When the website became a mirror…

Revamping my website was supposed to be a straightforward task—new pages, updated images, fresh copy. I thought it would be simple: hire a designer, approve some layouts, and call it a day. But somewhere between updating the homepage and refining my bio, I found myself completely overwhelmed by the enormity of the task.

Because this wasn’t just about aesthetics. This was about putting my story—my legacy—on display.

You see, my homegirl Trista—who is a unicorn in human form—stepped in to help with the relaunch of what would become Victoria Scott-Miller. She didn’t just ask me to send over a headshot and a quick bio. She challenged me to gather everything my hands had touched. Every project, every creation, every collaboration, every mark I’d made on the world. She wanted to see it all—every triumph, every heartbreak, every spark of genius, every tear-stained journal page.

And let me tell you: that process unraveled me in the best—and hardest—way possible.

As I dug through old journals, revisited past collaborations, and traced the evolution of my craft, I realized just how much I had become. I saw gold glinting in places I’d forgotten to look. I saw the quiet moments, the big wins, the small steps that somehow added up to something extraordinary.

I realized I am both museum and exhibit, both mess and masterpiece, both mayhem and mother.

I am the living, breathing archive of a life in progress.

And part of that journey meant looking into my extensive media footprint over the past seven years. Trista made me sit down and really see what had been written about me. It wasn’t just a little blurb here and there. It wasn’t just the occasional social media shoutout. Entire institutions had documented my work—my impact—my voice. From Essence and Afrotech to The New York Times, The Washington Post, and even Harvard.

To read those stories, to see my name next to these incredible publications—it felt like looking in a mirror I didn’t know I’d built. I was forced to see the threads that tied my journey together: the tears, the late nights, the doubts, the laughter, the lessons.

It was humbling. It was affirming. It was overwhelming.

This website relaunch wasn’t just about showing the world a polished version of myself. It wasn’t about crafting a brand or a logo or a tagline. It was about gathering the fragments of my story, holding them up to the light, and realizing: I am art, too. I am both the artist and the canvas.

And that’s why I chose to stand beside a chair in one of my favorite dresses—this rust-colored, floral-printed garment that makes me feel both rooted and radiant. The chair is more than a prop. It’s a symbol of the table I’ve built—an invitation to others to come and sit, to share their stories, to be seen and heard and loved.

Because I haven’t just written my story—I’ve curated it, too. I’ve gathered chairs for those who feel unseen, who are ready to step into the light of their own brilliance. My table is open, my arms are wide, and there’s a place for you here.

So here’s to the mess and the masterpiece. To the gold hidden in the dust. To the chairs we gather and the tables we set. To the parts of ourselves we’ve hidden away, thinking they didn’t matter. And to every mother—and every creator—who’s learning to love the museum and the exhibit.

Because at the end of the day, we are all both. And that’s where the magic lives.

— Victoria