Daydreamers

Today I turn 35, and if there's one thing I wish 25-year-old me had understood, it's that your life changes dramatically when you stop building it around people who make you question your worth.

At 25, I spent so much energy trying to earn love, earn approval, earn a seat at tables that were never meant for me. I thought if I could just be prettier, more successful, less emotional, easier to love, then I'd finally feel secure in who I was.

What I've learned over the last decade is that the people who truly belong in your life don't make you feel like a constant work in progress. They don't leave you wondering where you stand. They don't make you shrink yourself to keep the peace or apologize for taking up space.

The right people celebrate your wins without competition. They speak kindly about you when you're not in the room. They cheer for your dreams, encourage your growth, and remind you who you are when you've forgotten. They make your world feel lighter, not heavier.

And maybe even more importantly, I've learned that you have to become one of those people for yourself.

Loving yourself isn't some magical moment where you wake up one morning overflowing with confidence. It's choosing, over and over again, to speak to yourself with the same kindness you'd offer a friend. It's forgiving yourself for being human. It's letting go of the idea that you're only worthy when you're productive, attractive, successful, or needed by everyone around you.

I've learned that peace is worth protecting. That not everyone deserves unlimited access to you. That some relationships grow deeper with time, while others are only meant to teach you what you will and won't tolerate.

I've learned that being surrounded by people who genuinely love and support you changes everything. Life is hard enough without carrying the weight of relationships that constantly leave you feeling drained, criticized, or not enough. The older I get, the more I value the people who make me feel safe, seen, celebrated, and understood.

At 35, I don't have everything figured out. I still have insecurities. I still have goals I'm chasing. I still have days where I question myself.

But I trust myself in a way I never did at 25.

I know who I am.

I know what matters to me.

I know what kind of love I want to give and receive.

And I know that a beautiful life has far less to do with what you accomplish and far more to do with the people you share it with and the way you treat yourself along the way.

So as I step into 35, I feel incredibly grateful.

Grateful for the people who love me well.

Grateful for the lessons that came from the people who didn't.

Grateful for the version of myself that kept growing through every season, even the painful ones.

And grateful that the older I get, the less interested I become in proving my worth and the more interested I become in simply knowing it.

I think that's what I wish 25-year-old me would've understood all along.

There are moments in business that feel like strategy.

And then there are moments that feel spiritual.

My work has introduced me to so many women I once would’ve been too insecure to even start a conversation with.

The kind of women I would’ve quietly cheered for from a distance; believing they were too high caliber, too powerful, too beautiful for me to ever sit at the same table with.

Actually, that’s exactly what I did.

I met Tamra in person exactly one time, over a decade ago. I was a quiet wallflower attending a gathering in support of a lifelong friend, and feeling WAY out of my comfort zone. She walked in and I immediately felt a little more at ease, but somehow more nervous all at once.

She was (and is) one of the most stunning humans I have ever seen, and I quietly became even more conscious of the obvious differences between us. I braced myself for her to be a “mean girl” or not even speak to me, as that had been my most common experience with girls who could not possibly be unaware of how pretty they were.

But that didn’t happen.

She spoke to me as though she genuinely wanted me to feel comfortable and welcome there, and it just really made me feel seen.

It stuck with me so much that I have continued to follow her on social media ever since; quietly cheering her along from the sidelines and praying for her success in all of her endeavors. I admire how honest she is about her experiences in life, the way I see her uplifting every person whose path she crosses, and how she never stops moving forward despite everything life has thrown at her.

She is exactly the kind of girl I used to believe I could never sit with.

And yet… here we are. Creating something from my wildest daydreams together.

This was not just a session to us; it was the catalyst that would launch an entirely new brand and era.

We have expanded into something entirely different as artists, yet we wanted to honor our studio’s origins; so we completely reimagined one of the very first sets we ever created.

The cloud began in my kitchen and moved with us when we opened the studio. Over the years we outgrew our space and had to make some sacrifices, so we retired the set with plans to bring it back seasonally.

That never happened, but the inquiries about “the cloud set” have continued to roll in 4 years later.

We knew we wanted to bring it back, do it better, and we wanted it to have a meaning that tied into our new studio identity but carried the studios original and forever mission: self love.

And so, the cloud set became “Heavenly Bodies”

The set was designed to feel like playing in the clouds. Existing in a space where you honor your heart, your journey, and your body as it carries you through the many stages of life and versions of who you had to become to survive it.

I knew that Tamra, also known as Heavenlee, was the perfect representation of that vision.

But I sat with a drafted message to her in my notes for over a week out of fear of rejection. Thoughts like “Why would she agree to work with someone like me?” echoed in my head, until I realized…

We are worthy. Our work is worthy.

And ultimately, she is such a busy woman that I knew the likelihood she could even fit us in was slim.

But in true Heavenlee fashion, she was so kind and humble. When she agreed to model for this concept, my heart soared. And 20 year old Megan beamed with pride.

Working with her felt like healing that younger version of me who didn’t believe she would ever be invited into rooms with women like this, much less have the honor of photographing her in our studio.

She showed up bare faced and radiating natural beauty, even more beautiful now than I remember her being despite having just clocked out of one of her many jobs and driving roughly an hour to our studio. We had 2 hours with her before she had to get back on the road to teach at her own studio.

As we chatted, I began to realize that instead of seeing nothing but differences as I once had, I saw the ways in which we are the same. She is an incredible mom, a business owner, an artist, and a woman who cares deeply about empowering others through her work and continues to fulfill that despite everything trying to work against her.

She honors her own journey and past versions of herself, and walks beside others who stand where she once stood. She continues to love herself even when it’s hard, and that is what our Heavenly Bodies set us meant to embody.

Heavenly Bodies isn’t about being perfect.

It’s about being seen as art.

And I’m still in awe that this is what we get to create. 🌙

(our first ever blog post… omg)

If you’re reading this—hi. Welcome. This is our very first blog post, and honestly? We’re a little excited, a little nervous, and very much in our feelings about it.

This rebrand didn’t happen overnight.

We’ve been mulling over it for a long time—quietly, sometimes obsessively. We knew the name we had no longer fit the work we were creating, but finding the right one felt impossible. For a while, we almost settled on The Art of Her. It felt close. It felt familiar. But when we realized it was already taken, we had to pause—and in hindsight, that pause was exactly what we needed. Because even if it hadn’t been taken… it still wasn’t quite right.

So we sat with it. And then life happened.

Personal seasons shifted. Energy dipped. Creativity felt heavier than usual. We put things on pause while we navigated real life and worked through a brief low spell—still creating, still dreaming, but knowing something was unfinished. Like the art had grown beyond the container we were trying to hold it in.

And then one day, it came to us.

Daydreamers.

It landed all at once. Because we no longer fit neatly into just boudoir—or any single box at all. We daydream of sessions that give us full creative freedom. The kind of sessions that let us create the art that scratches at the walls of our brains trying to get out. The kind of work that feels cinematic, emotional, and alive.

Daydreamers is a reflection of how we see the world—and how we photograph it. We’re inspired by stories, by connection, by fleeting seasons of life that deserve to be remembered as art. Families. Milestones. Self-expression. Imagination. All of it belongs here.

This rebrand isn’t about starting over. It’s about naming who we’ve become. It’s about finally giving ourselves the space to create work that feels honest, expansive, and true to us.

We’re so grateful to everyone who’s trusted us through every version of this studio. Thank you for growing with us, for believing in our vision even while it was still forming, and for daydreaming alongside us.

Welcome to Daydreamers.

(And thanks for being here for our first blog post — we promise there’s so much more coming.)