Where It All Began: The Classroom That Shaped My Photography Journey

adelemorris
May 15
6 min read

My photography journey began long before I ever opened a studio, picked up my first DSLR professional camera, or worked with luxury clients. It started in a classroom. A very unique one.

Where Bridgend newborn photographer Adele Morris began working with teen mums, inspiring her journey into compassionate family and baby photography.

Back in 2004, I was a photography and animation teacher at a pupil referral unit, a school set up specifically for young girls, some as young as 12, who were navigating their education while stepping into motherhood. It was one of only a few of its kind in the entire UK. Looking back, I feel incredibly privileged to have started my professional life in such a nurturing and powerful environment.

A Safe Space for Learning and Living

*Image of School Adele teaching photography to teen mums:"Adele teaching photography to young mothers at a pupil referral unit in 2004"*

The school wasn’t just about academics. It was a lifeline. With a nursery onsite, the girls could check in on their babies between classes and during lunch breaks. We offered educational qualifications in GCSE and A-Level Photography, but photography quickly became more than just coursework. For many of these young mums, it was therapy. A way to express what they couldn’t yet find the words for.

And for me, it became a mission. One of compassion, trust, and bearing witness.

More Than a Photography Teacher

In addition to teaching, we were trained heavily in child protection and emotional support. These girls were dealing with challenges well beyond their years. Some were 13 and already expecting their second baby. The eldest was 19 with twins.

During my time there, I witnessed unimaginable strength and resilience. Some students experienced pregnancy loss or stillbirth. The school remained a sanctuary for them, providing the safety net they desperately needed.

One moment, though, has never left me.

A young mum, quiet, grieving, showed me photographs of her stillborn son. She couldn't speak, but in her silence, she entrusted me with the most precious images she had. I’ll never forget the moment she placed them in my hands.

“I haven’t shown the photos of my son to anyone else.”

That’s what she told me. She trusted me enough to share what was, and still is, her entire world. The heartbreak in her eyes, the deep yearning to hold him again… even then, I recognised her strength.

*Stillborn remembrance image "Symbolic remembrance photo, representing the power of photography in baby loss"*

But now, having walked my own journey through pregnancy loss, I see her with a whole new depth of understanding. At the time, I knew how upsetting it was for her, the weight of her silence spoke volumes. But it wasn’t until I experienced the overwhelming grief of losing a child myself that I truly understood the magnitude of it. The way it consumes every part of you. The way society expects you to carry on, to smile politely, to “move forward” when your world has stopped.

That memory is one of the reasons I now volunteer for Remember My Baby, capturing portraits for families in the most delicate moments of grief. I know how much those photographs meant to her, how they were her proof of love, of motherhood, of a life that mattered. They were, and probably still are, her most treasured possession.

What I Learned from These Young Mothers

These girls taught me more than I could ever teach them.

They were teenagers, navigating motherhood far earlier than they should have had to. But what they lacked in years, they made up for in fierce love, bravery, and a resilience that moved me to my core. I came into that pupil referral unit with teaching plans and photography prompts. I left years later with a deeper understanding of womanhood, motherhood, and what it means to truly show up for someone.

They showed me:

How resilient a woman is.

They got up in the mornings after sleepless nights, fed their babies, walked into a classroom full of people who didn’t always understand them, and tried again. Day after day. Watching them taught me that strength doesn’t always look loud. Sometimes it’s quiet and exhausted, but it shows up anyway.

How powerful it is to grow, protect, and nurture life.

Some of them were barely out of childhood themselves, but the way they cared for their babies was instinctive, protective, and gentle. They reminded me of the sacred, unspoken bond between mother and child, and the extraordinary power of maternal instinct, even when you’re still figuring out who you are.

How essential emotional safety is when telling your story.

These young women had often experienced judgment, shame, or dismissal in so many areas of their lives. But when they felt safe, truly safe, their stories poured out. The stories weren’t always easy to hear, but they trusted me with them. That trust still humbles me.

And then there were the words they left me with, words I carry even now:

“Thank you. I’m not sure what I would have done without your support.”

This floored me. I wasn’t always sure I was doing enough. I worried that my presence wasn’t making a difference. But hearing that reminded me that sometimes, just being there, reliably, consistently, is exactly what someone needs. It made me reflect on how showing up with kindness matters more than we realise.

“You helped me so much during the hard days of parenting when I had to adjust to being a mum.”

This was from a girl who was terrified when she first arrived. She didn’t know how to hold her baby, was overwhelmed by feeds, cries, and routines. But she kept going. Her words reminded me that even the smallest encouragement, even the briefest moment of connection, can ripple into someone’s day and lighten the load.

“I will never forget your patience and time you gave me when I needed it the most.”

This one still makes me tear up. Patience isn’t always easy. But giving it freely, without agenda, allowed her to feel seen. Understood. Heard. It reminded me why this work, whether teaching, photographing, or just being present, isn’t just about tasks. It’s about humanity.

I still think of them today.

Their children would be in their early twenties now. Sometimes I see a young mum in my studio and wonder if she once sat in my classroom. I wonder where they are, what dreams they followed, what hardships they overcame.

And to the young mum who once showed me those treasured photographs of her son, you may not know this, but I still remember your boy. I still see his little face in my mind. You were a wonderful mother then, and I know you still are.

I’m proud of you all.

Thank you, for everything you taught me.

Now, As a Photographer...

That chapter of my life shaped the way I work today. I create a safe, nurturing space for my clients. I listen deeply, allowing each parent to express how they want their journey into parenthood captured.

Now that I’m a mum myself, I understand even more, how every pregnancy is different. Every baby is different. But what’s consistent is how fast time goes. That’s why documenting your journey is so powerful. Having high-end, wall-worthy photography becomes a talking point in the home. A legacy that’s passed down. A story that’s never forgotten.

And that's the heart of my work.

*Studio shot of Adele now:"Adele Morris, Bridgend newborn photographer, creating safe and beautiful portraits for families today"*

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