Maggie Williams Photography

Motherhood. Being especially needed on the one day set aside each year to celebrate you.

I am grateful to that my children's father is so present and was able to care for them today despite angry red and itchy polka dots, so that I could spend time with my own mother today. I am grateful that the rash is likely an allergic reaction and not a symptom of something worse.

Not everyone finds themselves in such favorable circumstances and I know that today may feel extra tender for you. May you be gentle with yourself and know that you are incredible. Mothering yourself and other humans is not an easy feat and, yet, you show up every day.

May all who "mother" feel love today.

*Photos taken and shared with permission

Jesse Williams, MSW

Yesterday, my husband graduated with his Master's degree in Social Work. He started school during a pandemic, persisted through multiple surgeries and cancer treatment--attending classes from his hospital bed and writing papers during chemo infusions--, and finished strong while working three jobs. He is the epitome of a hard worker and of persistence.

Next up, his certification as an LCSW.

When I planted wildflowers in honor of lost babes this morning, I had no idea it was Bereaved Mother's Day.

"Bereaved Mother," a title no one wants to earn, and no one deserves. My heart is aching for all the little ones who left this earth too soon. Their time may have been short, but their impact huge.

Make sure you show up for those who are grieving, speak their baby's name, have them remind you of all those little things that made their child special and oh-so-precious.

It is an honor to support families as they say goodbye to their little ones. I'm holding you all in my heart extra tightly today.

Each paper heart is filled with flower seeds and represents a sweetheart who has passed.

"When he thinks back on homeschooling, it's moments like this one that he'll remember."

To be honest, I've been struggling (again) with my efficacy as a home educator. Am I doing enough? Are they learning enough? Am I the right person to meet their learning needs?

I often forget that so much learning is happening outside of the scholastic work. And so much joy and opportunity are being created by the flexibility I am able to offer my children. Math becomes more fun when the playful cat gets involved 😁

Pumping milk for your baby can be a tireless, difficult, thankless job. Perhaps you're pumping by choice, or perhaps pumping is one thing you can do for your baby while the rest of the world feels out-of-control. Either way, we see you. We support you. We celebrate you. Every drop of milk you provide for your child is a gift. You are incredible.

Tenderness and connection. May we all have more of it. For ourselves. For others.

As a highly sensitive person and someone who is easily overstimulated by external sources, homeschooling has been a difficult transition for me. I have adjusted over the years, due namely to my intentional self-regulation and, to be completely honest, my children’s aging (functioning is a bit easier when my child doesn’t need to be attached to me for 90% of the day).

Our read-alouds often look like this–me, settled on the couch (with a pup and a cat or two snoozing nearby), while my children roll through the house on their respective sets of wheels.

It can still be overwhelming sometimes. The roller-skates and skateboard make quite the racket, not to mention the dizzying movement as they zoom around.

With slow breaths and a remembrance of, “this is what my children need,” I’m able to regulate myself and find gratitude.

Gratitude that I have the flexibility in teaching my children, to be able to encourage their movement, helping them fulfill their sensory seeking needs. What a gift.

(Real talk though: Even though homeschooling can be so beautiful, it's still hard AF. I'm grateful that our circumstances give us the option to choose our hard in regards to their education)

The days have shortened and darkness has claimed it spot triumphantly. The cold outside often leaves me with an unshakeable chill, no matter the number of blankets I pile on myself.

As beautiful as the colorful leaves are and as lifegiving it is to receive a breath of crisp air after a hot, sticky summer, this time of year remains tricky for me.

My baseline of neutrality dips into the "blue" or "low" zone. In general, I typically dread this time of year. Fighting off seasonal depression while expecting to make magic and be merry don't mix well. And, while this time of year will never be my favorite, I'm working hard to float on through it.

Let's lower the expectations of ourselves, especially if this season is hard for you, and be okay with floating. Some of us are just wired differently and that's beautiful (our fall-loving friends may need our pep come spring!).

Do what you need to take care of yourself--sit in sunshine each day or up your dose of Vitamin D3, bask in your artificial sun lamp, take your meds, journal, go slow...take extra care during this sleepy season and trust that the light will always return.

It's photos like these that make my heart smile extra wide. That bring me back to this sweet moment, my littles playing together, imaginations expanding.

Don't get me wrong, I love intentional family photos and have many on display in our home...but it's the fully unscripted, candid moments that pull my heart straight back into that funny, sweet moment.

The messy hair, the Halloween costume that once was mine, tiny fingers gripping the leg of the doll given to me by my late grandmother, the toddler determined to keep up with her big--simple beauty and pure love.

Grief can be obvious. Or it can be ambiguous.
A concrete loss of a loved one triggers grief.
And yet, grief also arises during hard chapters of life.

We may grieve over the loss of control.
For the dreams we held.
Changes in bodies, homes, life…

All grief is legitimate.
And all grief needs a soft space to land.

When grief washes over you, take notice and tend to yourself gently.
May we all meet others with tenderness as well.

Last August,
Exhaustion.
Two more rounds of chemo
To Go.
Endless caregiving.

Last August,
Anxious anticipation.
Awaiting a surgery date
And the light at the end of the tunnel.

This August brings
Similar chaos.
Yet, this time
It is chosen.

Grad-school,
Internships,
College courses,
Dreams followed
And nearly achieved.

The chaos will be hard.
The stress very real.
But there is an easiness
In our breathing
That we weren’t afforded last year.

And for this gift
There is nothing but
Gratitude.

*
I’m not a poet, but I’ve been reading quite a bit of free verse recently and these lines of gratitude poured out.

This coming fall will be intense. My husband will be working +60/hr weeks between his job and grad-school internship. I decided to enroll in a college course as well. And we’re starting a much needed addition to our home. I feel anxious already about the busyness of this season. And yet, after last fall, there is a lot of peace. What a gift to be able to *choose* these stressors, rather than have them happen to us.

I could see him holding back tears.

Walking toward the crowded picnic shelter, filled with shouting children, my eyes searched out my child’s face. There he was, crumpled over, chin resting in his palm, blue eyes bleary. Exhausted. Sad.

I gently guided him and his sister to the car after signing them out from camp before asking how the day was.

Tears immediately streamed down his face as he began to sob.

As it turns out, this particular camp was not a good fit for my family.

Through squeaky wails, I absorbed the long list of everything that made the day unbearable for him.

After hugs and reassurances, his sister led me in a less emotionally charged, yet thoughtful discussion about what also bothered her from the day.

The main issue was the injustice they witnessed. And the heavy hand of “obedience” that was forced upon them.

Campers could be thrown out of camp if they earned three strikes against them.

My daughter’s voice softened with concern. “I felt so sad for the kids who were getting strikes. I don’t want them to get kicked out of camp.”

She shared the irony of the child who earned a strike for looking at a wild skink while the herpetologist gave a lecture on reptiles. “He wasn’t talking or being distracting, he was just looking and they gave him a strike for ‘not paying attention.’”

Her heart wilted witnessing the injustice of a peer punished for curiosity.

My children were probably caught off-guard and were more sensitive to the authoritarian approach taken at this camp because we homeschool. I try hard to not “manage” them with what has become a commonplace approach in education systems across our country.

I believe that the instructors were doing their best, yielding the skills they had to keep a group of pre-teens organized on a hot day. But doesn’t it break your heart a bit knowing that the tools so many adults have are limited to threats and stifling natural wonder?

Re-parenting has been a tough, painful process. I am perpetually unlearning and relearning how to interact with my children. My efforts have been imperfect, but I strive hard to make repairs and to continue to grow. May will all practice gentleness and raise softer generations to nourish our world.

And for those wondering, no, my children elected not to return to the camp and I made it okay for them to stay home.

I've missed being active here. I've missed sharing my favorite work with you all.

After the sprint that was last year, I needed to step back from my business. I needed time to recover and to tend to myself and my family.

While I'm not launching back into my work fully, I'm hoping to share more regularly here again. To share the photos that tickle my heart (like this one--I dare you not to giggle at that adorable, ice cream covered pout), and maybe write more again. I used to fancy myself an author, but, to be honest, I haven't had the mental capacity to pour my heart out on paper.

I miss photographing. I truly do love it. And creating meaningful artwork for others. My heart is feeling pulled toward documentary work again. Maybe that means you'll see more of my family here. Maybe we co-create together. I'm remaining open to how the creative forces guide me.

Once an artist, always an artist. But even the artist's soul needs rest.

One year ago today, my husband was rushed away from me and into surgery.  

After several excruciating days at the hospital with no answers, they had found a necrotic mass in his colon.

“Sloughing tissue filled with p***y white stuff” are the words the surgeon used to explain what they had found. “It could be cancer or it could be something else.”

It was cancer. Stage 3b.

The way in which our community rallied around us has been beautifully humbling.  I’ve cried many tears throughout this cancer journey, but many of them have been wept out of gratitude.

  At the start of it all, I kept a list on the first few pages of Jesse’s cancer journal (mostly used to take medical notes) of all the ways folks showed up for us.  After filling a couple pages, I lost track because that’s how many people showed us love.  So many I couldn’t keep track.

Every single coffee, meal, text, card, gift, listening ear, and all the other beautiful offerings I’ve yet to list made a difference in our lives. And we are so grateful.

Both Jesse and I continue to process this whirlwind that was the past year, but today we focus on our gratitude. 

I could not be more grateful to have my husband alive and thriving one year later.

I could not be more grateful for the stellar care he received from the many care providers at .

I could not be more grateful for you all, my community.  Thank you for getting us through the hard and for celebrating with us each time a test comes back clear!

Thank you to
for the beautiful first photo of me and Jesse in the thick of it all. She responded compassionately to my panicked need to for family photographs while Jesse underwent treatment. Love you, my friend!

**kcancer

I snapped this photo of my husband just before he ran into the ocean with our children. Nearly a year after our lives changed and he received his cancer diagnosis.

When I showed the photo to him, I received a surprising response:

“Oh, wow. I look different than I thought I would.”

Probing him to tell me more, he explained that his body looked better, stronger than he had envisioned.

After two surgeries that can only be described as traumatic (and having his intestines routed through his stomach to the outside) and chemotherapy that depleted him, his body has been through hell.

His body looks different than it once did. In addition to the large scars and flurry of small ones, his core muscle make-up has forever been altered.

He has needed a beat to adjust to his new physique.

And how awesome it was to see him discover his beauty after a year in hell.
How awesome it was to see him bolt into the waves, nothing holding him back.

And, friends, get in front of the camera. Sometimes you need to see yourself through someone else’s eyes to remember how incredible you are.

*Shared with his permission

I've had the joy of photographing this family nearly every six months for the past four years. I joined them the first time during their first daughter's birth and have been lucky enough to document each stage of their family since.

What's also special about this family is that they've hired me strictly for documentary photography, even when I wasn't doing much of that work...and, you know what, I LOVE IT.

I got into photography as a lifeline when I was struggling with the early years of parenthood. Working with this family during the same stage of life is an incredible reminder of how beauty and chaos co-exists in life--and how all of it is worth honoring.

This might not be the typical family portrait, but I love it just the same. It tells their story and it's one of love.

Not business related, but my baby girl and her bestie are selling their crafts to help cats at the Cat Action Team 2023 Furball Fair! Celebrating Five Years of Cat Rescue! 🥰 If you're free this Sunday, come out to Castle Hill Cider and support them! The weather looks amazing!

Acts of kindness.

When we hear that phrase, we usually think of the driver at Starbucks paying for the order after them or buying a candy bar for the cashier checking you out. Those are all beautiful acts of kindness, but I want us to think about the ones that aren't pre-meditated. They're equally as powerful and we probably don't even know it.

It was the morning after I first left my husband at the hospital to go home and get some solid rest. We still didn't know what was causing his immense stomach pain. I woke up to a voice memo from him that left me desperate to be by his side and very much in tears.

Frantic, I rushed to the car and started the half hour drive back to the hospital. Every mile was a mile too long.

Being a weekday, I got stuck in a traffic jam of parents waiting to turn into an elementary school's parking lot. The line of cars in front of me needed to cross lanes as they turned and the incoming traffic flowed steadily, all drivers eager to drop off their little ones.

And then there was Laura.

Laura is a mother I know from the community. We're not close friends, but she's a familiar face and a presence I've always enjoyed. Laura, undoubtly, was driving her son to school that morning. Yet, when she drove towards the line of cars stalled in front of me (tears were running down my face at this point), she paused. Rather than turning into the driveway, she allowed the patient cars to turn first.

As the cars in front of me move, relief spread over me. I was able to restart my trek to my husband. And Laura made it possible.

I don't think Laura knows how impactful her simple, spur-of-the-moment act of kindness was that day.

For someone whose world was spinning out of control, her pause was exactly the burst of love I needed.

We may not always know the impact, but when we choose kindness in even the smallest of ways, it matters.

For no particular reason, I found myself caught off-guard by tears. As my granddaddy climbed into the car to leave after last Thanksgiving's dinner, I told him I loved him and a tiny voice in my head tortured me by suggesting it might be the last time I saw him in person. It was.

Remembering that fleeting thought today shook me. Grief is humbling and hard. Most of the time, when I look around the house and see the odds and ends I inherited from him--a set of silverware, a much needed pizza cutter, the pointy toothpicks my son is using to adorn his demolition derby vehicle, the list goes on--I'm able to simply acknowledge the sadness and hold gratitude for him. "Thank you, Granddaddy," I say to him every day when I use something from his home.

It was surprising that nothing in particular triggered the grief today. But it needed to be felt.

And so, I sat on my lawn mower and cried. Not for long, but enough to allow the grief to wash over me and to honor the loss.

Crying is necessary. Feeling the sadness is the only way forward.
May we all hold space for our grief and be gentle with our hearts.

Hi! It's me 😊 I am still here!

If you caught my rambling (quirky, but endearing?) stories, you'll know that I'm continuing to embrace a new chapter of my life. And I'm really enjoying it.

I've (obviously) taken some space from my business and it has been nourishing.

While working with clients has always been soul-fulfilling for me, running a small business has been lonely and not for the faint of heart.

My body has also been telling me that it needs a break from birth work. I have HSD (hypermobility spectrum disorder) which causes me a lot of pain. I'm still in the process of finding the right care providers to help me figure out how to best support my body and to photograph in a way that doesn't leave me immobile after a long session.

That being said, I will take on the very occasional non-birth client, especially if we already have a connection. I'm not going to promote my work here for now, but, if you know me and have wanted to work together, this is your invitation to check in with me some time. If we can't work together, I have some amazing colleagues I'd love to connect you with!

What can you expect here? Probably personal thoughts, old work I've never shared, and new, creative projects as they arise. I hope you'll stick around!

And, now, please enjoy the tiny fresh kittens that I'm fostering. I had the joy of being present for all their births ❤️

Tomorrow, Sunday, February 12, from 2-3pm is Mindful Meditation for Black and POC at TWI's main office studio. Join this time of being grounded in ourselves and our bodies, and let's support one another in our journeys to wholeness. Register at https://thewomensinitiative.org/groups-social-support

Check out all our upcoming Sister Circle offerings, including Yoga for Black and POC, coming up on Sunday, February 26, also from 2-3pm at our main office studio.

Those of you who have known me for a while, know how hard the baby and toddler years were for me. Especially in regards to my firstborn, who is a beautifully highly sensitive person (just like his mama), and who needed to be attached to me at all times.

Having a velcro kid was hard for me because I was already depleted for so many other reasons we won't delve into here. Shame sometimes creeps in for not being the mother this darling child needed, but today I celebrate (and, really, shame does no one good).

I am LOVING the pre-teen years with this kid. He may put on a grumpy face, but he's incredibly goofy, creative, and kind kid.

And, today, despite some nerves and an aversion to change, he went off to a co-op without any tears...and, dare I say, a glimmer of excitement?!

We attempted the same co-op a few years ago and, while I wasn't allowed in his classroom, I had to promise him to either sit outside its door or (as I eventually graduated to) stay on campus. Today, I wasn't even the parent who had to do drop-off!

If you haven't guessed, this milestone is huge.

I'm ready to embrace him and offer snuggles should he meltdown after keeping it together all day (we HSPs need it after a day of stimulation). 🥰

2022 was a year of Releasing.

Well...releasing as much as I was forced to...but, believe me, this type A planner held on to every element of control that she could. And with a death grip at that.

My husband's cancer diagnosis required it. 

I could schedule appointments. I could plan meals. Childcare. Micromanage camp schedules.  Update family members. Keep our family relatively functioning...but I could not control his disease or how treatment would make him feel.  

And so I had to release and try to stay present.

In fact, this past year was so hard that it was all we could do to stay present.  You can't really look too far into the future when there's a cancer diagnosis.  There's so many unknowns and simply surviving that day takes all your energy.  Forget about trying to plan something for next month.

We're entering 2023 on the other side of cancer.  My husband is cancer free and continues to heal.  Yet, I'm still holding onto the word Release.

Release. And Rest.  That's what my heart needs after this year. And so I claim both as my words...for now.  (New years are great for holding a new intention, but I'm leaving space for my intentions to shift as it feels right).

I'm releasing anything that doesn't light me up and focusing on what feeds my soul. I'm resting and recuperating from this intense period and holding gratitude for the stillness that allows us to currently be in this space.

May your new year begin gently. May you be surrounded with love.

Where have I been and why am I not posting client photos?

Maybe you’ve been wondering why a birth photographer has her stories filled with pictures of cats instead of babies.

Well, friends, it’s because I’m in a period of rest and healing.

This past year has been incredibly taxing on my mental health and my body. For the first time this year, I feel peaceful. I feel happiness.

I’m in a stage where I need to embrace the peace and the celebration that my husband is healthy again and that my family has some normalcy. I need this time to rest.

What does this mean for my work?

At this time, I am not taking on birth clients. While I’m not actively marketing sessions, I am accepting pregnancy/postpartum clients and documentary clients.
What can you expect to see here? Well, probably some client work and some personal work along with musings that I have. I have a creative project in my mind, so maybe that’ll show up here too.

My stories will probably be filled with mostly personal posts and probably a lot of cats. Volunteering in cat rescue has been filling my heart in beautiful ways so it’s what I’m embracing…and it’s what you’ll get in my stories 😊

Basically, I’m relishing the slow right now, releasing the hustle.

If you choose to stick around here, know that I appreciate you and love every single interaction we have. This online community has been wonderful to me and I’m grateful for the support that has come from it–both professionally and personally. Thank you, my friends ❤

Now, would you tell me, do you prefer this photo in color or in black and white?

Hard to believe that this little sunshine is another year older today! She still gives the sweetest snuggles and is always one to offer genuine praise and encouragement. I'm lucky to be her mama. ❤️

Tender wounds.
Raw. Still healing.
Unexpected trauma,
Yet remarkable strength.

This body is his home.
Unfamiliar in this moment,
Still it speaks the story of preserverance.

Time for softness.

**kcancer

Eleven years of marriage.
Never thought we'd be celebrating in a hospital.
Grateful just the same for every moment with this man.

*cellphone capture

**kcancer

I love this photograph.
All the striking details of birth.
A tensed thigh muscle, the other leg dappled with blood.
The tiny fist hanging below his mother's strong hand.
The hint of the umbilical cord, reminding us of the connection between their two bodies.
Gloved hands, tenderly moving towards with support.
This is birth. And it is beautiful.

Birth is unpredictable.
We might be surprised by the path our baby takes to arrive earthside.

But you have it in you to power forward until your little one is in your arms.

And that moment makes the journey worth it.

This mother worked immensely hard to meet her baby. What a joy it was to work with such a loving family and the compassionate birth team of Charlottesville Midwifery (Kelly Sicoli Midwife).

And just like that, I’ve been a parent for ten years.

My first-born has aged into double digits and I’m not sure how we got this far.

Internally I feel too young to have a ten year old child, my heart still glowing with teenage light. Yes, I was a responsible teen, but it’s wild to think that I am somehow mature enough to hold the weight of another’s well-being in my hands, to shape another human-being. It’s a bit unbelievable…

But, I wonder, do we ever actually grow fully out of our young hearts?

I hope not.

I hope my dear son holds onto his childhood as long as he can.

I revel in his creativity, the joy he experiences as he plays “old day,” how content he is to climb trees, and his unending delight in picking up every. last. seashell. that washes onto the beach.

It’s kind of amazing that he and I have arrived here. That he’s such an amazing young human.

Our early years together were rough. My pregnancy with him was wrecked with depression.
I spent his toddler years treading water, nearly drowning, his little body fiercely clenching to mine, pulling me under as tried to shake him off and gasp for air…
But then I started learning how to tread water better and slowly I got stronger. Keeping my head above water became a little bit easier. Somewhere along the way, he started swimming too. Never going very far from me, releasing just enough so that I can inhale solidly before he paddles safely back to my side.

He’s a wonder.

I often think that I was not made to be a mother. It’s not a role I was predestined for.

But he made me one. He made me a mother.

And I’m grateful he’s my guy.