Last summer, I booked a photoshoot for myself as a 57th birthday gift.

Not because I was excited.
Not because I suddenly felt bold or fearless.

I did it because I felt like I had to.

I needed updated photos. I’m a photographer — it comes with the territory. And if I’m being honest in a way that feels a little uncomfortable to admit, I’d lost a few pounds and thought… maybe I can get away with it this time. Maybe I won’t hate them.

So I framed it as a birthday gift. I tried to treat it like a celebration.

Inside, I was dreading it.

The session itself was lovely. Truly. And I want to be very clear — the photographer was exceptional. Her work is beautiful. This story has nothing to do with skill or talent or effort.

Then came the reveal.

I remember sitting there, coffee in hand, looking at the images on the screen and thinking:

Who is that?

Not in a critical way.
Not in a dramatic way.

Just unfamiliar.

I kept waiting for that moment people talk about — the instant recognition, the emotional click. It didn’t happen. Not right away.

At the time, I said all the right things. I even wrote about how empowering the experience was. How confidence-boosting it felt. How proud I was of myself for stepping in front of the camera.

That wasn’t the full truth.

Here’s the honest version I didn’t say out loud then:

I loved about three images immediately.
I slowly came to accept six more.
The rest took months to sit with.

This wasn’t about the photographer.

This was about coming face-to-face with a version of myself that didn’t match the one I still carry around internally.

And that realization stayed with me.

I sat with it quietly for months — chewing on it, turning it over, wondering why it felt so complicated when, on the surface, everything had gone “right.”

Then one day, it clicked.

This is why so many women avoid the camera.

Not because they don’t want to be remembered.
Not because they don’t value photographs.
Not because they lack confidence.

But because the internal version of themselves — the one they know — doesn’t always align with what the camera reflects back.

Aging does that.
Life does that.
Change does that.

Women see things others don’t. We are hyper-aware. Hyper-critical. Quietly comparing the woman in the photo to the one we still feel like inside.

Stepping in front of a camera can feel like asking for that fear to be confirmed.

You know the moment.

You offer to take the photo instead.
You step out of the group shot.
You say, “I’ll sit this one out,” and hope no one notices the ache behind it.

And here’s another thought I’ve been sitting with.

I wonder if this is part of why we’re seeing such a rise in AI portraits.

Not because people want something fake.
But because AI allows for a gentler alignment with the version of ourselves we still recognize.

Not a different person.
Just closer to the internal one.

Softer edges.
A little less time showing up all at once.
A reflection that feels more familiar.

That doesn’t come from vanity.
It comes from wanting alignment.

As a photographer — and as a woman — this experience changed how I think about what we’re really asking for when we say we want to be photographed.

And it’s important for me to say this clearly:

I can’t promise that having your portraits taken will magically close that gap between how you see yourself inside and what you see reflected back in an image.

You may still struggle with that sense of unfamiliarity.
You may still need time to sit with the photographs.
You may still look at them and think, this isn’t quite how I see myself.

And that doesn’t mean the experience failed.

What I do believe — deeply — is that the experience itself holds value.

As we continue our quiet march into our future selves, our perspective shifts. Time softens things. Distance changes how we see. Images that once felt complicated often feel gentler when viewed through a new season of life — because we are no longer the same person.

I know this because I’ve lived it.

What I can promise is understanding.

I understand the hesitation.
I understand the fear of not recognizing yourself.
I understand the very real desire to show up — paired with the equally real worry of being misunderstood.

Most women don’t want to disappear from their own story.
They want to be present — just not misrepresented.

Photography, at its best, isn’t about forcing confidence, selling empowerment, or pretending aging doesn’t exist.

It’s about trust.
About patience.
About refining both the process and the final artwork to align as closely as possible with how you see yourself — right now.

Sometimes, the greatest gift a portrait gives you isn’t how you feel today, but how gently you’ll look back at yourself in the years to come.

If you’ve been considering a portrait experience but feel uncertain, conflicted, or quietly hesitant, you’re not alone.

If you’d like to explore what that experience could look like — without pressure — you’re welcome to start with a simple conversation.