This photo is part of a larger conversation I frequently have with myself, and one that is too large to really approach here.

I am often conflicted—both in my sobriety and with my photography— about which stories are truly and conscionably mine to tell.

If I censored my stories and my photography…purposefully left out certain details in deference to the other people involved… then suddenly my stories become nonsensical and my actions irrational. There are giant holes left in the story, and it can start to feel disingenuous.

This is something I struggle with daily— trying to balance the integrity of a story with the simultaneous desire not to trample on others people’s privacy and dignity.

I have come to the conclusion that some stories are simply not mine to tell.