I woke up this morning to discover Cassity is featuring our Beach Cottage Bedroom at Remodelaholic. Thank you, Cassity.
A few years ago, the siding on our previous house was being painted. The workers had set up scaffolding to reach the high areas. When they left for lunch one day, I noticed a scaffold positioned perfectly in front of my never-been-cleaned living room windows.
I’m not the best with ladders—mainly because of how high I felt with every step. I told myself my fear of heights was silly and that I only needed to “quickly get up there” to clean the windows. Determined, teeth clenched, I made myself climb. By the time I reached the scaffold platform my legs felt like jelly.
But I’d made it. I happily washed the windows and enjoyed the new, clear view.
Then it was time to get down.
Uh-oh. I was terrified.
I couldn’t bring myself to swing my legs over to reach that first rung. My body was shaking. My kids and husband were laughing—so was I—but no matter what I told myself, I couldn’t make the first move. I was paralyzed by fear.
After a lot of laughter, squealing, and gentle coaxing, my husband helped me over the railing. I never cleaned those windows again.
Recently I realized this paralysis isn’t limited to my fear of heights. It also spills into my photography.
I love photography. I study images, took a course, experiment with blue-hour and low-light shots, and I nearly always take photos for this blog. But there’s an area that terrifies me more than any ladder:
People photography.
I know exactly the kind of portraits I wish I could take, and I just can’t seem to produce them. I’m paralyzed by the fear of failing as a photographer, especially when it comes to photographing people.
Almost a year ago, a friend asked if I would take her daughter’s graduation photos. For some reason I said yes—it seemed far enough away that I’d figure it out. As the date approached, fear and insecurity closed in. I worried, “What if they don’t turn out?” and fretted about the light and posing. I nearly backed out, thinking that since they were friends they’d understand if I stopped doing people pictures.
Then I had a realization: this was another “ladder by the scaffolding” moment. My fear of failure had become the barrier. If I refused to try, how would I ever learn to take the people photos I wanted? With that, I decided to take a deep breath and go for it.
I was delighted when the graduate stepped out of my house in a cloud of yellow ruffles and chiffon. As the mom of three boys, I hadn’t seen anything so ruffly and divine in a long time. The field above our house was dotted with yellow buttercups, and she was relaxed and game for all kinds of creative ideas and poses.
We wandered to a nearby dock and field. I experimented with light and backgrounds, tried different angles, and let her move naturally. Some frames captured quiet, candid moments; others showcased the joyful energy of the day. I made plenty of technical mistakes, but I also captured unexpected gems.
And those shoes—tiny, cheerful, and perfectly suited to the sunny scene—were the happiest little finishing touch.
I’m glad I didn’t chicken out. Not every one of the 168 shots was a keeper, and that’s okay. The session taught me more than a perfect image ever could. It reminded me that growth in photography—especially in people photography and portraiture—comes from practice, experimentation, and the willingness to be vulnerable and imperfect.
If you relate to this fear—whether it’s heights, photography, or any creative vulnerability—you’re not alone. For me, the way forward is small, deliberate pushes beyond comfort: saying yes to projects, trying new techniques, and accepting that not every image will be flawless. Those steps build confidence and skill over time.
Thanks to KG and her family for letting me share in this special moment. It was a joyful reminder that when we face our fears, we often find something beautiful on the other side.
Linking up to Funky Junk’s One Scary Thing Challenge