TEN YEARS IN: FROM PROVING TO PROTECTING SUSTAINABLE BUSINESS GROWTH (How I Stopped Sprinting and Started Building Something that Builds Back)

portrait of Meka by Taylor Imel

Gorgeous late-afternoon sunlight pours into the Silk Studio. Up the stairs walks Ashley—a wildly interesting, deep thinking, creative-in-a-way-that’s-fascinatingly-different-than-my-own-creativity, beautiful soul I’d met recently. She speaks with delighted intention. Talking with her is like being quenched when I didn’t know I was thirsty. She is the first person to ask me a very simple question when I mention that 2026 would be the tenth anniversary of my business:

“How are you going to celebrate?”

Celebrate. The word stuck in my cognitive engine, revving and sputtering like my first car during a cruel midwestern winter. I honestly could not compute that fun-happy-congrats-on-your-success time might apply to this milestone. Where were my thoughts on having reached ten years? Grief is a strong word… but there you have it. I was lamenting. Mourning at what I didn’t have. What I haven’t yet done. I’m a visionary; my current state is not at all what I thought Year 10 would look like.

Ten years ago, I talked about owning a building. Three floors of operation. The first floor being a gallery and community space for local artists… the second floor being a production hall for my graphics designers, stylists, printers and framers… and the third floor? Well… the third would be mine. Two separate photography studios: one for natural light, one for drama. Glass doors opening into a high ceiling room that had an indoor waterfall to the left and lush lounge area to the right. Floor-to-ceiling digital screens would loop stunning photos and video of people I got to play with. My Studio Manager would greet you with a warm smile before I came through a second set of doors that led to conference rooms where we took our shoes off before entering… and a wardrobe room that would mirror New York fashion week. I made a list of my 24 employees and knew that I needed 3.7 million a year to keep them and their 401Ks happy. That vision was embedded. No one could shake it.

But a pandemic shook us all. (or rather, Pandemic: “Hold my glass…”)

My income halted for three solid months. Work-from-home became the preference for those who had a choice, but smashed my business model. “Pivoting” to online versions of services flooded the small business mindset, but froze my output. And walking into an empty studio building that I was leasing didn’t bode well for the hope of owning three floors full of people any time soon.

The dream that was so vivid started feeling very far away.

I thought it was because I had to work harder than I knew how to get there.

The truth was… dreaming big was never a problem, but that particular vision, no matter how beautiful, was too small for what I didn’t know I was growing into.

To really appreciate growth, self-awareness comes into play.

I realized recently that I have a sprint/collapse way of working. I go hard and deep for as long as I need to towards meeting a hard stop… and then I disappear for a while to recuperate. I fell into this rhythm because I felt like I had to prove something. To people who doubted my niche and my values. To people who doubted my stamina. To myself. My body is completely wrecked when I do this. My mental space, fried. This isn’t healthy. It’s not aligned with what I know now—which is that a sustainable business means building something that proves itself.

Pacing has evolved as my “word” or mantra this year. I don’t want to sprint and collapse anymore. I still have a lot to build, but I’m doing it from a place of established foundation and years of data now, not beginner’s bricks. Small wins are actually vital pieces of architecture (my second favorite word this year), instead of discarded side notes. Can we talk about some of those small (and not-so-small) wins?

To start, I’ve never really presented myself as just a portrait photographer, and stepping fully into the role of “heart surgeon with a lens as a scalpel” using a confidence-building system that disrupts the beauty industry and shifts the psychological effects that all of us experience is sooooooo where I live now. Creating Calm Before the Camera™ was major. And it revealed itself as a cornerstone for more extensions and layers. Yeah, I can celebrate that.

Here’s another: I have confirmation that my brand works—as long as I keep in place the systems that support it. For example, up until a week ago, whenever I was asked about how I deal with difficult entrants, my response was: difficult has yet to come through my doors. Amazing, right? How does she do it? I could say it’s because my brand messaging is clear, so no one knocks who doesn’t already want to be in the space I’ve curated… but then last week happened. I let my system slip with one project, and resolution went off the rails. The win is that afterwards, I immediately reframed what I thought of as “this is good to have in place” to “this is a non-negotiable.” And just like that, I feel better equipped to step into the more leveled-up realm of interactions that lie ahead.

Here’s one of my favorites: I’m celebrating how I've learned the difference between what’s in front of me, and what’s priority. Is this mic on? I’ll say it again. Dropping everything to service the latest hair-on-fire text message is not the same as committing to and completing what needs important, dedicated space. Alongside work items on that list, my health can’t stay on the back burner anymore. My peace does not have to be disturbed. My infrastructure is finally getting that foundational cement and steel work that keeps my walls from spasming in the wind.

So, what is priority? Not repeating years of throwing spaghetti at the wall and seeing what sticks. Somewhere along the way, I stopped trying to answer questions and started knowing I was the answer. I now have a lasagna—10 years worth of data, working systems, credibility, layered deliciously into a brand that no longer feels like it has to prove itself, but a brand that speaks for itself. I’m building something that works for me and with me, versus feeling like I'm working for it.

I don’t expect everything to get easier.

I’ve just shifted my ambitions from proving to protecting.

When Ashley gave me pause to consider celebration, she directed my attention to the proof of what I’ve built. The part that I had completely skipped over to wallow in self-criticism. We’ve all been there. The seasons of “dusty” bank accounts, the hits to the ego, the nerves, the fears, the much-anticipated launches that land nowhere. Even with the gut-punch growing pains, I’d do it again; I earned my stripes honestly. And while reflection is a wonderful teacher, I’m grateful to Ashley for the nudge to remember the recognition end of the spectrum. Above all else, Ashley reinforced how much none of us are islands and we cannot walk our paths alone. So, to the assistants, friends, and peers who walked with me through the years, you have my solemn gratitude.

Ten years in. I don’t feel like a rookie. I don’t feel tired. I don’t feel finished. I feel reinforced.

Ten years ago, I started a portrait photography business. Today, it’s a transformation-centered ecosystem.

Ten years from now, I’ll be celebrating the impact of building a culture of self-trust and visibility.

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“Spider” Meka Hemmons is an international portrait photographer, speaker, and creator of Calm Before the Camera™—a confidence-centered system designed to help people feel safe being seen. Based in Chicago, she helps individuals and corporate teams build self-trust and presence without performance. For more reflections on business, visibility, and culture, follow the Spider on her podcast and newsletter.