The women I photograph don’t just trust me with their stories—they changed mine

My voicemail inbox was full.

Not because I’m wildly popular or running some booming empire that can’t keep up with demand. No, it was full because Kaiser had been calling. And calling. And calling. Ever since I turned 40, they’d been gently (and then not-so-gently) reminding me it was time for my first mammogram.

I sent every single call to voicemail like I was playing defense in the world’s most anxiety-inducing game of phone tag.

Here’s what nobody tells you about health anxiety: it doesn’t make you careful. It makes you an ostrich. Head in sand, pretending that if you don’t look, nothing bad can possibly be there. It’s the grown-up version of closing your eyes during the scary part of the movie, except the movie is your own life and closing your eyes doesn’t actually change the plot.

But then two things happened that changed everything.

The Session I’ll Never Forget

A client reached out wanting to book a family photography session. She’d just been diagnosed with early-stage breast cancer and wanted to document this moment—her husband, her adult children, her grandkids, even the grand fur babies. She booked my highest package. Not because she suddenly had money to spare, but because this moment mattered too much for compromises. This wasn’t about finding a budget photographer anymore—this was about capturing the beauty of her life story, her family, this precious moment in time with the person who could do it justice. She showed up wearing pink—the color that has become synonymous with breast cancer warriors, survivors, and fighters everywhere.

I watched her through my viewfinder that day—dancing with her husband, chasing squealing grandchildren across a sun-dappled field, laughing until her whole face lit up. My heart was so full I thought it might crack open right there behind my camera.

She was beautiful. She was brave. She was here.

And she was here, in part, because she’d gone to her screening.

When Fear Becomes Real (And Why That’s Actually Okay)

Shortly after that session, a close friend went in for her routine mammogram. The very thing I’d been terrified of—the reason I’d let my voicemail fill up, the reason I’d been avoiding those calls—happened to her.

Breast cancer.

The diagnosis I’d been running from caught up to someone I love.

But here’s what stopped me in my tracks: she caught it early. So did my client. Both of them found it because they showed up for screening. Both of them have really good prognoses. Both of them are facing a scary journey, yes—but they’re facing it with options, with time, with hope.

And suddenly I realized something that seems so obvious now: my fear was trying to protect me, but it was actually putting me in more danger.

The Appointment

I made the call. I booked the appointment.

I did not sleep the night before.

“What if they find something?” played on repeat in my brain like the world’s worst playlist. I tried everything—meditation apps, counting backward from 1000, boring podcasts, imagining myself on a beach (why does everyone say that helps? I just think about sharks).

Nothing worked.

But the morning came anyway, and I went. I put on the gown. Well, I put on the gown backwards and spent a confused minute wondering why it felt like the girls were going to make a break for it. That’s how nervous I was—I literally could not comprehend basic instructions. The tech very kindly redirected me to try again. I stood in the position. I held my breath when they told me to.

And then I kept holding it.

Because here’s what I kept telling myself, over and over like a mantra I desperately needed to believe: Avoiding this isn’t going to change whether it’s there or not. But it could change the outcome if we catch it early.

Two Weeks of Breathing Underwater

The waiting period is cruel. Two weeks of trying to act normal while your brain occasionally whispers, “But what if…?”

Two weeks later, I was on vacation driving through New York, watching the trees put on their show-stopping fall display, when my phone dinged.

The email from Kaiser.

My hands actually shook opening it.

NEGATIVE.

I breathed. I mean, I breathed—like I’d been underwater for fourteen days straight and had finally broken the surface. Tears welled up in my eyes right there in the passenger seat, surrounded by friends as we drove to Boston for a day of exploring.

They weren’t tears of relief, exactly. They were tears of gratitude. Gratitude for negative results, yes, but also gratitude for the two women whose bravery had silently screamed at me to get my act together. Gratitude for their vulnerability in sharing their diagnoses. Gratitude that early detection gave them fighting chances.

Gratitude that I didn’t have to walk that path this year—but a fierce, protective gratitude that I could walk it with them.

Here’s What I Want You to Know

I’m not going to tell you that getting a mammogram is easy or comfortable or fun. It’s none of those things.

I’m not going to pretend that health anxiety isn’t real or valid or absolutely paralyzing. It is all of those things.

But I am going to tell you this: the fear doesn’t go away by avoiding the appointment. It just moves in and unpacks its bags and makes itself comfortable in your brain, rent-free, for however long you let it stay.

The appointment? The actual screening? That takes less than an hour. The “what ifs” you’re avoiding can haunt you for years.

And here’s the truth that my client and my friend taught me: if something is there, you want to know. You need to know. Because early detection changes everything. It changes your options. It changes your timeline. It changes your prognosis. It changes how many more hugs you get to give, how many first days of school you get to attend, how many life milestones you’re present for with your kids.

It could save your life.

Let’s Make a Deal

If you’re reading this and you’ve been avoiding that call, dodging that appointment, telling yourself you’ll do it next month (and next month keeps getting further away)—I see you. I was you.

So here’s what I’m asking: make the appointment. This week. Before you let yourself off the hook or convince yourself you’re too busy or decide you’ll wait until after the holidays or whatever excuse is trying to elbow its way into your brain right now.

And if you’re scared? Good. Take someone with you. Call your friend who’s been putting it off too and make it a pact—you’ll both go. Make it a weird bonding experience. Get coffee after. Complain about how awkward it was. Celebrate negative results together. Support each other if the news is harder.

We’re not meant to do scary things alone.

My friend will have surgery soon, and I will be there to support her every way I can. But I’m so unspeakably grateful that she’s here to walk those steps. That early detection gave her this fighting chance. That she showed up for that appointment even though I’m sure she was scared too.

These women—my brave client in pink, my fierce friend fighting her battle—they gave me a gift I can never repay: they showed me that courage isn’t the absence of fear. It’s doing the thing anyway.

October Is Breast Cancer Awareness Month

But honestly? Every month should be.

And while we’re talking about things that matter: document your life. Take the photos. Book the session. Capture the moments with the people you love. My client in pink understood something profound when she reached out after her diagnosis—we never know what tomorrow will bring, and life is a beautiful gift that deserves to be cherished and documented. Don’t wait for a wake-up call to realize that these ordinary, extraordinary moments with your people are worth preserving.

So whether it’s October or January or the middle of a random Tuesday in June—if you’re due for a mammogram, please go. If your inbox is filling up with reminder calls like mine was, please answer.

Your people need you here.

You need you here.

And I promise you this: the relief you’ll feel when you get those negative results—or the gratitude you’ll feel for catching something early if the news is different—will be worth every second of anxiety you pushed through to get there.

The appointment doesn’t make the fear real. The appointment makes you brave.

And you are so much braver than you know.

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If you’re due for a screening or have been putting it off, please make that appointment. Talk to your doctor, your friends, your loved ones. And if you need someone to go with you, ask. I promise there’s someone in your life who would be honored to sit in that waiting room with you.

If you’re due for a screening or have been putting it off, please make that appointment. Talk to your doctor, your friends, your loved ones. And if you need someone to go with you, ask. I promise there’s someone in your life who would be honored to sit in that waiting room with you.

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Resources for Breast Cancer Screening:

Need help finding or affording a mammogram?

• CDC’s National Breast and Cervical Cancer Early Detection Program: Free or low-cost screenings for eligible women ages 40-64 | Visit cdc.gov/breast-cervical-cancer-screening or call 1-800-CDC-INFO
• National Breast Cancer Foundation: Find facilities offering free mammograms | nationalbreastcancer.org
• American Cancer Society: Screening information and state resources | 1-800-227-2345 or cancer.org
• National Cancer Institute: Cancer Information Service | 1-800-4-CANCER (1-800-422-6237)
• Susan G. Komen Foundation: Helpline and referrals | 1-877-465-6636

Can’t afford screening? Call your local hospital and ask to speak with a social worker or patient navigator—they can connect you with programs in your area.

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To my friend fighting this battle: I love you. We’ve got this. We will cry together, but we will also celebrate fiercely when you’re able to put this behind you.