truth.
The seat I was waiting for wasn’t reserved for someone else.
I just needed to ask for it.
Going to New York Bridal Fashion Week wasn’t just a trip.
It was a decision—to believe I am allowed to expand. To evolve. To take up space in an industry that doesn’t always open its arms to newcomers.
Especially not midlife homeschool moms.
But that’s the whole thing.
I had to expand my vision of myself.
Not either/or.
Not this or that.
A midlife homeschool mom and a creative force.
A woman who runs a successful business built on the grace of God and natural good taste.
A photographer who belongs in the room.
It was nerve-wracking. Electric. Wildly affirming.
I photographed the behind-the-scenes magic of Galia Lahav’s SS26 presentation and the quiet, intentional elegance of Flora’s Storie d’Amour collection.
I stood close enough to see handwork on the bodices.
To feel the buzz of creation in real time.
I sat across from designers, planners, editors—
Not as an outsider,
But as a peer.
As someone with something to contribute.
And somewhere between the snaps of my shutter,
I realized this path I’ve been on wasn’t a detour.
It was the creation of me.
I didn’t just
watch
the story unfold.
I documented it.
And I brought my own way of seeing—
an amalgamation of everything I’ve lived:
My childhood.
My own children.
My relationships.
My obsessions.
My eye.
Emotional. Elegant. Intimate. Candid.
Mine.
Am I fully healed and self-actualized?
No.
But I have tangible evidence now of something I always suspected:
It was never too late.
It’s never been too late.
There’s no timeline for calling.
No cutoff for becoming.
The version of me who almost stayed home—
she’s still here.
Still prone to self-doubt.
Still wondering if she’s too much. Too different. Too old.
Too late.
But now she has proof.
Proof that showing up—even uninvited—can change everything.
To the woman scrolling bridal collections between school lunches…
To the creative wondering if the industry already has too many voices…
To the artist who’s been told to be realistic…
You’re not late.
You’re right on time.
And if they don’t save you a seat at the table?
Bring your own.
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