Navigating Life as a Millennial Latina Queer Photographer Mom in 2024

Being a millennial Latina queer photographer and a mom is a journey on its own, but doing it in today’s world feels like navigating through a storm while trying to hold on to what matters most. With Trump’s recent win in the 2024 election, the fear is very real for me, not only because of my identities but also because I’m raising a little girl. There’s a lingering feeling of uncertainty, but there’s also an undeniable sense of empowerment that drives me forward.

First off, let’s be real—this political landscape is intense, and it brings up a lot of old fears and anxieties for so many of us. For me, the stakes feel higher as a mom and as someone whose existence represents so many layers of “otherness” in this climate. The idea of raising my daughter to be proud of who she is, of her heritage, of our family’s uniqueness, means everything to me. At the same time, I’m all too aware of how vulnerable we are right now.

And then there’s the creative side—being a photographer in this climate can feel daunting. There are moments where I question if I’m putting myself out there too much. Art, especially photography, is about truth and perspective. It’s about capturing our stories and being visible. But with visibility comes risk. As a Latina queer woman, I’m no stranger to that; it’s a fine line between sharing my work and guarding my personal safety.

But here’s where that feeling of empowerment kicks in. If there’s anything my communities have taught me, it’s that resilience is in our DNA. We’ve been through so much, and still, we rise. Creating, sharing, and connecting with others through my photography has never felt more urgent or necessary. Each photo I take isn’t just an image—it’s a declaration. It’s saying, “I’m here. We’re here. And we’re not backing down.”

I want my daughter to grow up seeing me hold my ground, knowing that fear doesn’t have to dictate our lives. I want her to know that our voices matter, that our stories deserve to be told, and that our existence is powerful. So, yes, it’s a scary time, but it’s also a reminder to show up, speak up, and keep creating.

When I step behind my camera now, it’s with a new perspective. I’m not just capturing moments; I’m preserving our truth for her and for others who feel unseen or unsafe right now. Every image, every shared story, becomes a part of our legacy—a legacy that, hopefully, will inspire others to keep pushing forward, too.

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