Over three years ago, I was sitting on my couch, despondent and seriously contemplating forced retirement from my career. In October 2022, while on assignment in Tennessee and without any warning, I suffered a painful and debilitating nerve injury in my neck that radiated down to my extremities. Not only was I in excruciating pain but the motor function and mobility in my dominant arm decreased to the point I no longer had practical use of it. Attempts to rely on the coordination and dexterity of my non-dominant side in the immediate aftermath proved comical at best.
I was stuck on the road and my good friends in North Carolina collectively rushed to my aid to transport me back home. Unable to drive myself, they took me to medical appointments. I couldn’t use a fork and knife, so they cut food for me. I wasn’t even able to shower myself, so…you know.
Traditionally my busiest time of the year, I had to postpone or cancel all of my assignments and temporarily power down my photography business. Over the next six months of rehab, I progressed far enough to lift more than a few pounds but still with agonizing pain and restricted motion. I could barely raise my arm to shoulder height, and remained unable to fold it across my chest. During this period I lost 15 pounds and my blood pressure dropped from elevated to normal. Sitting on that couch staring at the walls, I realized that I hadn’t taken a vacation or taken a real break in a full decade. It hit me – not for the first time – that I had been working myself to death.
This forced reset provided a moment of clarity to change my business structure. Well into middle age and operating across the country, I had stretched myself too thin. There was a ceiling of how much work I could accept within a given timeframe and no longer could I afford to shoulder as much physically, so I hired more assistance for shoots, editing, marketing, and other key functions. This transition, while positive, hasn’t been without growing pains and resulted in two general reactions from clients:
Reaction #1: When I’ve gently informed clients I couldn’t drive a couple hours away to take a few images at the normal rate, or would only so such a shoot could be grouped with others or combined with existing travel – the overwhelming majority responded with understanding. They would usually decide to wait or hire someone else in the immediacy, but by and large we maintained healthy working relationships. I’m grateful for these clients and will enjoy working with them the remainder of my career.
Reaction #2: A client in Austin, TX has a half-day medical shoot whose date became a moving target and as a photographer who is constantly booked, this significantly impacted my calendar, travel schedule, and ability to accept work from clients who could firmly commit. Never mind that I never take off for illness, weekends, or holidays. I hate turning away work and didn’t want to say “no”, so personally called the designer coordinating the shoot and said, “look, I would love to help you. I get you probably don’t have control over this, but if we can pin down an unchangeable date, we’re solid. However on my end, it’s challenging to repeatedly reschedule and reserve time for what is ultimately a half-day shoot. If this were a larger scope of work, we could probably do that, but I’m also happy to reevaluate my schedule once you’re certain the project is photo-ready.”
The architect cheerfully responded that this was perfectly reasonable and understandable. I had worked with this firm in North Carolina and Texas since 2017. However after this conversation, marketing refused to acknowledge me. For years now, despite cordial attempts to reach out by e-mail or phone for clarification, there has been zero response. It drove home something I already knew deep down:
Architecture doesn’t give a damn if I drop dead.
Why does it feel like the few negative things sometimes outweigh the mostly positive? It did bother me. However the vacuum left by former clients like this allowed for better projects, wider geographic cover, and ultimately clients who respected my availability. This decision not only preserved my health and prolonged my career, but proved profitable. Each year since my injury has seen a 25% increase in gross revenue. I’m trying to see my octogenarian parents in Florida more often and even took my first vacation in 10 years.
As a Gen-X African-American, I was taught by the previous generation to take advantage of all opportunities no matter how small, to work longer and harder, even if that meant for free. And then I attended architecture school, which depending your point-of-view is arguably the best or worst situation for someone already a workaholic.
In 1996, during my undergraduate studies, the AIA commissioned a now largely forgotten third-party review of architectural practice and education known as the Boyer Report. It’s a study in which after 30 years, almost none of its conclusions has yet been successfully implemented in any meaningful way. It addressed burnout culture and suggested that design education, architectural business practices, and the people within them were all worse off because of it. That the field of architecture’s self-image is of a higher calling to serve the public, yet its increasing corporization, shaping livelihoods of people contributing to it, are two ideologies that constantly merge into a conflicting cocktail that has remain unsolved for generations.
In 1997, the year following the release of the Boyer report, I suddenly felt like I got hit by a truck. I was always exhausted and, falling asleep during class, even while taking exams. What was I expecting? I was an architecture student taking a full classload, working part-time and involved in student leadership.
After graduation, I took a gap year before beginning a Master of Architecture program. When I resumed, something still felt off. An initial diagnosis of mono forced me to drop out for a semester. A year later, my doctor, mystified why I was still sapped of energy, ordered a fresh battery of blood tests. I was then diagnosed with a chronic illness that caused me to drop from graduate school a second time.
I (eventually – ha) finished my degree and for the last 25 years have daily managed life with chronic illness, dealing with constant fatigue and intermittent brain fog. In my 20s, such a thing could take me out for a week and I wouldn’t be able to report to work. Over time I figured a way to cope and manage around it, building two careers, an award-winning fine art resume, and growing the successful photography business most of you know me for today. However carving a space against the grain in a field where few like me are represented, factored by limited function – literally represented by time- has come at a steep cost.
Despite amassing quite a series of credentials and accomplishments, I often feel compelled to stretch myself beyond what should be necessary just to prove my value to decision-makers. For years I accepted nearly everything that came across my deck to grow my portfolio. Constructing a business to this level – all while chronically sick – came with the acknowledgement that I couldn’t have it all. Every moment I’m alert is valuable. So I chose. Pursuing any career success was at exclusion of developing significant relationships, having children or a family, and frequently seeing cherished friends and family. I was fully informed of the trade I was making and don’t regret my decision. As I grow older these decisions don’t remain static, they evolve.
If you’re reading this and are attending school or in the early stages of career, understand that architecture – and business in general – doesn’t care if you live or die. No matter how valuable you are or how pressing your work seems, almost everyone is replaceable at some level. Companies mostly operate to their bottom line and your life is none of their concern. Therefore we must decide what is best for our physical health, mental well-being, family, and relationships, and where we individually draw the line in exchange for keeping a roof over our head. There is no universally right or wrong path in pursuit of happiness, just be as fully-informed as possible and conscious of the potential impact of your choices.
That physical injury? It never went away, I now must manage that daily too.
I love what I do, cannot picture doing anything else, and am grateful for the people I’ve worked with over the last three decades in the architectural space. Living with both chronic illness and pain has taught me while appreciation is personally unimportant, disrespect for my time, energy and consideration is another matter – because I’ve put everything into simply making THIS happen.
Should you have the privilege, that doesn’t mean acceptance of being callously treated as disposable. Find peace and satisfaction with those who respect you. Life is too short to pine over those who don’t.
