A Letter to the Team that started it all

I hate you.

Okay, I don't actually, but I am still hurt. I poured my heart into you, into my work. I made sure I gave you only the best; whether it took me four all-nighters or a bus ride home, I gave you it all.

You lit the fire in my heart. Sure, I always wanted to be a photographer, but if you had asked me before you what I wanted to do, I would've told you babies or weddings or people. Not hockey. Not sports at all. But after I started doing hockey, there was nothing else I wanted to do. I became invested, I put you first. It was like a toxic relationship that I was never benefiting from. I was giving and giving and giving, and in return, I was receiving nothing. It was a fight I was always destined to lose.

I wanted to keep fighting. I would be fighting still if I had the chance, and that's probably what is wrong with me. But I still show up, sometimes with my camera. I still post and tag and expect, and I don't know why, because you have never given me any reason to.

You sucked the life out of me just like you will with anybody else that wanders into your path. You lure them in, and you kill any hopes and dreams they may have had. If it wasn't for my brother, I don't think I could with confidence say I would ever photograph again. I was ready to pack up my gear and stow it away for when my kids decide that they want to become photographers. I lived and breathed hockey, and now I don't.

Thank f*cking god (sorry nana).

When the underlay of "doing me a favor" came in the form of backstabbing. The life I finally felt I was supposed to be living had been ripped from underneath me just as quickly as it was placed. Brick by brick, I had been built into this chaotic person. I fell behind in school, I stopped hanging out with people, and I became what I can only describe as a shell of myself. I would skip meals if it meant getting to the rink a few minutes earlier, and I would lose sleep if it meant editing more or getting to practice earlier.

I used to bring my skates and skate until I couldn't stand. Before the boys would get to the rink. I would skate until I couldn't breathe and my legs burned and my feet bled. I skated to get my feelings out because skating was easier than crying and yelling. After, I would pack them up (both my feelings and the skates), and I would walk to the next rink over and photograph practice.

I would get yelled at. I've had suggestive comments made. I'm not deaf, I know people talk. I am a female working in a male-dominated field. I knew, picking up a camera and starting this journey, that there was always going to be someone who didn't think I could do it. Or would try to make advances, or that rumors would be spread, or that bets would be placed. I knew, I went into this with my head held high, and I like to think that I left it the same way.

I went with my tail between my legs just so we are clear.

I was ashamed, felt like I didn't do enough, that I wasn't good enough. None of which is true. I am a badass with a camera who knows what she is doing and what she wants. And for the first time in my life its not you.

I am proud of who I am and what I have become. I work with brands. I've shot in the NHL. I travel just for this stuff. I have opened my books for babies, weddings, and people. I say with confidence, "I am a sports photographer." People know me as Little b. I get stopped at the rink by people who just want to tell me they love my work. I get paid to do this now; people pay for my work.

I am Little b Sports because of you. Because one guy started talking to the girl with the camera during one intermission many years ago (Like 3, but it feels like forever). So no, I do not hate you as an idea; you are what kickstarted me. But you also broke me, damn near killed me, stripped me of every fiber of my being, and built me the way you wanted and then threw me away when that wasn't enough.

But that is part of the journey, my story, the one I will write about in my autobiography one day when I am rich and famous. Or, it's the one I will tell my daughter when she goes through the same, cause if she is like me, she will. So hate is relative; the love I carry for every player I have come across is immense. The boys I have worked with will have ever changed me, not romantically, no, ew, they are more like brothers than anything. Hell, I could write a whole blog post on how gross hockey players are.

I digress.

You destroyed me and left me, and I came back stronger than ever before. I will always be a part of something far bigger than anything I could imagine. I am a part of an ever-evolving field that I will one day say with pride, I was a part of . But right now it's anger, frustration, and immense sadness. I will never forgive you for what you did to me, but you best believe that you did not end me.