There’s an unspoken ritual that unfolds before nearly every session. Parents arrive with outfits pressed, snacks stashed, and a whispered plea to the universe that today—just for once—everything aligns. A cooperative child. A serene sky. A poised frame. In this anticipation lies a tender ache for control. Not because parents are rigid, but because they care deeply. They want something beautiful to keep—a reflection of their love.
Yet what many don’t realize is that the insistence on perfection becomes a fog that obscures the true essence of what makes a session unforgettable. Children are not porcelain dolls arranged on a windowsill. They are electric pulses of being—unpredictable, tempestuous, radiant.
And when you loosen the grip and allow their true nature to unfold, something miraculous happens. The image becomes not a portrait, but a story. Not a pose, but a poem.
Why the Messy Moments Matter Most
The moments you think are unworthy—the ones drenched in movement, chaos, and imperfection—are often the ones with the most resonance. A child’s stubborn refusal to sit. The disheveled ponytail. The Graham cracker crumbs are embedded in sweater threads. These are not blemishes to be removed; they are evidence of life being lived.
There is a poetic rhythm in disarray. A tilt of the head mid-laughter. A sock half-off after an impromptu game of chase. A leaf clutched tightly in a sticky palm. These details, so easily overlooked in the pursuit of perfection, are the very marrow of memory.
When you look back in twenty years, it won’t be the orchestrated smiles that cause your breath to catch. It will be the sideways glance your daughter gave you, eyes full of mischief and adoration. The way your partner subconsciously reached for your hand. The echo of something real.
Children Were Never Meant to Be Still
One of the grandest misconceptions parents carry is the belief that their children must be still to be captured. Stillness, however, is not a natural state for the young. They are kinetic sculptures of curiosity, bursting with energy and unfiltered delight.
I have stood in fields and forests, beaches and backyards, watching children spin like tops, dart like deer, and collapse into fits of giggles. And in those movements, I find the golden thread. Not despite the movement, but because of it.
Let them leap. Let them roar. Let them be absurd and unedited. A child's exuberance is not an obstacle to be managed. It is the heartbeat of the story we are telling.
Parental Presence Over Performance
When a parent steps back from the role of director and slips into the role of participant, the atmosphere changes entirely. Your presence—fully engaged and unattached to outcome—becomes a lighthouse for your children.
Instead of coaxing smiles or managing behavior, sit beside them. Join their play. Whisper silly secrets. Let them climb your back or stuff dandelions into your hair. Let your laughter rise. Let your shoulders drop.
These are not wasted moments. They are sacred. They become the visual language of connection. The eye contact, the body language, the synchronicity—it all becomes part of the tapestry.
The Alchemy of Trust
Trust is the silent contract between artist and family. When you show up with hearts unguarded, when you let go of the need to impress or perform, something extraordinary unfolds.
Trust tells me that I don’t need a perfect shot list. I need your truth. Your dynamic. Your quirks and rhythms and rituals.
There is something deeply noble about letting someone witness your family in its truest form. Not a polished display, but a living, breathing collection of personalities. Loud, quiet, introverted, bold—all welcome, all celebrated.
It’s in that trust that I find the courage to see you. And in that seeing, to create something eternal.
The Myth of the ‘Well-Behaved’ Session
Let’s shatter an illusion: there is no such thing as a flawless session. And even if there were, would you want one? Do you truly want a memory sanitized of spontaneity?
When your son pulls a goofy face or your daughter erupts into shrieks of laughter over a joke only she understands, those are not distractions. They are declarations. This is who we are. This is how we love.
The child who can’t stop moving is the same one whose energy lights up a frame. The toddler who insists on holding a favorite stuffed bear—though it doesn’t match the color scheme—is the one teaching us that authenticity always trumps aesthetics.
The Sublime Between the Poses
There’s a fleeting in-between space that exists before the smile and after the laughter, where something remarkable happens. A soft breath. A knowing glance. A moment of stillness that wasn’t orchestrated but emerged organically.
That’s the place where truth resides. Where the rhythm of your family becomes visible. Not as a tableau, but as a living sonnet.
These are the frames you’ll return to again and again. Not because they were technically perfect, but because they made you feel something deep and unnameable. Because they held you in a moment and said, “This was real.”
The Power of Play
Play is not merely a tool for distraction. It’s a sacred portal into presence. When we play, we shed layers of self-consciousness and enter into a state of mutual joy.
Games of tag, secret handshakes, made-up songs, and impromptu dance battles—these are not interruptions. They are invitations. Play unlocks access to expressions no amount of instruction could coax.
When we allow playfulness to guide the session, we are not giving up control—we are stepping into the current of connection. We are reminding ourselves what it feels like to be fully alive, together.
Your Children Will Remember How You Made Them Feel
Long after the session is over, after the images have been printed and the gallery archived, your children will hold onto something deeper than composition or clarity. They will remember the way you laughed with them. The way you scooped them up when they tripped. The way your eyes crinkled when they surprised you with something clever.
These are the threads that weave memory. The photographs become evidence of something intangible: belonging, being seen, being loved exactly as they are.
When you abandon the pursuit of perfection, you step into the sacred space of emotional legacy. You are not just preserving what your family looked like—you are preserving what it felt like to be part of that love.
Redefining the Idea of ‘Best’
The ‘best’ images are not the ones where everyone looks at the camera. They are the ones where everyone looks at each other. Or better yet, forgets the camera altogether.
When we loosen the definition of success, we allow something richer to unfold. The messy hair, the mismatched socks, the smudged cheeks—these are hallmarks of a day fully lived.
Redefining best means shifting the goal from impressing others to honoring yourselves. It means choosing presence over performance, connection over composition, soul over symmetry.
The Legacy of Letting Go
When you choose to let go of control, of image, of expectation, you create space for something astonishing: legacy. A living, breathing record of your family exactly as it is. Not curated, but cherished. Not perfected, but profoundly seen.
You won’t remember what shoes you wore. You won’t care whether the wind frizzed your hair or your shirt had a wrinkle. You will remember that you laughed until your ribs hurt. That your daughter traced circles on your arm. That for one glorious hour, you let the moment unfold.
And in doing so, you created more than a gallery—you created gold.
Behind the Curtain — Preparing for a Family Session Without Losing Your Sanity
In the world of curated visuals and lifestyle aesthetics, there's a sacred paradox that few speak about: to achieve the most effortless look, one must prepare with artful precision. Preparing for a family session isn't about rigid scripting. It's not about timelines carved in stone or wardrobes curated to museum-level curation. It’s about softening the chaos just enough that spontaneity can slip in unnoticed and take its rightful throne.
In my work across the soulful streets and wild trails of Portland, I’ve discovered that the most harmonious sessions unfold when parents arrive with quiet energy, present, grounded, and unshackled from the tyranny of lateness. Those rare sessions, the ones imbued with depth, humor, and poetic motion, all share one common denominator: thoughtful, calm preparation. Let’s peel back the curtain and explore how to prepare without losing your grip on joy.
Timing is a Love Letter to Sanity
Let’s begin with something deceptively simple: time. Your GPS is not a clairvoyant. When it tells you a location is twenty minutes away, it is not factoring in last-minute meltdowns over mismatched socks or the inexplicable detour your toddler insists on taking through a neighbor’s hydrangeas.
Plan to arrive twenty minutes earlier than recommended. This isn’t just about punctuality; it’s about emotional decompression. Children, especially those under eight, operate on a rhythm distinct from the adult world. They need time to acclimate—to gaze up at trees, chase invisible butterflies, and drag a stick along a fence. That moment of gentle arrival can be the difference between a session of resistance and a session of enchantment.
Wardrobe as Mood Architecture
Outfits are not merely garments; they are mood-setters. They whisper to the lens, setting the tonal symphony of the final result. But this doesn’t mean you must channel a Renaissance oil painting in your styling.
Begin selecting clothes at least a week in advance. Last-minute scrambling often leads to regret, or worse, unwashed, wrinkled options that steal time and peace from the day. Think in palettes, not colors. Earth tones, misty neutrals, and soft textures like gauze, linen, and worn-in cotton render the most organic, tender results.
Avoid logos, high-contrast patterns, or outfits that demand attention. Instead, aim for harmony. Let each member of the family be a note that contributes to the collective chord. And if fashion isn’t your forte, borrow from a curated client closet that offers timeless, effortless pieces designed to complement any setting or skin tone.
The Tactical Role of Snacks
Ah, snacks—the unsung heroes of familial calm. But heed this well: not all snacks are created equal. Your snack arsenal should be chosen with the precision of a master strategist.
Avoid anything messy, greasy, or crumb-producing. Think clean, fast-dissolving, and low-residue. Grapes are elegant. Marshmallows vanish quickly. Smarties dissolve on contact. Chocolate, while divine in theory, can become a melting menace. Crackers invite chaos in the form of ubiquitous crumbs and rogue seagulls if you're near the shore.
Offer snacks sparingly and only when needed. Let them be tiny rituals of reward, not crutches for distraction. One well-timed bite can save the rhythm of an entire session.
Tend to Yourself Like You Would a Garden
Let’s talk about you—the parent who’s often behind the scenes, managing logistics with the precision of a military commander and the empathy of a poet. You deserve to feel radiant.
This isn’t about glamor or extravagance. It’s about alignment. When you feel put-together—whether that means a swipe of mascara, a quick manicure, or freshly blown-out hair—it alters your entire posture. Confidence doesn’t need a megaphone; it pulses quietly, and that quiet confidence translates into magic.
Even ten minutes of self-care can soften your gaze, lift your shoulders, and make the entire session feel like a moment you lived in, not just survived.
Embrace Imperfection with Intention
It’s tempting to want everything to be flawless—the outfits, the attitudes, the weather. But perfection is a poor substitute for presence. Sessions that lean into imperfection often yield the richest tapestry of images. The curl gone rogue, the sock half-on, the toddler who refuses to smile—these quirks are your story’s punctuation marks.
So prepare not with the illusion of control, but with the goal of spaciousness. Spaciousness for giggles, tantrums, slow dancing, and the fleeting moment when your child wraps their fingers around yours without being asked. That’s the stuff you’ll want to bottle.
The Alchemy of Sleep and Silence
If there’s one secret ingredient often overlooked in preparation, it’s rest. Not just sleep, though a well-rested child is certainly a gentler travel companion, but also mental rest.
Avoid cramming errands, visits, or high-stimulation activities into the hours preceding the session. Leave room for silence. For sitting on the porch with juice. For watching clouds morph into dragons. That kind of restfulness lingers in the eyes and relaxes the shoulders. It invites receptivity. And receptivity, dear reader, is where the real beauty resides.
Tell a Story, Not a Script
When you prepare, think less in checklists and more in narrative. What do you want this collection to whisper about your family? Not just what you look like, but who you are when no one is asking you to smile.
Maybe it's the way your youngest insists on being barefoot. Or how your oldest now reaches your shoulder and still twirls their hair the same way they did at five. Maybe it's about the chaotic tenderness of your mornings or the inside jokes that make your whole household erupt in laughter.
Let the session reflect that ethos. Preparation should act like a stagehand—moving quietly in the background to ensure the story takes center stage.
Delegate What Drains You
You do not have to do it all. If outfit coordination turns you into a puddle of indecision, outsource it. If managing logistics makes you jittery, assign roles to your partner, your teen, or a friend. Focus your energy where it matters—on being emotionally available and open to the day’s rhythm.
Delegation is not laziness; it’s wisdom. It creates emotional margin, and that margin becomes the space where joy can emerge unsummoned.
Unpredictability as Muse
Despite the most poetic preparation, life remains gloriously ungovernable. Your toddler may nap too long. Rain may rewrite your location. A shoe may vanish into oblivion. Take a breath. Inhale the disarray.
Often, these interruptions aren’t detours but secret passageways to something more honest. A last-minute change in lighting might result in an unexpected glow. A meltdown might become a cuddle that stops time. If you’re open, the day will gift you scenes you couldn’t have orchestrated if you tried.
Closure Matters: Don’t Just Leave—Land
After the last shutter click, resist the urge to bolt. Let the session end with softness. Linger a little. Gather things slowly. Hug your children without rushing. Thank whoever guided the session with eye contact and intention.
That sense of closure imprints itself not just on memory but in the fabric of the experience. It bookends the day with grace and signals to your children that something meaningful just occurred. And later, when you revisit these visual artifacts, that fullness will echo quietly behind every frame.
Prepare Like a Poet, Not a Planner
To prepare for a family session is to strike a delicate alchemy between orchestration and surrender. You are crafting a canvas—not by painting the details yourself, but by making space for them to arrive unforced.
So plan gently. Let your preparation be like tuning an instrument—not to dictate the song, but to allow it to play clearly. When you approach it this way, you won’t just survive the session—you’ll float through it, witnessing your family’s magic unfold like a whispered melody.
Because the truth is: when the curtain lifts and the moments begin, the most potent beauty comes not from control, but from the courage to be fully present. Unrushed. Undistracted. Unmasked.
Play is the Portal — How Joyful Interaction Leads to Iconic Family Images
The Fallacy of the Perfect Pose
There's a common misconception lingering like fog over the idea of what it means to create a meaningful image with your family: that everyone must stand still, wear matching outfits, and smile like dolls on a shelf. This antiquated vision still lives in the minds of many well-intentioned parents who crave a beautiful keepsake, but perfection is not the portal to connection. Stillness, when forced, stifles the soul.
True resonance doesn’t arise from fixed smiles. It’s birthed in motion, in spontaneity, in the electric shimmer of real interaction. The illusion of control often feels safer, but it’s a brittle safety. When families arrive with a blueprint of poses and a mental slideshow of what should happen, they close the door to serendipity.
Instead of orchestrating facial expressions and corralling limbs into a synthetic tableau, imagine opening the door to something untamed. Something wilder. Something real.
Handing Over the Reins
This is where trust enters. If you’ve chosen someone to frame the essence of your family, then you must also surrender the compulsion to direct every moment. It can feel unnerving—this relinquishing of control—but it is the first step to capturing something elemental.
Once we begin, let go. Don’t check expressions, don’t offer bribes or warnings, and please don’t ask the kids to say cheese. You aren’t here to manage behavior. You are here to be.
You may feel like you’re doing too little. But that absence of effort is where the magic brews. In those quiet gaps where no one is performing, joy tiptoes in. I’m not here to document performance. I’m here to excavate the connection.
Movement as Medicine
We rarely find ourselves in a state of authenticity when we're asked to stand still under scrutiny. Movement is the antidote. It’s kinetic balm for nerves, a bridge from self-consciousness to genuine ease.
We begin with the body. A gentle sway as you cradle your baby. Siblings cartwheeling through wild grass. Parents twirling toddlers while the wind lifts hair like confetti. These aren’t just charming gestures—they’re invitations to comfort.
Movement anchors us in the moment. The hum of walking, the rhythm of skipping, or the bounce of a piggyback ride—each action welcomes spontaneity. There’s a rhythm to connection, and it never lives in rigidity. It pulses through the limbs.
Games: The Alchemy of Interaction
Once movement loosens the sinews of discomfort, we lean into play. But these aren’t games in the traditional sense. They’re rituals of intimacy. Fleeting and ephemeral, yet potent beyond measure.
We whisper riddles. We pretend to be giraffes or sloths or invisible dragons. We chase each other through invisible mazes. We play echo, telephone, and nonsense rhymes. Through these whimsical micro-moments, children—and their grown-ups—drop the façade. They erupt into their truest forms.
Games are the tools of the ancient storyteller, the medicine man, the mischief-maker. They disarm even the most reticent soul. They create pockets of delight where the extraordinary hides inside the ordinary.
The Magic Within the Moment
Contrary to popular belief, the iconic image doesn’t emerge after the laughter—it lives within it. It breathes in the twitch of a lip mid-giggle, in the furrowed brow of pretend-concentration, in the tilt of a head collapsing from ticklish surrender.
It’s during—not after—that we find the photograph worth keeping forever. It is the exact instant when no one is aware of the camera. When the moment swells too wide for self-consciousness.
These are not images to impress strangers on the internet. These are heirlooms of energy. They hum with soul.
When Children Resist
Not every child arrives ready to cavort or cuddle. Some bristle. Some freeze. Others bolt. This isn’t an obstacle—it’s a compass.
A hesitant child isn’t “misbehaving.” They’re communicating. Some little ones need to test the water with their toes before diving in. Others prefer to watch, observe, and decode what’s happening from the sidelines.
I don’t press. I don’t coax. I simply adjust. I respond. I wait.
Some children want to lead. Some want to disappear. My lens follows them without demand. I match their pace, their curiosity, their tempo. Respect is the first ingredient to any honest connection.
Parents, Unbutton Your Expectations
You may arrive with a Pinterest board of poses or a mental image etched in gold of your toddler smiling against the sunset. But the most breathtaking images don’t arrive on cue. They sneak in sideways, in a whispered breeze, in a tumbling laugh, in a kiss missed slightly off-target.
Let go of the wish-list. Loosen your grip.
Perfection has no heartbeat. But delight? Delight throbs with life.
Instead of correcting posture or adjusting collars, just stay present. Look at your child. Let your hands wander into their hair. Let your nose press against theirs. Let your body lean into closeness, even if chaos swirls around you.
It’s not about what you look like. It’s about what you feel.
Joy is the Conduit to the Sacred
Many families don’t realize they’re creating relics until years later, when a once-tiny hand is now larger than yours, or when the laugh of a five-year-old feels like a long-lost echo.
Joy, especially in motion, crystallizes something timeless. It bypasses surface beauty and plants its flag deep in your marrow. It shows you not just what your family looked like, but how you loved.
When we laugh with abandon, we access the sacred. The moments where time suspends itself. These are the moments that become mythic in memory.
The Art of Letting Go
There’s something radical in letting things unfold. It flies in the face of everything we’ve been taught about curating experiences. We live in a world that reveres control. But here, it’s useless.
The less you direct, the more you gain. The less you force, the more it unfurls.
Your task is not to perform affection. Your task is to feel it. Not to pose in togetherness, but to be in it.
Let the wind ruffle your dress. Let your toddler interrupt you mid-thought. Let the mood pivot unexpectedly. These aren’t interruptions—they’re the good stuff.
A Symphony Without Conductors
When you hand me the reins, what you’re doing is stepping into a collaborative improvisation. Like jazz, like poetry, like parenthood itself—what emerges is unscripted. That’s where the gold lies.
You are not here to create a façade. You are here to unearth a fragment of truth.
I’ll follow your children’s rhythms. I’ll watch how your gaze lingers on your partner. I’ll catch that unspoken moment between siblings. And in doing so, I’ll render not just a scene, but an atmosphere.
Rewriting the Visual Legacy
This is bigger than a session. It’s a reframing of what it means to preserve memory. You’re not creating a portrait for today—you’re making a message for the future.
You’re saying: This is how we loved each other in motion.
This is who we were when no one asked us to smile.
This is what it looked like when joy cracked open the sky.
When we allow play to be the guide, we’re not just taking a picture. We’re writing a visual poem that pulses with soul, breath, and uncontainable delight.
Anchoring Memory — Why Real Images Matter More Than Perfect Ones
Curated Lives and the Loss of the Everyday
We are immersed in a culture that glorifies polish. Filters smooth the skin, frames erase the mess, and curated feeds promote a life scrubbed clean of nuance. But perfection, while seductive, is hollow. The sterile image, gleaming and composed, may impress for a moment, but it rarely lingers in the heart.
What echoes through the years is not the flawless smiles or coordinated outfits. It’s the raw fragments—the ones that catch you off-guard with their tenderness. The loose ponytail your daughter tied herself. The unexpected belly laugh that made your eyes crinkle. The syrup stain on your son's sleeve as he climbed into your lap mid-snack. These slivers of truth are not distractions; they are the marrow of memory.
The Soulprint of the Familiar
A truly evocative image doesn’t just illustrate—it incarnates. When rooted in what is real, it holds memory like a locket pressed against time. In that way, an image becomes a soulprint. Not a copy of the past, but a vessel that evokes it.
The yawning stretch of a toddler waking from a nap, the way your partner glanced sideways during your shared joke, the defiant smirk of a child who knows they’re about to do something deliciously disobedient—these are not accidents. They are the fabric of your family's folklore.
And in time, they will be what your children seek. They will not comb through polished portraits looking for symmetry. They’ll long to feel you. To be wrapped again in the chaos, the devotion, the unspoken rituals of growing up loved.
Images as Vessels of Time
When we remember, we do not recall chronologically. Memory is a kaleidoscope. It arranges itself by emotion, by color, by scent, and by temperature. A breeze blew through the curtains. The taste of rain on your lips. A fleeting sunbeam across the cheek of your child.
An image rooted in reality serves as a mnemonic anchor. It triggers that cascading effect where the entire moment—the laughter, the weather, the warmth—returns with its original intensity. Suddenly, you're not looking at a moment. You're within it.
And this is the quiet power of a real image. It doesn't freeze time—it unlocks it.
The Myth of Perfection and the Tyranny of the Lens
Too often, people step in front of a camera with a performative air, bracing themselves for judgment. They adjust their bodies, police their smiles, and offer only the sides of themselves they deem acceptable. But this performance comes at a price. It serves authenticity.
Children, especially, recoil from this charade. They do not yet understand why they must stand still, stop fidgeting, or suppress their silliness. Their discomfort becomes our stress. And before long, what should have been a space for play becomes an altar to anxiety.
The result? A gallery of portraits that, while technically correct, feel soulless. They show what, but not the why. The who, but not the how.
Let the Wildness In
The most meaningful sessions—the ones that carve their names into the vault of your memory—are the ones where life spills freely. A meltdown mid-session? It's part of your truth. A surprise rain shower? Let it baptize the moment. Muddy knees, missing shoes, unkempt hair—these are not imperfections. They are relics of the real.
There’s a profound grace in surrendering to what is. When you allow spontaneity to guide the experience, a strange kind of magic unfolds. Children stop performing and start inviting. Parents soften. The atmosphere becomes breathable.
The moment you stop trying to look perfect is the moment you become radiant.
Memory is a Sensory Creature
When you look at an image steeped in realness, it does something peculiar. It doesn’t just remind—it reenacts.
The tension in your shoulders dissolves as you remember the way your child leaned into you, still damp from a bath. You recall the texture of the woven blanket beneath your feet, the scent of lavender in the air, the hiccuped laughter that erupted when your dog bounded into frame.
Real images invite participation, not observation. They are immersive. You smell the cinnamon, hear the screen door creak, feel the grass blades brushing your ankles. They bring back not just faces, but atmospheres.
Artifacts with Breath
There’s an ancient quality to images that tell the truth. They age like heirlooms. Unlike trendy, stylized portraits that become outdated as soon as a new aesthetic emerges, these images remain evergreen. They whisper the story of your lineage.
These are not glossy artifacts. They are breathing records. They carry with them a weight that transcends pixels and composition. When handed down, they serve not only as glimpses into the past, but as proof of tenderness lived.
These are the images your grandchildren will hold to their hearts. Not because everyone looked flawless, but because the love was unfiltered.
Reclaiming Joy, Rejecting Performance
Real sessions are joyful, not despite their unpredictability, but because of it. They allow space for nuance, for mischief, for laughter that arrives unannounced.
If your child has a meltdown, let it bloom. If your baby needs to be fed, take your time. If your toddler finds a worm in the garden and insists on showing it to everyone, lean in.
This is not a disruption. This is a narrative. This is how your story tells itself.
And the more you embrace it, the more your gallery will reflect who you truly are, not just how you looked for one orchestrated afternoon.
Realness as a Form of Reverence
There’s an intimacy that only comes through vulnerability. When you shed the need to orchestrate and instead inhabit your reality, the resulting imagery becomes reverent. Not in a religious sense, but in a sacred one.
It honors the sacredness of your family’s rituals—how your child always grabs the same stuffed bear, how you brush crumbs from your partner’s collar, how everyone gathers around the counter when the cookies come out of the oven.
When these moments are captured as they are, without correction or interference, they become icons of your private universe. They resonate deeply because they weren’t manufactured. They lived.
Presence Over Perfection
Presence is the antidote to perfectionism. It allows space for experience—unfiltered, fluid, and full of life. And this kind of presence cannot be coaxed into a mold. It has to be allowed, welcomed, and trusted.
In its presence, your session becomes not a performance but a celebration. Not a task, but a treasure. You are not staging affection—you are allowing it to rise naturally, in its rhythm.
And when you look back, what will remain is not the pose, but the pulse.
The Invitation
So here is my invitation to you:
Let the wildness in.
Let your session be a living, breathing thing. Arrive without an agenda. Wear something you can move in. Bring the dog. Don’t bribe the kids. Don’t worry about the hair.
Trust that what you carry is already worthy.
If your child climbs a tree, let them. If your baby falls asleep mid-session, we'll wrap them in a quilt and whisper around their dreams. If someone cries, that’s okay too.
This is not a performance. This is a remembering.
Conclusion
Perfect fades. Trends shift. But truth—truth lodges itself into the marrow. It is felt, not just seen.
When you choose to be documented as you are, you are not settling for less. You are choosing legacy. You are saying yes to the tangle, the glow, the dust, and the dance of your real life.
And in doing so, you ensure that when your children look back, they will not just see you. They will feel you.
Let that be the gift you give them.
Let that be the story you write.