I first understood the weight of a photograph as a child. During the holidays, I watched my grandmother and her mother document moments that would outlive them. Those images were passed down, carrying more than memory. They carried proof of love, connection, and legacy. Looking back at photos of my own family, I see not just who we were, but how deeply we were loved. That realization never left me.

Years later, I asked my mom for the iPod with the camera. Once I had it, I documented everything. Outfits, sunsets, the ordinary details of everyday life. I didn’t know it then, but I was learning how to see. That small habit became the foundation for everything I do now.

I didn’t pursue photography seriously at first. In college, I planned to become a dermatologist. Photography lived on the side, something I did for fun. I ran social media pages, edited photos for friends, and slowly became known as the person who could turn moments into something people wanted to keep. What started casually began to feel intentional. I found myself drawn not just to taking photos, but to curating them, shaping them, and preserving meaning within them.

At the same time, I was searching for direction. My faith became a central part of that process. Through it, I found clarity in who I was becoming and why I was being pulled in a different direction. What once felt uncertain began to feel aligned.

I made the decision to leave college and fully pursue photography. Not long after, I photographed my first wedding. I had never experienced something like it. The emotion, the weight of the day, the trust placed in me. I remember watching the couple see their photos and realizing this was more than a service. It was something sacred. I cried that day, not out of pressure, but because I understood the responsibility of what I was capturing.

From that moment on, everything changed. I wasn’t just taking photos. I was preserving the most meaningful moments of people’s lives in a way they could feel forever.