06/14/2025
After Much Thought, It’s Time to Say Goodbye
This is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to write, but after a lot of reflection, I’ve made the decision to close my photography business.
To be clear: my heart is still fully in it. I love photographing horses and riders. I still feel that spark every time I look through the lens. I wish I could continue. But the emotional toll of trying to stay afloat in this industry has simply become too heavy to carry.
My time in Texas was filled with both joy and success—I built something I was truly proud of. In fact, in my best year there, I grossed more working part-time than I did in my full-time corporate job. But building that momentum took everything I had. And now, having relocated to North Carolina and with my personal goals shifting, I’ve realized I just don’t have it in me to climb that mountain all over again.
It’s not the work itself that’s worn me down—it’s everything around it. The never-ending battle to justify my pricing. The angry, uninformed emails sent from $1,500 devices about photos of five-figure horses arriving at shows in rigs worth more than my home—upset over a $50 offering priced well below industry standard.
The constant explaining that yes, high-quality, professionally retouched, high-resolution, print-ready images do cost money—and that no, I’m not trying to take advantage of anyone. I, too, have bills to pay just to be here, and hopefully a little profit leftover to feed my kids.
It feels icky to always be in defense mode, especially when I’m just trying to offer something beautiful, personal, and meaningful. And every time I’m confronted about it, I feel it in my chest—because I really, truly, deeply care about this work.
The photography industry is hurting. More and more seasoned professionals are stepping away—not because the passion is gone, but because the landscape has changed. The majority of photographers now are new to the industry, often offering ultra-low prices without the experience, infrastructure, or editing skill to back them up. On the surface, it seems like a more affordable solution—until you're the photographer fielding angry emails about slow turnaround, lost images, confusing downloads, or lacking insurance coverage. It’s hard not to just say, “You’re welcome to buy or rent the gear and do it yourself if it seems so low-value.”
And while many clients do see the value and are happy to invest, the few who don’t—who express it loudly—can take a very real emotional toll. That erosion is slow, but it adds up, even when the calendar is full of grateful people. It wears you down.
I’ve tried everything. If I lower my quality to match lower prices, people are disappointed. If I raise my quality and price accordingly, people are frustrated. If I try to maintain high quality and lower the cost to be more accessible, I take a financial hit—and still receive complaints. I’ve reached a point where I feel like I can’t win. And I care too much about the integrity of my work to keep compromising it just to survive.
To everyone who supported my work, shared kind words, believed in what I was building, and trusted me to capture something meaningful—thank you. Truly. You’ve made this journey worthwhile, and I’ll always be grateful.
I’m proud of what I created. And I hope the images I’ve shared will continue to bring people joy for years to come.
With love,
Leigh
