How My Husband’s Cancer Journey Changed Me as a Photographer — Part 1
And we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose for them. Romans 8:28
I never truly understood the depth of this scripture until the day we were told my husband had Stage 4 Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. Being in our mid-to-late twenties, we didn’t even know how to process the news. You never think it’s going to be you. You hear stories about friends, family members, or strangers walking through cancer, but when you suddenly become the person receiving the unimaginable news, hope and faith can feel so far away.
After about a month of letting the diagnosis sink in and processing what our next steps would look like, my husband and I sat down and had “the talk.” The conversation no young married couple ever expects to have — the one about death, funerals, and how you want to be remembered if the worst were to happen. It was uncomfortable. Painful. Heavy. But in the middle of all of it, we both agreed on one thing: no matter what happened, whether we were given months or many more years together, we were going to glorify God through every part of this journey. We chose not to spend our days asking God, “Why us?” Instead, we chose to trust Him even when life no longer made sense. So at the end of 2024, as we prepared for chemotherapy treatments, we held tightly to this scripture. And over the next six months, we witnessed God’s faithfulness in ways we never had before. And by the grace of God, as of May 2026, there have been no new growths or signs of cancer.
This season changed me in countless ways, but one of the biggest things it taught me as a photographer is this: Every single person has a story.
I remember going into stores during treatment, wondering if anyone around me had any idea what we were facing. Of course, they didn’t, but that realization changed me. It reminded me how important it is to treat people with compassion because we never truly know what someone has been through. I think many of us go through life consumed by our routines, our to-do lists, and our own personal struggles. We rarely stop to consider that the person standing in front of us may be carrying something incredibly heavy, too. The person who cut you off in traffic may have just lost someone they love. The student sitting quietly next to you might be praying for their grandparent to be healed. The mom in the grocery store may be silently hoping her card doesn’t decline at checkout. Walking through cancer reminded me how little we truly know about what people are carrying behind closed doors.
As a photographer, it became impossible for me to see people the same way afterward. Before this season, it was easy to get caught in the workflow of business. New inquiry. Respond. Client books. Show up to the session. Laugh, pose, take beautiful photos. Go home, cull the gallery, edit the images, send them off, repeat. But after walking through cancer with my husband, my perspective on photography completely shifted. I no longer just see outfits, poses, or curated Pinterest inspiration. I see people carrying stories, burdens, prayers, heartbreak, healing, joy, and a love that often goes unseen by the world around them. I think that’s why photography means so much more to me now.
People aren’t simply investing in photos for social media or yearly updates. They’re preserving memories and documenting a legacy. They’re freezing moments in time with the people they love most, moments that may someday become priceless. Cancer reminded me how quickly life can change. And because of that, I approach my sessions differently now. I try to slow down more. I try to lead with gentleness. I care less about perfection and more about connection. I want to know my clients beyond surface-level conversation. I want them to feel seen, safe, and cared for when they’re in front of my camera.
I’ve also learned that hope exists even in hard stories. Sometimes it’s hidden in the smallest moments, the way a mother looks at her child, the way a couple laughs together, or the way someone instinctively reaches for another person’s hand. Those are the moments I find myself drawn to capturing most now. Because at the end of the day, photography is about so much more than beautiful images. It’s about people. And if there’s one thing my husband’s cancer journey taught me, it’s this: People deserve to be treated with care.
