My Commitment to Inclusion as a Woman of Color

When I first picked up a camera, I wasn’t just looking to capture pretty pictures—I wanted to tell stories. Real stories. Stories full of life, love, connection, and authenticity. As a woman of color, I know firsthand how powerful it is to feel truly seen, not just through someone’s lens but in the way they honor your existence. That’s why inclusion isn’t just a buzzword for me; it’s the heartbeat of my work.

In this space, everyone is welcome. Period.

What Inclusion Means to Me

Inclusion isn’t just about checking boxes or throwing around trendy words. It’s about creating a space where people feel safe to show up exactly as they are—messy, beautiful, bold, quiet, loud, or anywhere in between. Whether you’re in front of my camera or simply visiting my website, I want you to know: You belong here.

I celebrate diversity in all its forms—race, ethnicity, gender identity, sexual orientation, body type, ability, culture, background, and beyond. Your story deserves to be told, not despite your differences but because of them. They are what make you, you. And that’s the magic I want to capture.

My “Why”

My journey into photography wasn’t some grand plan—it was personal, raw, and rooted in a moment that changed me forever.

When I was still dabbling in photography, I decided to take photos of my parents. We had plenty of family photos around the house, but surprisingly few of just the two of them together. My mom is white, and my dad was Black. He immigrated from Liberia in his early 20s to attend Michigan State University in the 1950s, later earning multiple degrees from both MSU and Syracuse University. He was brilliant, hardworking, and resilient. But he also carried the weight of the discrimination and hate he faced in a city he had grown to call home.

My dad worked hard to assimilate—softening his beautiful Liberian accent to fit in, to succeed. But the one thing he couldn’t change was his richly melanated skin. That skin told a story—his story—a history of perseverance, love, and identity.

In 2012, both of my parents were fighting for their lives. My dad was battling pancreatic cancer, and my mom (a type 1 diabetic) was fighting breast cancer. I was faced with the very real possibility of losing both of them, and it hit me hard: I didn’t have any good photos of them together. So, I offered to take their photo.

My dad’s response broke my heart. He said, “No. I never show up in photos.”

Imagine that. Not only does society treat you as “less than,” but even a camera—the very tool designed to capture life—can’t seem to see you properly. That realization crushed me. I asked him to humor me, promising if it didn’t work, we’d stop.

After a few test shots, I nervously showed my parents the back of the camera. My dad audibly gasped.

In that single breath, I realized something profound: he felt seen in a way he never had before.

That moment shifted everything for me. Photography wasn’t just about capturing smiles or pretty sunsets. It was about representation. It was about dignity. It was about seeing people—truly seeing them—and reflecting back their worth.

Why This Matters

Representation matters. Seeing yourself reflected in photos, in art, in media—it shapes how you view your own worth. Growing up, I didn’t always see images that felt like they represented people who looked like me, loved like me, or lived like me. That absence left an impression. It made me determined to do things differently.

Now, as a photographer, I have the privilege of flipping that narrative. I get to create images where people don’t just feel included—they feel celebrated. Not tokenized, not an afterthought, but front and center, exactly where they deserve to be.

For me, editing is not just about making sure the color of your dress is accurate. It’s about making sure the color of your skin—the beautiful, radiant, powerful part of your identity—is honored. That’s what tells your family history. That’s what helps you feel seen. That’s what matters most to me.

My Promise to You

When you step in front of my lens, you’re not just another client. You’re a person with a story, with layers, with a history that deserves to be honored. I promise to create a judgment-free, affirming space where you can be your true, authentic self. No filters (unless we’re talking photo edits), no facades—just you.

So whether you’re here because you’re planning a wedding, celebrating a milestone, or simply want to feel seen through someone else’s eyes, know this:
Your story matters.
Your love matters.
You matter.

And I’d be honored to capture every bit of it.

View my formal inclusion statement HERE.