This week, as we celebrated International Women’s Day, I found myself reflecting on the women whose stories have shaped the way I see the world and, ultimately, the way I use my camera.

Photography has always been more than simply capturing an image for me. It is about connection, vulnerability, and creating space for people to share the stories that make them who they are. Through documentary photography, I have had the privilege of meeting people in some of the most defining moments of their lives and witnessing the strength, uncertainty, resilience, and humanity that exist within those experiences.

I was honored to join Stall Talk this week to talk about that journey and the artistic process behind my work and to have the opportunity to speak with former actress, Jenilee Harrison and Skylar Sorkin, founder of Regardless. Our conversation was a beautiful opportunity to reflect on the inspiring women who have shaped our lives, challenged us, supported us, and continue to remind us of the power of sisterhood.

Throughout my own life and work, I have seen how powerful women can be when they support one another. Sometimes that support comes through great acts of courage and activism. Other times, it is found in the everyday moments—a phone call, a hand to hold, a listening ear, or simply knowing that someone will be there when you need them.

Being part of this conversation was especially meaningful because it brought together so many of the themes that are at the heart of my own work: women, resilience, vulnerability, connection, and the importance of telling stories.

For me, photography has always been a way of listening to those stories.

Every time I pick up my camera, I am reminded that there is so much more to a person than what we see at first glance. A photograph can capture a moment, but the story behind that moment is what gives it meaning. It is the conversations, the silences, the expressions, and the small details that allow us to understand something of another person’s journey.

This is especially true when photographing women whose lives have been shaped by profound experiences. I have learned that vulnerability is not weakness. In many of the people I have had the privilege of photographing, vulnerability exists alongside an extraordinary strength. Sometimes that strength is loud and visible. Other times, it is quiet—the strength to keep going, to show up, to care for someone else, or simply to face another day.

My work has taught me to slow down and listen. Documentary photography requires trust, and trust cannot be rushed. I am not simply taking someone's picture; I am being invited into a small part of their world. That invitation comes with a responsibility to represent each person honestly and respectfully.

The stories surrounding breast cancer have reinforced this for me. There is no single way to experience a diagnosis, and there is no single definition of what it means to be a "warrior." Some people find strength in fighting. Others find it in vulnerability, in asking for help, or in allowing themselves to simply be human.

I also wanted to acknowledge the people standing beside them. Partners, children, parents, siblings, friends, and caregivers are part of these journeys too.

Looking back at the different chapters of my career—from documenting the period following the fall of the Berlin Wall to the deeply personal stories I am documenting today—I see a common thread. I have always been drawn to people and to moments of transition. Moments when life changes, when the future feels uncertain, and when people are forced to discover something new about themselves.

Perhaps that is why the stories of women resonate so deeply with me. They are stories of change, perseverance, identity, love, loss, courage, and transformation.

International Women’s Day gives us an opportunity to celebrate these stories, but I believe we should be listening to them throughout the year. We should continue creating spaces where women can speak openly about their experiences, where vulnerability is met with compassion, and where their stories are not only heard but remembered.

A photograph may freeze a moment in time, but a story allows that moment to live on.

And that, for me, is the greatest privilege of all.