The Bakers Adventures

It’s a rare child-free night… quiet, still, the kind of silence that feels like a deep breath. Tomorrow, I’m photographing a big, beautiful wedding, but tonight, I’ve got time to just be. No one asking for snacks, no laundry calling my name, no Roblox background noise. Just me and the sudden realisation that when we finally have space to think… it’s wild what rises to the surface.

And what came up for me tonight was this..
Why do we let other people decide how we feel about ourselves?

This year, I started seeing how often I hand other people the pen and let them write my story.

I’ve always been a deep, introspective person… someone who feels everything, thinks too much, and carries it all around like a bag of bricks disguised as a cute handbag. But something shifted in me recently. Maybe it was the solo parenting while my husband works in Kenya, juggling two children with very different needs. Maybe it was the health journey that took me off ADHD meds and forced me to meet myself, raw and unfiltered. Or maybe it was the growing ache of realising how often I shrink myself to make others comfortable.. how often I contort into someone else’s version of “enough.”

We don’t wake up one day deciding to believe we’re not good enough. We learn it.. bit by bit.

We learn it when someone comments on our body, and it echoes louder than the kind words we’ve heard.
We learn it when our parenting is questioned, even when we are doing the best we can with what we have.
We learn it when we feel unseen in our careers, despite pouring our heart into every frame, every client, every email.
We learn it when we’re told to “calm down,” “chill out,” or “just let it go,” as if our emotions are some inconvenient glitch.

And soon, their voices become our inner voice.
And that’s when it gets dangerous.

This year, I chose to reclaim the mic.

Not in a sudden, grand, dramatic moment… but in small, messy, defiant steps.

Step one: I got radically honest.
I looked at the mornings when I’d shout at my girls and immediately feel crushed by shame. I saw how the pressure to be perfect, calm, patient and put together was rooted in fear.. not love. I was terrified someone would see my struggle and decide I wasn’t a good mum. So I wore the mask tighter. Until I couldn’t breathe.

Step two: I let go of the guilt.
Letting go didn’t mean I stopped trying… it meant I stopped punishing myself when I didn’t get it right. I started replacing the voice that said “you’re failing” with one that whispered, “you’re learning.”

Step three: I created my own definitions.
Success isn’t 6am runs, meal-prepped snacks, and a spotless house (though wow, that would be dreamy haha). Success, for me, is walking my girls to school with connection instead of silence. It’s choosing presence over perfection. It’s knowing that the work I do as a photographer, as a mother, as a woman is valuable even if nobody claps.

Step four: I decided to get dressed first.
This sounds silly, but hear me out. For months, I stayed in my pyjamas until the school run because I was too busy dressing everyone else.. Now? I get dressed first. Even if it’s just gym wear. Because when I show up for myself, I show up better for them.

Step five: I stopped making other people’s opinions gospel.
This was the hardest one. I started noticing how deeply I craved approval and how I’d twist myself into a quieter, nicer, more palatable version of me just to avoid criticism. But the truth is, some people will misunderstand you no matter how much you soften your edges.

And that is not your burden to carry.

This year taught me that freedom doesn’t come from being liked. It comes from being known and knowing yourself well enough to stand tall, even when people don’t get it.

So if you’re reading this and feeling tired of the masks, the pleasing, the second-guessing…
If you’re exhausted from bending to everyone’s expectations, from letting their words shape your worth..

Please hear this..

You are not who they say you are.
You are not your worst moment.
You are not the silence after a misunderstood text.
You are not the raised eyebrow, the unsolicited advice, or the gossip you weren’t meant to hear.
You are not too much.
You are not not enough.

You are your courage.
You are your softness.
You are every brave boundary you set.
You are the mother, partner, friend, and artist who keeps showing up, even when it’s hard.

And that?
That is everything.