Chapter 6
If you are joining us here for the first time, welcome. If not, by now you will know that this is not just the story of our family; it is the story of survival, resilience, and learning to find joy in unexpected places.
My husband, Louis, is living with multiple sclerosis, the kids are growing up fast and teaching us daily lessons in resilience, and I, Lize, am the wife, mom, and photographer who somehow decided to add “storyteller” to my job description.
Together, we have been writing our lives down – partly to make sense of it, partly for our kids, and mostly in the hope that our story might remind someone else that even in the mess, there is still strength, love, and hope to be found.
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This chapter is about me. And if I am being honest, writing about myself is harder than writing about Louis or the kids. Because when you are the mom, you rarely stop to ask yourself how you are doing. You keep juggling, keep pushing, keep showing up for everyone else – until one day you realise you are running on fumes.
It has been four years of pouring everything into this business. What started in a borrowed room at Stille Woning Guest House has grown into its own little “dollhouse” studio.
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Moving in was more than a new address; it was a turning point. With each new prop, each family welcomed, and each calendar filled, Little Miracles Photography became more than a business. It became a place where love and everyday miracles are seen, celebrated, and held still for a moment in time.
But the truth? The juggle is real.
Starting a business is overwhelming for anyone. Now toss in a husband with a chronic illness, parenting two kids, working weekends and the unpredictability of each day… and you get the circus that is our life.
And behind all of that? There is the unspoken fear… What if it is not enough? What if we cannot keep this going? What if we are pushing too hard and breaking ourselves in the process?
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Some days I am Superwoman with a camera.
Some days I am the one needing saving.
Most days, I am somewhere in between – coffee in one hand, toddler on a hip, camera bag slung over my shoulder, smiling because even in the chaos, this life is full.
Running a business is not all freedom and passion. There is also pressure. And late nights. And worry. It is financial stress that keeps you awake, wondering if the next month will cover the bills. It is showing up even when you are drained – because there is no one else to step in.
It is juggling photoshoots, editing deadlines, setups, marketing – all while making sure I do not forget to breathe.
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It is doing admin with a toddler jumping over my lap, answering client messages with one hand while wiping yogurt off the couch with the other. It is sneaking in emails while the kids play in the bath, hoping they do not flood the bathroom – AGAIN. It is trying to stay creative when my brain is just… tired.
When inspiration feels far away but the work still needs to be done, it is beautiful, and it is brutal. And most days, it is both at the same time.
One day, just before a Saturday-evening shoot, my son looked up at me and said, “Mommy, just take two photos so you can come back quickly.” My heart shattered. Because in that tiny request, I heard everything he could not yet put into words. And I felt the weight of the truth: that some days I spend more time with other people’s children than I do with my own.
People often see the beautiful photos I share online – the angelic newborn swaddled in pastels, happy smiling kids, the glowing mom, the proud dad; but what they do not see is everything that happens behind the scenes.
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There are the hours of preparation before a shoot: cleaning, setting up props, making sure every tiny detail is perfect. There is the art of calming a fussy baby, making grumpy kids laugh, reassuring nervous parents, and turning chaos into calm. And then, after the shoot, comes the editing. Late nights in front of a glowing screen, fine-tuning every image until it tells the story it was meant to tell.
It is more than photography. It is ministry. It is therapy. It is holding space for families in their most vulnerable, joy-filled, sometimes tear-filled moments. And it is a privilege that I do not take lightly.
But… it is also exhausting. People see the highlight reel, but they do not see me crawling into bed at midnight with my laptop still open, or the tears of frustration when I fall behind on editing because life at home explodes in chaos. Photography fills me, but it also drains me if I do not draw the line.
When I get sick, there is no such thing as a day off. No sick leave, no backup. Because if I do not work, there is no income. And right now, I am the sole provider. So, I push through fractured ribs, through tonsillitis and a tonsillectomy, through days when my body begs me to stop. The bills do not pause, the kids still need to eat. It is a heavy truth – one I carry quietly – but one that shapes every choice I make.
So, between 3:00 wake-ups, editing marathons, financial stress, and the heavy demands of building a business while caring for my family, I was exhausted beyond sleep. Then came a newborn session that changed everything. Amid the feeds and soothing, the parents and I talked – really talked – about marriage, illness, fear, and starting over. The dad opened up too, and there we were, three grownups sharing real life.
A few days later, the mom messaged me: “You gave my family such inspiration… My husband has decided to start his own business… What do we have to lose??? Thanks for everything.”
I read that message three times – and I cried. That is when I knew this was more than photography. It is about holding space for honesty, healing, and new beginnings. It was never just about the babies. It was always about the people holding them – their stories, dreams and hopes. And somehow, our story became part of theirs too.
I have built more than just a business; I have built a space where moms could breathe. A quiet, welcoming place where they can rest for a moment, soak in the beauty of their little miracle, and simply be. No rush, no pressure – just time to connect, to recharge, and to watch their baby grow right before their eyes. And when the moment passes, they leave with more than memories. They leave with photographs that hold it all: the wonder, the tenderness, the love they will carry with them forever.
But, burnout is sneaky. It creeps up slowly – until you are short-tempered with your own kids, uninspired in your work, and running on empty. I hit that wall hard. And it scared me, because this business that I love so deeply began to feel like just another demand.
That is when I picked up golf again. Now, here is the truth: it was not easy. Golf used to be our thing — mine and Louis’s. Before MS took so much away from him, the course was where we laughed, competed, and just were. Picking up those clubs again without him felt like betrayal at first. My heart ached with every swing.
But slowly, I realised, this was also part of survival. Part of self-care. Part of remembering that I am still Lize, not just caregiver, mother, photographer, fixer of all things broken. Golf became less about the score and more about the breath of fresh air, the time outdoors, the reminder that I still matter outside of what I do for everyone else.
But the truth is, I do not do this alone.
My mom is the backbone of our circus. The early-morning school drop-offs, the babysitting when I have weekend shoots, the late-afternoon treats, the holiday spoils. The quiet way she holds our family together with love that never asks for recognition. The understanding of having a sick husband. The beauty of multigenerational living – the gift of having grandparents under the same roof or just a call away – is one I will never take for granted.
Then there are our friends. The ones who show up with coffee when they know I am not okay. The ones who make space for ugly cries, for laughter mid-tears, for conversations that do not try to fix things; the ones who just sit in the mess with us. They remind me that I am not alone, even when I feel like I am.
And other small businesses – who believed in collaboration, shared their space, promoted my work, sent clients my way, and stood beside me.
And this community – clients who became friends, strangers who became supporters, people who cheer for our family simply because they believe in what we are trying to do.
We have become family-strong – not just in name, but in spirit. Held together by grandparents, friends, clients who pray, teachers who understand, and strangers who became part of our village.
Without them, none of this would be possible.
If there is one lesson I have learnt (and am still learning), it is this: you cannot pour from an empty cup. Moms, we tell ourselves that self-care is selfish, but it is not. It is survival. It is saying: I matter too.
Little Miracles Photography gave me purpose again, but it also taught me boundaries. It taught me that burnout is real, and that self-care is not optional. Whether it is a round of golf, a walk alone, or a stolen hour in the bathtub with a glass of wine – it all matters.
Because in the end, my kids do not just need a mom who gets everything done. They need a mom who is whole.
Visit Lize Leonard’s photographic studio Little Miracles Photography here. Visit Louis Leonard’s business, Buckets of Blessings, contact him on 072 601 8471 or send an email to louis@bucketsofblessings.com. Contribute to the family’s BackaBuddy campaign here.
