Blooming into Being

Date: Monday, 12th May 2025

Location: London

Last week was heavy.

Behind the scenes of editing the softest, dreamiest newborn photos, I was also navigating some deep personal grief.

I was remembering a friend—someone dear to me—who passed away a year ago. And I was grieving alongside a family who lost their much-wanted baby. There are no words strong or soft enough to describe the ache of that kind of loss.

As a birth photographer and doula, I often stand on the edge of life as it begins. My work is usually soaked in joy, in relief, in those teary-eyed we did it moments. But every now and then, I find myself holding space not for celebration… but for sorrow.

When it’s someone close, it hits differently.

The ache wraps itself around my ribcage. I feel it in my breath, in my hands, in the silence between editing and emails. And yet, I still have to show up—steady, kind, composed.

But truthfully? I’m not always strong.

I’m not always composed.

I feel everything, sometimes too deeply.

I’ve never been great at speaking —it’s clumsy when it comes out of my mouth. I prefer to write. To let the words land slowly, honestly. But even then, the human part of me wants to get it “right,” and grief doesn’t work like that.

So last week, I cried. I prayed, and I asked for a blessing that came in the form of prayer from our Father. He placed his hand over me and my family, and for the first time in days, I felt the heaviness shift. Not disappear entirely—but loosen, soften, float just enough to let light in.

Grief cracked something open in me… and through that crack, gratitude poured in.

Gratitude for my family, for my neighbours and our little community.

For my beautiful clients who let me into their sacred moments.

For the stories I get to tell with my camera—the ordinary magic of life, unfolding frame by frame. And most of all, gratitude for the reminder that I’m human.

This week, I begin again. Tender, yes—but grounded.

I hold my camera a little softer.

I pause a little longer before I click.

I honour the joy, but I don’t ignore the pain.

Because both belong.

Because both teach us how to live fully.

So here’s to soft beginnings.

To grief that doesn’t steal, but shapes.

To Mondays that arrive like second chances.

And to the gentle, unwavering grace of starting again.

With Love,

Deborah xxx