When photographer Emily Frances Olson became a mother, her world cracked open. In the early months postpartum — navigating exhaustion, identity loss, and a slow understanding of postpartum depression — she turned to her camera for clarity. The result is From You, To Me, a raw and cinematic photo essay that explores the complexity of early motherhood: joy and isolation, love and unraveling. In this interview, Olson shares how the project helped her reclaim her voice, what it taught her about support, and what she hopes her son will see in these images years from now.

Olson: Early postpartum I decided to sign up for a workshop with La Luz, called The Experiences of Womanhood, led by Elinor Carucci. This was a weekly online workshop with female photographers of various ages from all over the country who were creating personal photo essays. At a time when I felt physically and emotionally raw, it was grounding to be part of a space where womanhood was being explored in all its different forms. Being surrounded—virtually—by women at different stages of life reminded me that what I was experiencing was temporary, part of a larger cycle. The feelings of grief and joy are deeply universal, and picking up my camera was my way of trying to understand and navigate both at once.

Olson: During this time period, I was unaware how being part of this workshop was keeping me from further isolating myself. Looking back at this window of time now, I was a bit in shock of how my labor went. The workshop kept me connected to others when my mind was telling me to withdraw. By giving myself a weekly assignment, it created a sense of structure and purpose during a time that felt otherwise completely boundaryless in terms of time. It gave me a reason to show up. Creating something each week helped me slowly unpack the experience of my labor and the emotional aftermath that followed. Photographing small, intimate moments helped me reclaim a sense of agency and presence—it reminded me that I wasn’t only a mother, but still a whole person with a voice and perspective of my own.

Olson: I experienced a failed induction, I knew I wanted to photograph my C section scar but I also did not want to look at it closely at the time. When I set up my tripod and remote, and stood where the shot was set up, I closed my eyes. I barely looked at the image during editing. I felt nauseous working on this image, even though I knew it was an important one to compose. Looking at this photo now, I see a body that went through so much. I am grateful for the scar and for the belly that hangs over it.

Olson: The part of that shift that feels most present for me today is the loss—and rebuilding—of my sense of self. Becoming a mother fundamentally changed how I relate to time, to my body, and to my creative work. I still find myself trying to reconcile the person I was before with who I am now.

That internal shift—of learning to hold space for both identities and honoring my own voice without apology—feels ongoing, raw, and deeply human. I believe I will forever have this sense of ‘catching my breath’ when I think of trying to protect my son. There is a tenderness I’ve gained for humanity while seeing someone grow from birth. I hope to carry this with me as I age—as a mother and as a person moving through the world—even when it feels overwhelming at times.

Olson: I tried to photograph my day as it went by, and that meant holding all of those feelings at the same time. There was the wonderment of having a baby, while also feeling like my world was shrinking and growing simultaneously. I find that the images tend to romanticize my apartment—and I did this purposefully. I wanted these images to feel cinematic while living alongside the desire of wanting to disappear. If I can draw a viewer in with the aesthetics of a cinematic scene, and then prompt them to look closer and reflect on what’s really happening in the space, then I feel I’ve done my job as a photographer.

Olson: I recognize the privilege I had—living in a blue state, being a white, heterosexual patient, and having access to high-quality doctors. Yet even with all of that, I never heard anyone talk openly about postpartum depression. It took me six months to reach out for help, and only after experiencing a particularly dark episode. Looking back, I wish the conversation around maternal mental health was more transparent—especially among peers, older mothers, and within families. Maybe that silence exists to protect future moms from fear, but the cost of that silence can be devastating. Even with the privileges I had, I came dangerously close to not seeing the other side of that period in my life. I do wish there was more support for people entering motherhood and navigating the postpartum period. To answer this question honestly: in spite of the support I did have, I wish more was being done for new mothers—more honesty, more care, and more room for talking honestly about the full emotional reality of having a baby.

Olson: The last time I did a self-portrait, I was in my twenties and looked very different from how I do in these recent postpartum portraits. Leaking, my hair receding... If you had asked me a decade ago if I would ever do a project like this, I would have said no. But now, I’m thankful for my body and everything it went through to bring life into this world.  I have every right to commemorate what it did for me.

Olson: One unexpected outcome of becoming a mom is that I care far less about external approval specifically around my photography. I’ve become more honest, more direct, and more willing to show work that I would have otherwise critiqued and debated about shooting or sharing. I have several projects in mind that I have always wanted to pursue but my anxiety over doing the work kept me from shooting these projects. The tenderness I described earlier, paired with a growing detachment from outside critique, feels like the beginning of me allowing myself to create more powerful work. I very much look forward to continually shooting not only for clients but for myself. I am thankful to motherhood for reigniting the reasons that made me pick up a camera in the first place.

Olson: This work is incredibly hard for me to look at. I thought my feelings were normal for postpartum when the reality was, I was very much wanting to isolate myself from the world and from myself. I was deeply confused because I was also experiencing immense gratitude for being able to give birth and become a mom. Looking at these images now, I can see how all things can be true at once. I was in a lot of pain and also experiencing immense joy. I hope viewers can see that in these photos.

Olson: I would love to continue photographing with vulnerability. As a freelancer, I’ve always taken pride in honoring the space I share with clients and respecting how I approach their projects or portraits. This body of work has taught me the importance of looking inward. I’ve come to realize that in order to grow as a photographer, I need to explore my own experiences photographically. I want to continue capturing my life and the moments of my daily existence. I hope to create photographs just for the sake of creating.

Olson: The title of this series came from realizing all the gifts Henry has given me—and continues to give me. If I were to show him this work one day, I would want him to know that my experience with postpartum depression had nothing to do with how much love I have for him. In fact, my love for him was so all-encompassing that it broke me open and, in the process, helped me become whole again. I want Henry to know that, I never wanted him to not be in my life, my love for him was constant, unshakable, and ultimately the force that helped me rebuild myself from the inside out.