Creativity and Anxiety Can Live Together
People are often surprised when I tell them I still get nervous before a photo session. After all, I've photographed countless families and weddings over the years. By now, using a camera is second nature. I know my equipment, I know how to find beautiful light, and I know how to guide a session. That's never been what makes me nervous.
What still gives me butterflies is meeting new people. Every family is different, every couple has their own personalities, and every session starts with a relationship between strangers. As photographers, we're asking people to trust us with some of the most meaningful moments of their lives. That's something I never take lightly.
One of my favorite questions to ask couples before an engagement session is, "Are you nervous?" Most of them smile and admit that they are. I usually laugh and tell them, "Me too."
Not because I'm worried about taking good pictures, but because I care about creating a good experience. I wonder if they'll feel comfortable with me. I hope they'll enjoy my ideas. I want them to leave thinking, "That was actually fun."
The funny thing is, all of those thoughts disappear the moment I put my cameras on.
It's hard to explain unless you've experienced it yourself, but it's almost like my brain changes gears. Instead of thinking about myself, I become completely focused on what's happening around me. The light, the laughter, the way a couple naturally reaches for each other's hand, or the quiet glance between a parent and child suddenly become the only things that matter.
Photography has a way of calming the noise in my mind because it gives me something beautiful to pay attention to.
Wedding days are the perfect example of this. The morning is filled with excitement, but there's almost always a layer of nervous energy too. Timelines are being watched, dresses are being buttoned, family members are bustling around, and everyone is anticipating one life-changing moment.
Then the ceremony begins. The vows are spoken, the rings are exchanged, and the couple shares their first kiss as husband and wife. Almost instantly, everything changes. You can actually see the relief wash over them. The pressure is gone, and they're finally free to enjoy the day they've spent months planning. That's when some of my favorite photographs happen—not because I've posed them perfectly, but because they've forgotten the camera is even there.
As photographers, we begin to notice things other people don't. A groom quietly wiping away a tear before anyone else sees it. A bride reaching for her father's hand one last time before walking down the aisle. A grandmother smiling from across the room. Tiny whispers between newlyweds that no one else will ever hear. Those moments last only seconds. If no one notices them, they're gone forever.
I've often wondered if my anxiety is part of what makes me see those moments in the first place. Living with an anxious mind has taught me to pay attention. It has made me observant, aware of small details, and sensitive to what's happening around me. While anxiety isn't something I'd wish on anyone, I've learned that God can use even the parts of ourselves we'd rather change.
Photography became an unexpected gift in that journey. It doesn't erase my anxious thoughts, but it gives them somewhere to rest. It reminds me to be present instead of worrying about what's coming next. It teaches me to slow down and appreciate the beauty unfolding right in front of me. Maybe that's why I love this work so much.
Every session reminds me that life isn't made up of the big milestones alone. It's built from a thousand small moments—a hand squeeze, a shared laugh, a tear of joy, a child reaching for a parent's hand. Those are the memories that become priceless over time.
If you've ever struggled with anxiety, I hope you know it doesn't mean you can't be creative, confident, or called to something meaningful. Sometimes our greatest strengths are shaped by the very things we wish we didn't have to carry.
For me, photography has become a reminder that anxiety and creativity can exist together. One keeps me prepared. The other keeps me present. And somewhere in between, I have the privilege of preserving moments that families will treasure for generations.
