Page 46 of Pose for Me

"I'm..." she begins, then pauses, seeming to search for the right words. "I'm nervous, to be honest. The surgery is next week, and it's all starting to feel very real."

My heart clenches at the vulnerability in her voice. I sit beside her, close enough to offer comfort but not so near as to invade her space. "The double mastectomy?" I ask softly.

Tash nods, a sad smile tugging at the corners of her lips. It's so different from the joyous, infectious laughter that filled the studio during her session. Back then, even in the face of such a life-altering procedure, she had radiated strength and hope. Now, I can see the weight of her impending surgery pressing down on her shoulders. "Yes. I know it's necessary, I know it's the right choice, but..." She trails off, her hand unconsciously moving to rest over her chest. "It's hard not to feel like I'm losing a part of myself."

"I thought I was prepared," she continues, her fingers absently tracing the rim of her glass. "I've done all the research, talked to my doctors, even joined a support group and talked to survivors, even picked out some cute scarves for after. But now that it's so close... I'm terrified, Rayne." She trails off, blinking rapidly against the tears gathering in her eyes.

I squeeze her hand gently, offering what comfort I can. "It's okay to be scared, Tash. What you're facing is huge."

She nods, drawing in a shaky breath. "I know. I keep thinking about all the things I'll lose," she admits. "Not just my breasts, but... my hair, maybe. The feeling in my chest. The ability to breastfeed if I ever have kids." She takes a shuddering breath. "Part of my identity, in a way. It's just... I came here today because I wanted to thank you, Rayne. The proofing gallery you sent me... it was so beautiful."

Tash's eyes meet mine, brimming with unshed tears and heartfelt gratitude. "You have no idea how much it meant to me. To see myself through your lens, to feel beautiful and strong and... whole. Before everything changes."

Her words wash over me, and I feel my own eyes stinging with emotion. This is why I do what I do—to help women see their own beauty, their own strength. To capture moments of joy and empowerment that can sustain them through darker times. It’s not the first time I’ve had a client like Tash who needed the photoshoot for a deeper reason, and it won’t be the last.

Domestic violence survivors were also frequent clients, those who were so beaten down in the past that they no longer felt any self worth, or self confidence. And they affected me every single time.

Because they spoke to a part of my childhood that I could never forget. Of a mother I could never save.

"Oh, Tash," I murmur, shifting closer to her on the couch. I wrap an arm around her shoulders, and she leans into me, a few tears finally spilling over. "I'm so glad the photos meant so much to you. You were absolutely radiant during that shoot."

We sit in comfortable silence for a few moments.

"I've been looking at them every day since you sent them," she confesses, her voice thick with emotion. "They remind me of who I am, of the beauty and power I possess, regardless of what changes my body goes through."

I feel a lump forming in my throat, touched beyond words by her revelation. "Tash, I-"

She shakes her head, cutting me off gently. "No, please. Let me say this." She takes a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. "What you did for me, the way you captured not just my body but my spirit... it's given me strength I didn't know I had. When I look at those photos, I see a woman who is brave, who is beautiful, who is whole—no matter what."

As Tash speaks, I watch in awe as she seems to rebuild herself before my eyes. The slump in her shoulders gradually disappears, replaced by a straightening of her spine. The tremor in her voice fades, giving way to a quiet but unmistakable strength. Her eyes, which had been clouded with fear and uncertainty, now shine with renewed determination.

"When I first got the diagnosis," Tash continues, her voice steady now, "I felt like my world was falling apart. But looking at those photos... it's like I can see the woman I want to be after all this is over. Strong. Resilient. Beautiful, scars and all."

She reaches into her purse, pulling out a small, folded piece of paper. As she unfolds it, I recognize it as a print out of one of the images from her session—a stunning black and white image of her and her husband laughing, head thrown back, arms outstretched as if embracing the world as her husband embraces her.

"I'm going to keep this with me in the hospital," she says, tracing the outline of her image with a gentle finger. "To remind me of who I am, of the strength I have inside me. And that's thanks to you, Rayne."

My chest swells with pride and emotion. To know that my work has had such a profound impact on someone's life, to have played even a small role in helping Tash find her inner power—it's moments like these that remind me why I love what I do.

"Tash," I say, my voice thick with emotion, "you already had all that strength inside you. I just helped you see it."

She smiles at me, a full, radiant smile that lights up her entire face. "Maybe," she concedes. "But sometimes we need someone else to hold up a mirror, to show us what we can't see in ourselves. And that's what you did for me, Rayne. You held up a mirror and showed me my own power."

Tash stands then, smoothing down her sundress. There's a new energy about her, a quiet confidence that wasn't there when she first walked in. "I should go," she says. "I have a pre-op appointment to get to. But I wanted to come here first, to thank you in person."

I stand as well, and before I can react, Tash pulls me into a tight hug. She holds on perhaps a little too long, her arms wrapped firmly around me, her face buried in my shoulder. I can feel the slight tremor in her body, the way she clings to me as if drawing strength from the contact.

"Thank you," she whispers again, her voice muffled against my shirt. "For everything."

When she finally pulls away, there are tears in her eyes again, but they're accompanied by a smile—small, but genuine. I walk her to the door, feeling a mix of emotions swirling in my chest–pride, joy, a touch of sadness, but mostly a profound sense of purpose. This is the power of photography, of art, of truly seeing people.

"Good luck with your surgery, Tash," I say as we reach the threshold. “You’ve got this.”

She nods, a determined glint in her eye. "Yes, I do. And I can't wait until I can come back and have another photoshoot with you once I recover. To capture the new me, scars and all."

Her words fill me with warmth. "I'd be honored, Tash. Truly. You just let me know when you're ready."

I squeeze her hand one last time before she steps out into the afternoon sun. As I close the door behind her, I lean against it for a moment, letting out a long breath. These encounters always leave me feeling drained yet oddly energized, as if I've absorbed some of my client's emotions.

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