I keep thinking about how weird it feels to try to “sum up” a year like this.

I saw a quote the other day that said, “The only thing that’s been consistent this year is ‘what the fuck,’” and honestly… yeah. That feels about right.

This year was hard for a lot of us. Personally, professionally, collectively. It felt like one thing after another, and even when things were calm, there was this low level tension humming in the background. Like everyone was bracing for the next thing.

I remember sitting at my laptop one morning, editing a session from earlier that week, and realizing how tense I was. My shoulders were up around my ears. My jaw was clenched. I hadn’t even noticed until that moment.

It had been a long week. Doctor appointments. Physical therapy. Endless admin work. The kind of week that leaves you wrung out in a way sleep doesn’t really fix.

I was exhausted. But I didn’t want to stop working on those photos. Because that session mattered. The dog mattered. The people mattered.

So there I was, zoomed in on an adorable face, cleaning up stray fur all over mom’s black pants and eye boogers that we didn’t notice in the moment, and it felt like a pretty accurate snapshot of what 2025 ended up being like.

Quiet.

Heavy.

Meaningful.

Hard.

This year didn’t look the way I thought it would. There weren’t big milestones or packed calendars. No major creative pushes or obvious forward momentum. Instead, there were long stretches where life took center stage and work had to fit in wherever it could, all while it felt like the world was kind of on fire.

So if this year knocked the wind out of you a little, know you’re not the only one.

When Life Forced Me to Slow Down

Running a small business means your life and your work are rarely separate. This year made that impossible to ignore. For me, 2025 asked for a lot more flexibility than I expected. There were stretches where life needed to come first in a very real way, and that meant I wasn’t able to show up as consistently or publicly as I normally do. Less social media. Fewer events. A quieter presence overall.

Not because the work stopped mattering. But because capacity changed.

And that’s something I think a lot of people can relate to this year. Doing the best you can with what you have, even when what you have looks different than it used to.

Our family navigated several major medical challenges in 2025.

A cancer scare.

Major surgery for our son.

Ongoing cervical spinal issues that took months to heal and caused real disruptions to portrait work.

At the same time, I was moving through a season of depression that made even the things I love feel impossible to even think about some days.

There were months where I couldn’t work at all. Others where I could only take on a session here and there. That was hard to sit with, especially when this work is something I care so deeply about.

It forced me to learn, the hard way, what my actual capacity was, and that sometimes I needed to slow down instead of being stubborn and trying to push through it.

And still, memories needed to be captured.

Relationships needed to be documented.

Lives needed to be honored.

Because this work we do is important to the families we serve.

*My first surprise proposal, which was SO fun to plan*

The Work That Showed Up Anyway

What surprised me is that even in a year like this, the work still showed up in meaningful ways.

There was a senior golden retriever this year who spent most of the session resting, soaking up the company of their person. There was no rush to “get the shot.” We just let the time be what it was. Later, when his mom and I we were looking at the images together, she said something like, “I didn’t realize how much I needed this.”

That sentence came up more than once this year, in different forms. And it stayed with me.

There was another session with a nervous dog, a 5 year old shepherd mix, who spent the first fifteen minutes watching me from behind his owner’s legs, even from 50 feet away. We let things unfold instead of forcing them. And when he chose to engage on his own terms, it felt like a quiet kind of success. The kind that doesn’t need to be rushed past.

In a year where so much felt uncertain, these moments were grounding reminders of why this work exists at all.

Because time keeps moving. Whether we feel ready or not.

And preserving these relationships, the way they actually look and feel right now, matters more than most of us want to admit until it’s too late.

*Played around with a new lighting technique*

A Snapshot of 2025 at Marie Wulfram Photography

Even in a quieter year, a lot still happened. So here are a few small snapshots from 2025.

Dogs photographed: 188
Cats photographed:3
Families served: 43
Senior and legacy sessions: 15
Donations to rescues: approx. $5200
Largest portrait installation: 53 inch wide painted portrait
Treats carried in pockets: always more than necessary
Moments that reminded me why I do this: too many to count

Every number represents a real connection. A real story. A real moment that someone chose not to put off.

Thank You

To the clients who trusted me this year, especially those who were patient and understanding when things moved more slowly or looked different than usual, thank you. Truly.

To those who haven’t been clients yet but are still a part of this little community of ours, thank you for your support. Some of you even reached out when I stopped showing up on social media like I used to, and that really meant a lot.

And to the dogs who shared their kisses and tail wags with me, thank you for reminding me why this work keeps pulling me back, even in hard seasons.

Looking Ahead

If 2025 taught me anything, it’s that showing up thoughtfully counts. Even when it looks different than you expected. Especially then.

As this year comes to a close, I’m heading into the next one with more clarity than I’ve had in a long time. Not with plans to do more or push harder, but with the intention to work thoughtfully, protect my energy, and continue creating work that feels honest and meaningful.

If you’ve been thinking about documenting your dog’s story, whether now or sometime in the future, I want you to hear this.

You’re not behind.

You didn’t miss your chance.

And you don’t have to rush.

I’m here when the time feels right.

Thank you for being here this year. For your patience, your trust, and for continuing to value work that honors what matters most.

Here’s to whatever comes next. With a little more steadiness, and a little more room to breathe.