When I was in middle school, I entered a Walmart photo contest. I was one of two participants and ended up winning a small digital camera out of it. While it was awkward to have been only one of two contestants, it was exciting to have my photographs acknowledged by someone outside the circle of my friends and family. 

Not long after this contest, I won a photography contest for a North Carolina conservationist group and had my very first publication in Our State Magazine. Then, I stopped entering contests - stuck in imposter syndrome, fearing a failure that would confirm my recognitions had been flukes. After all, I told myself, maybe there weren't very many people entering these contests - just like the Walmart contest.

My head became my enemy.

I continued photographing what I loved while simultaneously growing more and more apprehensive anytime people enjoyed my work.

The last time I ever entered a contest was for a college scholarship. I felt like a fish out of water, competing beside my soon-to-be classmates - who appeared WAY more competent than me. 

This insecurity (among others) is something I'd battled for a very long time. I held myself back, lost out on positions and opportunities because I didn't believe in myself. It was eating at me until the day I flunked my photography class.

Yes, I flunked a photography class. On the spot, in fact, in the middle of a critique. This moment, however, was pivotal in my photography career and personal life.

On this day, I stood up for myself and my work, defending it against a photo professor (thus the subsequent flunking) I had put my heart and hard work into the pieces I created. They were starkly different than my peers, yet I'd managed to stick to the assignment while also being creatively me - and that made me love my photographs all the more.

Standing there, defending my photographs, I stood taller than I had in a long time. From that moment forward, I began to regain my confidence in my work and value my perspective as a creative.

Still, I refrained from entering contests. Until recently, that is. There's a global photography contest held every year and I decided this was my year to give it a go. With 100,000 people involved from 160.countries, 583,000 photographs submitted and 100+ million votes cast, I was curious to see where I finished. 

In the end, I was thrilled with my results. Out of the 49 photographs I entered, 2 of my photographs were finalists, 2 were in the top 10%, 3 were in the top 20% and 5 were in the top 30%. 

Revisiting the experience of entering contests, putting myself forth to be judged, was still awkward. Instead of shrinking back though, this has been a humbling encouragement and a kind reminder to believe in myself.

Fresh snowfall on the Coffee Park Airstream on a quiet Winston-Salem winter night. Soft fluffy snowflakes falling, lit by the warm street lamps.

| Winston-Salem Creative Photographer | Jasper & Fern

A portrait for dancer Anna, depicting her grace and form kept simple in monochrome tones, her stuff tutu and graceful limbs creating the illusion of a flower | Winston-Salem Dance Photographer | Jasper & Fern

Conceptual Portrait depicting the beauty and solemnity of depression | Winston-Salem Creative Photographer | Jasper & Fern

Reverse perspective pink flower in a rain puddle, a creative piece by head photographer Alyson | Winston-Salem Creative Photographer | Jasper & Fern

A beauty portrait for ballet dancer Anna, depicting her grace and form | Winston-Salem Dance Photographer | Jasper & Fern

Portrait of Raven, golden velvets and silks accentuating the glow of her skin and warmth in her gaze. | Winston-Salem Women’s Photographer | Jasper & Fern

Promotional image created for Juxtaposition Studio’s showcase. A dancer focuses on form and elegance, her white ballet skirt flowing in contrast with the billowing red smoke surrounding her | Winston-Salem Brand Photographer | Jasper & Fern

Portrait of hair and makeup artist Hannah Dezarn | Winston-Salem Women’s Photographer | Jasper & Fern

Birthday Celebration portrait for Chandni | Winston-Salem Women’s Photographer | Jasper & Fern

A portrait for dancer and Juxtaposition Studio owner, Kay, at Frogholler Lavendar Farm | Winston-Salem Dance Photographer | Jasper & Fern

Business Portrait for massage therapist, Laura, her purple hair accentuated by the colorful books surrounding her. | Winston-Salem Business and Brand Photographer | Jasper & Fern

Conceptual Portrait depicting the beauty and solemnity of depression | Winston-Salem Creative Photographer | Jasper & Fern

“Maybe, just maybe there’s some life left in these roots.”

—

I left to go on vacation for five days with my family. All of our housekeeping boxes had been checked and listed out - feed the dogs, give them cuddles, get the mail, etc. Everything was well in hand. At least, that’s what I thought until I returned.

The days were long and hot while we were gone - a fact that now greeted me at our door in the form of my shriveled Japanese ferns. We’d gotten them just a few weeks prior as strong adolescent plantings. Their beautiful, lush, dark green leaves and numerous fiddle heads promised a viable, healthy plant. Then, in a snap of the fingers, they were hit with five days without water in the grueling heat. I cradled their now brown and crunchy leaves in my discouraged hands.

Being someone that gets attached to plants - picking them on their personality and naming them as such - I was disheartened by the death of my beautiful ferns. Examining their stems, I brought them inside and sat them in our kitchen sink. “Maybe,” I thought to myself, “just maybe, there’s some life left in these roots.”

For the next few days I nursed them with small showers and filtered sunlight, being careful not to let the soil rot. I pulled the dead stems from the soil and plucked the dried leaves from the stems that held the most promise of maintaining life. My beautiful ferns were now poor little scraggly leaves on jagged stems surrounded by uprooted soil. I wasn’t sure if they were going to make it.

Especially amidst this pandemic, many of us small business owners know the sinking feeling of coming to the realization that something in our business - maybe even our business itself - has shriveled up. It seems like our once flourishing or growing businesses were on the incline to maintaining sustainability and then *wham*, we get hit with this intense and immediate upheaval of a pandemic that puts the pressure on us and takes away our lifeblood.

[Take a deep breath here if you need it. Lord knows, I did.]

The new growth on our Japanese fern, Hope. | Winston-Salem Brand Photography | Jasper & Fern

This drought has been hard to navigate for a lot of us. Many of us have been reduced, called to eliminate what no longer works and called to cultivate new growth in areas that aren’t necessarily our strong-suits or where we have our wealth of knowledge. I’ve seen my fellow small business peers roller-coaster about in this new work. I’ve seen them struggle and seen them triumph. I’ve seen businesses flourish and others close their doors forever. I’ve experienced it myself.

It’s been a tumultuous and demanding few months, many of us yearning for the strain to break.

I realized this morning, while pulling a few more dead stems from my ferns, that we’re all in the recovery process; a course that, no doubt, will continue to be long and arduous. This process though, carries hope and opportunity for growth in the right direction, just like I’ve seen with my ferns. After a month of vigilant care for my ferns, five new fiddle heads have begun to unfurl, a few stems have started to recover and green leaves have been growing steadily while the soil has started to become healthy again. It’s hard to ignore the parallel. We, as businesses and communities, now have an immediate opportunity to find new was to serve our clients, new ways to connect on a human level with each other; more opportunities to be compassionate, showing love and grace; more opportunities to step in and help our neighbor, to nurture and provide support in our immediate circles.

All these opportunities, the ways in which we can impact our community, will eventually spread their growth and begin to overlap borders, bonding in strength. The days will still be long and hot outside, but we can adapt together to create an environment that will continue to promote growth.

This morning I woke up groggy. My shoulders pushed against themselves down into the mattress and my legs were revolting against my brain’s encouragement to get up and move. It's trudging days like today when I'm reinforced, when the support I know I have around me shows up and hugs me. Some of these days I am more the receiver of support and on others I am more the giver of support. This life is an ecosystem filled with symbiotic relationships - parasitic, communal and mutually beneficial. It helps to recognize our role and the roles of others around us, nourishing the ecosystem we are in.

Through my years as a photographer, I’ve had the opportunity to connect with many wonderful people. Through pain, celebrations and growth I’ve started to settle into a lush garden of vibrant, complementary people from the bold and vibrant, to the essential and hidden. The occasional weed pops up and, of course, non-complimentary plants are encouraged to uproot (or be uprooted) and exist in a place more fit for them - but that’s just life, yeah? I’m so thankful for the integral relationships in my own ecosystem. It’s a beautiful connection we share with others - where we can allow someone to step in where their strengths fit our vulnerabilities and we can step into their vulnerabilities with our strengths, it's amazing.

I love connecting with strong women who take negative experiences and turn them into positive opportunities in which they can help other people who are where they have been. Life is full of inspiring redemption stories, all pointing up.

My heart is full.

Wishing you all peace and health in this upended state of life we’re living in.

“I’m not done. So long as I am in my body, I have have things to learn.” ”

— Betz [on the healing process]

There was a gentleness as she spoke. Her gentleness wasn't a timid voice nor a voice of fear. In truth, Betz's voice was full of soul, of love and of calm and of courage. As she recounted her story, walking through the pain and her steps towards healing, her glow was visible. My favorite moments were when her smile crept out. Her face would illuminate and you couldn't help but smile with her! I loved getting to hear Betz's story and celebrate with her in her triumphant growth. She's truly a beautiful soul!