It took me all of three days after launching my first public photography offering to step back and shift my prices. And not for the reason you think.
There is a quiet (or very loud) tension that lives inside the photography industry.
On the one side, the drumbeat is steady and loud: Raise your prices! Charge what you’re worth! If it matters, they will make it happen! And truthfully? They aren’t wrong.
This work is expensive to do well. The gear, the time, the software and websites, emotional labor, years of continued education. The list could go on. Photographers should not be offering $50 mini sessions as a sustainable business model. They should not be shooting $200 weddings and calling it viable.
That path leads somewhere, and it’s not where most people think. It leads to burnout, resentment, and closing the doors on something you once pursued because it held meaning. So yes, photographers deserve to be paid well. Yes, this work holds real value. Yes, the pricing should reflect that.
And also….. There’s another truth that keeps tugging at me.
I Remember What It Felt Like
I remember being a young mom. I remember looking at photography packages and thinking, this matters. Not in a “nice to have” kind of way, but deeply. There was an almost ache-filled knowing that this is how I will remember this season; how i will hold onto something that is already slipping through my fingers.
And I remember looking at that price and not being able to make it work.
Not because I didn’t value it. Not because I didn’t understand it. But because the numbers simply didn’t exist in my life at that time. And the industry is right! I DID find a way to make it happen when it mattered most. The birth of my children. The first weeks that siblings spent together. But I made it happen at great cost.
Too often, the narrative collapses that gap into something overly simple: “If it mattered enough, they would find a way.”
But I’ve lived on the other side of that sentence, and I know that sometimes, things can matter deeply and still not be possible without greater cost. Not just financial cost, but emotional, relational, and practical cost.
And I don’t want that for the people I serve.
Why I Chose a Sliding Scale
The packages I offer are not casual.
They are layered, intentional, and rooted in something far deeper than photos alone.
There is time, presence, reflection, and meaning-making. And it absolutely increases the value of what I create. But here’s the the glitch.
I never want that value to become a gate.
I don’t want my work to exist only for those who can spend $2,000 on a whim. I want it to be available to the people who feel it. Who value it for what it is and recognize its place in their life. Those who understand what it will hold for them years from now.
So I built a structure that holds both truths at once: this work is valuable AND I want it to be accessible.
How It Works
My pricing is built on a sliding scale with community support.
At its core, there is a baseline price that reflects the true value and sustainability of the work. Because if I cannot sustain the work, it will quickly die out and disappear. Establishing this true value price is essential.
But what happens next will ruffle some feathers.
I offer my services at a percentage of that rate and those who are able are invited to contribute more.
Not our of pressure or obligation, but out of shared values. Out of the understanding that they are making space for someone else to access this work without strain. And as a community it becomes a quiet and unseen collaboration. Something bigger than me. Something bigger than any one person who books. A shared investment in something that matters.
Building Something That Reflects My Values
The entirety of my business model is built on the premise that values matter.
That living with intention shapes who we are and what we leave behind.
So when I calculated my cost of doing business, and asked myself what prices would actually make this sustainable… I struggled to say those numbers out loud. Because I couldn’t even afford them. Who was I to ask Sue next door to?
After my first launch, that tension settled in my gut.
I wasn’t afraid no one would book.
I’m sure someone would.
I wasn’t worried about people not seeing the value.
The right people would. But would the right people be able to afford it?
Did I really want to isolate a large portion of the very people I was trying to serve?
My people.
The ones who see life the way I do.
The ones who would want to support this work… while also needing it to fit inside their real lives.
I just couldn’t do it.
Community As The Cornerstone
As I’ve continued to put this work out into the world, one thing has become clear:
Community isn’t an add-on to my business.
It’s a cornerstone.
Not in a surface-level way, but something deeply integrated into how this work exists. I want to run my business in a way that mirrors the meaning of the work itself.
This pricing model allows me to do that.
It creates a system where people can step in honestly,
give what they can,
and trust that the work will meet them there—
and that I will show up with intention.
If you’re considering working with me, this is not a test of how much you value your family.
It’s not a question of whether it “matters enough.”
You already know if it matters.
This is simply an invitation to participate in a way that is honest for you.
To step into something meaningful without having to carry the weight of proving it. And be a part of a small, growing ecosystem where this work is sustained not by pressure, but by people chosing, together, to hold it up.
Welcome to the community.
