I still remember standing in Walmart, doing that mom-math we all do when money is tight.

It was almost Easter, and I wanted pictures of my kids. Nothing fancy. Just something affordable, something cute, something I could hand out to family without feeling guilty about the cost.

And honestly? Walmart photos can be decent. They’re affordable. They usually give you more than enough to share. When you’re trying to stretch a budget, that kind of deal feels like a win.

But there was a catch. A big one. And they don’t tell you up front.

Let me set the scene.

We had been waiting in line for almost two hours.

I had a 6-year-old, an almost 2-year-old, and an 8-month-old. All dressed in their Easter dresses. All miserable. Tears were starting. Bellies were rumbling. Everyone was uncomfortable, and I was right on the edge of running out into the store to grab snacks just to get us through it.

And then our name was finally called.

We walked back to the photo area, and I’m helping this sweet little 19-year-old photographer do what she can to wrangle my two older kids into position. I’m doing the mom thing—fixing hair, smoothing dresses, trying to keep it light, trying to keep everyone calm.

My 8-month-old? She was not having it. And she was letting everyone know.

I finally get her calmed down and posed—just long enough to take one step back so the photographer can snap the photo.

And in that split second… my baby lost all control of her emotions.

The camera clicked right in the middle of it.

That first photo? Crying baby. Mid-cry. The kind of picture you look at and you don’t see “Easter memories.” You see stress. You see exhaustion. You see a baby who was done.

I grabbed a bottle, fed her quickly, and while she settled down, the photographer took individual photos of my other two kids.

Then we tried again.

This time my baby was fed and temporarily happy, and we were able to get a few shots of her smiling. Then we got a photo of all three kids together with beautiful smiles.

I remember thinking, Okay. We got it. We survived it. We have the good ones.

But here’s the part they don’t tell you.

The first picture taken is the picture used for the package.

That’s right.

That first photo—the crying one—was the one I had to use for the package of shareable photos.

And they had no way to change it.

And then came the icing on the cake: you couldn’t do another shoot and get that deal again for 30 days.

So I couldn’t even reschedule and come back. Not for a month.

Which meant, at minimum, I was stuck with a whole package of crying baby pictures for 30 days… taking us past all the Easter backdrops.

I was in tears.

I called my mom—who was also living on a budget—and asked if there was any way I could borrow just enough money to buy a few of the extra shots we had taken.

A bill that was only supposed to be twenty-something dollars ended up being over $150… just to get pictures of my kids not looking miserable.

I remember walking out with my mom, thanking her for helping me, and then telling her something that surprised even me:

I want to change that.

Because at the time, there was a huge divide in professional photos.

You either did:

• the department store specials (cheap, rushed, and you got what you got)

Or:

• the high-priced professional sessions (often $1,000+ back then because cameras and equipment were expensive)

There wasn’t much middle ground.

And that day in Walmart—standing there with tired kids and a tight budget—was the day the journey started that led me to where I am now.

The “normal” I refused to accept

That experience didn’t just make me mad. It made something click.

It made me realize how many families are stuck choosing between:

• “affordable but stressful,” or
• “beautiful but out of reach.”

And I couldn’t stop thinking about the people in the middle.

The moms trying to make memories without going broke.

The families who want pictures they’re proud of—but also need groceries.

The kids who don’t need to be forced into a perfect pose while they’re hungry and overwhelmed.

The people who deserve to feel like their story matters.

What I do differently now (because I remember how that felt)

I’ve built Lilley Photography around one simple goal:

I want people to feel seen, valued, and appreciated.

That’s not a marketing line for me. That’s personal.

So yes—photography is technically a business. I’m not denying that. I have to work at it. I have to charge for it. I have to make a living.

But to me, it’s also so much more.

To me, it’s people.

It’s the mom who’s nervous because she hasn’t been in front of a camera in years.

It’s the senior who doesn’t know what to do with their hands.

It’s the athlete who wants one photo that feels like them.

It’s the family that just wants one good picture where everyone looks like they belong together.

And because I remember how it feels to walk out of a photo session disappointed (and broke), I do things differently:

• I work hard to keep my prices low so quality photos can stay affordable.
• I’ve done retakes when a client isn’t 100% happy with what they received.
• I’ve stayed later and taken extra time when the environment wasn’t right.
• I’ve rescheduled to make sure the session feels like what the client actually wants.

Because you shouldn’t have to choose between “affordable” and “good.”

And you shouldn’t have to accept a photo that doesn’t feel like your kids, your family, your story.

Why I’m sharing this now

It’s the beginning of a new year.

And if we’re doing a January series called From Then to Now, it only makes sense to start at the beginning of what lit the fire.

That Walmart day is still a big part of why I shoot the way I shoot.

It’s why I care so much.

It’s why I’m willing to slow down.

And it’s why I’m still here.

Real Talk question for you

Have you ever had a photography experience that left you feeling disappointed, rushed, or just plain unseen?

Drop your worst photography experience in the comments.

I’m not asking to be nosy—I’m asking because I want to know what people have been through… and what you wish was different.

And if you’re reading this thinking, “I’ve been putting off photos because I’m worried it’ll be awkward or stressful,” just know this:

You deserve pictures that feel like you. And you deserve a photographer who actually cares how the experience feels while you’re in it.