Remember old school blogs? The ones that felt more like a diary than a method to increase website SEO.  No ads, just the thoughts of a human being. That is the vibe I am going for here.

I have only shared this side of me on my personal socials. The fear of rejection or judgement has stopped me so many times from opening up on my business side. But lately it is naturally coming up in conversations during sessions. I am not ashamed. I am no longer trying to hide.

Mental health struggles are not new to me. I have always known something in my brain was different, but no one around me seemed to think it was something that should be addressed. I have mastered the art of masking and few people in my real life bubble saw the struggles. 

There have always been waves of anxiety and depression. I have been to the breaking point of seeking medical help and just left with bandaid fixes like pills. I needed someone to look at the whole picture.

In 2024, at the age of 48, I was diagnosed as neurodivergent, ADHD specifically. 

That sentence still feels a little strange to write. Super love the label of "late diagnosis". 

For most of my life, I didn't have a name for why certain things seemed harder for me than they seemed to be for other people. I struggled with the structure and the boredom of corporate work. I struggled with the ups and downs of self-employment and the pressure that comes with running your own business. And, like so many photographers, I've struggled with imposter syndrome and the constant comparison that comes with being on social media.

Being a photographer means putting yourself out there constantly. You create something that is deeply personal, share it publicly, and then watch the numbers — likes, comments, followers, engagement — as though they somehow measure your worth or your talent.

That can be difficult for anyone. For me, it can be particularly difficult. I feel things hard.

The burnout is crippling.

My diagnosis didn't suddenly make those challenges disappear. But it did give me a different way of understanding myself.

And, unexpectedly, it also made me start looking at my photography differently.

I Notice Things Other People Miss

I've always been an observer.

I notice changes in feelings and behavior. I notice when someone's energy shifts. I notice a child becoming overwhelmed before they necessarily have the words to tell me what's wrong. I notice the little changes in expression, body language, and interaction that can easily be missed if you're only concentrating on getting everyone to "look at the camera."

I've come to realize that this is one of the ways being neurodivergent has shaped me as a photographer.

Photography isn't just about having a good camera or knowing how to use lighting. A huge part of what I do is watching people.

And sometimes, what I'm watching isn't the obvious thing.

It's the little things.

A child who is starting to withdraw.

A parent who is becoming uncomfortable.

A sibling who is trying to communicate something without saying it.

A dog whose behavior suddenly changes.

Those little signals can tell me when I need to slow down, change direction, give someone space, or simply stop trying to force a particular moment.

Connecting Without Words

One of the things I'm especially grateful for is the ability to connect with children who are on the spectrum, including children who may not be able to verbalize what they're feeling or what they need in the moment.

I don't believe every neurodivergent child is the same, and I certainly don't assume that I automatically know what a child is thinking.

But I do pay attention.

I watch.

I listen in ways that don't always involve words.

Sometimes a child's body language tells me more than their voice could. Sometimes a change in their behavior is enough for me to realize that I need to approach the session differently.

And that can make a difference in how a child experiences being photographed.

For me, the goal isn't to make every child behave the same way or to make every session look identical.

It's to meet people where they are.

That philosophy has become an important part of the way I photograph families.

The Parts of Being Neurodivergent That Aren't Easy

I also don't want to paint neurodivergence as some magical photography superpower.

There are parts of it that make running a business difficult for me.

Anxiety IS difficult.

Depression IS debilitating.

Self-employment IS hard.

Imposter syndrome IS loud.

Social media IS exhausting.

My fear of confrontation or disappointing people can completely change my mood for hours, even days.

There are days when I question whether I'm good enough, whether I'm doing enough, whether people actually want what I have to offer.

Photography is a creative business, but it is also a business. There are marketing decisions, financial decisions, social media, emails, scheduling, client communication and an endless list of things that have nothing to do with actually picking up a camera.

And sometimes my brain doesn't make those things easy.

My diagnosis didn't erase those struggles.

What it gave me was a little more understanding of where some of them come from — and, perhaps more importantly, a little more compassion for myself.

And Then There Are the Unexpected Advantages

The more I've thought about my diagnosis, the more I've realized that some of the qualities I've spent years questioning may also be some of the qualities that make me good at what I do.

My attention to detail.

My ability to notice subtle changes.

My tendency to observe before I react.

My sensitivity to the environment and people around me.

My ability to become deeply focused on what I'm doing.

My ability to process information quickly.

My fears push me to work harder.

These aren't separate from my photography.

They are part of it.

Maybe being the photographer who notices things others miss isn't just a nice phrase for my website.

Maybe it's actually a pretty accurate description of how I see the world.

And I'm beginning to see that as a strength.

This is how my brain works. These are the struggles it creates. These are also some of the things it gives me. And I'm finally comfortable letting my clients see the whole person behind the camera.

Sunny