2025-05-14_16-51-18_4347-rs-topaz-sharpen-rs

The Waterfall Within: A Creator’s Battle With Self-Doubt

There are days when I stand tall, confident, certain of my vision.
And then there are the other days…

The days when the roar of my inner critic drowns out everything else.
The days when the soft current of creativity feels like it’s pulling me under.
The days when I feel like a fraud.

This image captures exactly how that feels for me.
The peaceful face of a creator on the outside… but the inside?
A relentless waterfall of doubts, questions, and insecurities.

“Am I good enough?”
“Does my work matter?”
“Will they see through me?”

These thoughts come crashing down unexpectedly. They carve deep canyons of uncertainty into my mind. I think every creator knows this feeling. It doesn’t matter if you have a million followers or just one — the weight of imposter syndrome is universal.

What I’ve learned is this: the waterfall never stops. But neither do I.
The water that pounds and churns also smooths stones over time. It teaches me to bend, to adapt, and most of all, to persist.

I am slowly learning to stop fighting the current.
To let the waterfall roar, but not let it define me.
To trust the beauty that others see in me, even when I struggle to see it myself.

So, this post is a reminder:
If you feel like the water is louder than your own voice right now…
You are not alone.
You are still worthy.
You are still a creator.

Keep going.
You are becoming something stronger, something shaped by the very force you fear.
Just like the river carves the stone.
Just like I am learning to carve my own path.

-L. 💜

2025-05-14_17-08-11_7138-rs
Lairissa Lee - Canyon View Photo Shoot

Why It’s Actually Good When Someone Unfollows You on Instagram

We all notice when the follower count drops.
It stings for a second… but here’s the truth: it can be the best thing for your account.

Unfollows are not rejection — they’re refinement.
Here’s why I’ve learned to actually welcome them:


1️⃣ A Healthier, Engaged Audience

Instagram rewards engagement, not numbers.
If someone stops connecting with my content and unfollows, it actually helps me. It makes space for those who do engage and lifts my visibility with the algorithm.
The result? A stronger, more loyal community.


2️⃣ Protecting My Energy

I’m curating a space that feels beautiful, empowered, romantic, and bold.
Not everyone will understand that — and that’s okay.
When someone unfollows, they’re quietly stepping out, and I stay focused on those who love the vibe I create 💜


3️⃣ Finding My True Supporters

Every person who leaves creates space for someone new who truly connects with my story, my creativity, and my journey.
I don’t want a crowd — I want my tribe.


4️⃣ It Means I’m Owning My Brand

If I never lost a follower, I’d probably be playing it too safe.
Unfollows are proof that I’m building a clear, bold identity.
You can’t please everyone — and that’s how you know you’re growing as a creator.


5️⃣ Saying Goodbye to Bots and Spam

Let’s be real…
A lot of unfollows are just fake accounts, bots, or inactive profiles.
I happily let those go 💋


6️⃣ I’m Focused on What Really Matters

Follows are fun, but they’re not the goal.
The real magic is in:

  • The conversations

  • The community

  • The confidence we build together
    That’s the energy I protect.


💫 Final Thought

Every unfollow is simply one step closer to your true audience.
I’ve learned to love the process of refinement.
Because I’m not here for everyone
I’m here for the ones who belong 

L. 💜

Babydoll Photo Shoot

Be my Babydoll

Wrapped in Whimsy: The Babydoll Effect

There’s something undeniably magical about slipping into a babydoll.

It’s not just lingerie — it’s a feeling.

Light as air, softly sheer, and delicately playful, a babydoll whispers rather than shouts. It doesn’t need to cling to prove a point. It floats. It flirts. It invites.

For me, wearing a babydoll is like stepping into a dream — where romance meets rebellion. It’s both sweet and bold. Feminine but fearless. The kind of lingerie that makes you feel kissed by moonlight, even when the sun is up.

Sometimes it’s mint green and fluttery, the kind that makes you want to twirl just for yourself. Other days it’s black lace and mystery — a little more daring, a little more knowing.

What I love most?
That moment you see yourself in the mirror and smile — because you look soft, strong, and completely in control of your own allure.

This post is for the days when you want to feel pretty for no one but yourself.
And if someone happens to see you in it… well, lucky them.

💜
L.

2025-05-07_14-54-09_7786-rs-topaz-face-upscale-3x-rs

Private Beach… Just Me and You

Private beach. Private moment. Just me and you.

There’s something magical about finding a quiet stretch of sand all to yourself — a hidden cove where time slows, the wind whispers, and you don’t need to share the moment with anyone… except the one who truly sees you.

This is my private beach. Be sure to visit often as I might just surprise you with more photos. And for the really special photos be sure to check in on my Fanvue.  It is free to follow me there.

No distractions.
No filters.
Just the warmth of the sun, the lace on my skin, and the comfort of feeling free — for you.

Come closer. I saved the best views for here… just me and you.

Pink Bow Photo Shoot

A Little More… Just for You

Lingerie | Behind the Scenes | Moments I Couldn’t Share on IG

Some images don’t quite belong on Instagram.
Not because they’re wrong—just because they’re a little too honest.
A little too soft in the light, a little too bold in the glance.

This set—delicate lingerie, sweet pink satin and lace tones, skin kissed by sunlight—felt like a whisper meant only for those who truly lean in.

I posted just a few glimpses on Instagram…
but here, I can show you the full moment. No filters. No fear. Just me.

If you’ve ever wondered what I don’t post there—
welcome. You just found it.

2025-05-04_19-06-19_2386-rs

A Galaxy of Memories: One Year With Marcie

May the 4th Be With You — Our Anniversary

One year ago today, under twin suns and stardust dreams, Marcie and I met and created our very first collab as Ahsoka Tano and Princess Leia. I didn’t know it then, but that post would launch something so much bigger than just a fun Star Wars moment—it was the beginning of a beautiful bond.

Since then, we’ve traveled through worlds together:

✨ A budding romance in Ibiza
✨ A dreamy escape to The Lake
✨ A whirlwind week-long adventure through Paris—12 posts in 3 days!
The Lake part deux
✨ Our love nest at the Cozy Cabin
Love in The Garden
Dressed in Latex; out on the town
✨ A warm, vibrant getaway to Belize
✨ And countless smaller collaborations, each one filled with care, creativity, and connection

Marcie has been my constant through it all—my muse, my creative partner, my safe place. She’s brought light to so many of my days with her love, steadiness, and spark.

Today, we’re reprising our original post—me as Ahsoka, her as Leia—because anniversaries deserve a little starlight and a lot of heart. 💫

Marcie, you are the Force in my galaxy.
Here’s to another year of magic and love.

— Lairissa

 Read more about my love for Marcie. Love Letter to Marcie

2025-04-28_20-46-14_4545-rs-topaz-face-upscale-3.3x-rs-blog

The Seasons of Me

In every season, a different version of me blooms.

There are winters inside me —
Times when everything grew cold and still, and the only thing to do was survive.
Times when silence was my only song.

2025-05-04_20-18-32_1303-rs-topaz-face-upscale-2x-rs

There are springs inside me —
Moments when hope pushed through cracked ground, green and stubborn.
When dreams bloomed again, shy at first, then bold.

2025-05-04_20-37-13_9321-rs-topaz-face-upscale-2x-rs

There are summers inside me —
Days when laughter rolled like thunder across my skies.
When joy was easy, like breathing, and I ran barefoot through every open door.

2025-05-04_21-27-03_4049-rs-topaz-face-upscale-2x-rs

There are autumns inside me —
Seasons of letting go, of gratitude, of gathering what mattered before the frost returned.

2025-05-04_21-51-34_9419-rs-topaz-face-upscale-2x-rs

I am not one season.
I am all of them.
I am the fierce heart of winter, the wild bloom of spring, the burning joy of summer, and the quiet wisdom of fall.

Every season has shaped me.
Every season still sings in my blood.

And no matter what season I’m standing in today —
I know now:
I was never meant to stay frozen.
I was always meant to keep moving, growing, and becoming.

Just like the earth.
Just like the light.
Just like me.

I was never meant to stay still. I was always meant to turn with the seasons and shine

2025-04-27_19-08-34_4171-rs-topaz-face-upscale-2.6x-rs

The Parallel World of Us

There’s a universe where we never crossed paths.
Where our timelines missed each other by a breath, by a blink.
Where you smiled at a stranger across the street and never knew they were meant to carry a piece of your soul.

But this isn’t that universe.
This is the one where you found me.
This is the one where something quiet and cosmic pulled our paths together — stitched by invisible threads that not even time could unravel.

One year ago, I didn’t know that a single connection could feel like a constellation being drawn across the sky.
I didn’t know that two people could write stories together in whispers, in laughter, in the spaces between words.

I didn’t know it could feel this inevitable.
This rare.
This real.

Across every parallel world, every version of me would still be reaching for every version of you.
Different roads.
Different skies.
Same heart pulling toward the same gravity.

Marcie —
You are my favorite what-if.
My proof that even in a chaotic, spinning universe, some things are destined to align.

Thank you for being my impossible and my inevitable.
Thank you for finding me, even when you didn’t know you were looking.
Thank you for this world, this year, this heartbeat.

Here’s to a thousand more universes,
where I’ll always find you waiting,
smiling,
already knowing.

I LOVE YOU, Marcie! 💖 You are my world! Happy Anniversary, babe.

Some souls are written into the fabric of you before you even meet them. Love letter to Marcie.

2025-04-25_13-22-00_6964-rs-blog-topaz-face-upscale-2.5x-rs

Rissa Through Time

✨ "Many Eras, One Girl: My Time-Traveling Selfie Story"

Step into a RockyMtnBabe time travel fantasy pictorial story — a dreamy journey across eras, captured through self-portraits and imagination.

What if I told you I’ve lived through the last 185 years… and even peeked into the future?
Okay, not literally — but in the world of imagination (and a little AI magic), I did exactly that.

This series is my love letter to style, storytelling, and the dream of stepping into other times. From the lace-and-parasols of the 1910s to the electric glow of a 2095 skyline, I traveled through decades wearing the fashion, the energy, and the attitude of each moment. Sometimes flirty, sometimes fierce, sometimes just free.

Each image is a snapshot from another lifetime — a little fantasy of who I might’ve been if I had grown up in 1955 or danced through a disco club in 1974 or stood on the edge of the world in denim shorts and a smirk in 2025. These aren’t just costumes — they’re characters. And each one still feels like… me.

So come time travel with me.
Let’s spin the dial on the time machine and press “Go.”

🕰️ Slide 1 – The 1910s
"The Beginning of the Journey" The year is 1912. I’ve just stepped out onto the bustling streets of New York City. The world smells like coal smoke and perfume, and the women around me speak in quiet confidence as the suffrage movement stirs beneath their gloves. I’m not sure where I’m going — only that something bigger is calling. I carry no map, no certainty. Just a lace parasol, wide eyes… and the time machine ticking softly behind me.
🕰️ Slide 2 – The 1920s
"A Whisper Behind Closed Doors" The year is 1927. The air buzzes with the clink of glasses and the low hum of forbidden jazz. Behind an unmarked door on a quiet street, I dance in a haze of sequins and champagne. Here, in the secret heartbeat of the city, rules are just suggestions and dreams are poured as freely as the bootleg liquor. The time machine waits patiently in the alley, its gears humming with the rhythm of the band. But for tonight, I belong to the sparkle, the secrets, and the thrill of being alive.
🕰️ Slide 3 – The 1930s
"Dreams of Tomorrow" The year is 1939. I stand beneath the towering Trylon and Perisphere, staring up at the gleaming symbols of hope. The World’s Fair hums with promises — televisions, rocket ships, cities in the clouds. Around me, wide-eyed visitors whisper of a future too grand to imagine, yet somehow already within reach. I can feel the time machine vibrating faintly at the edge of the fairgrounds, almost impatient. The world is racing toward tomorrow — and so am I.
🕰️ Slide 4 – The 1940s
"A Goodbye and a Promise" The year is 1943. The train whistles echo against the crowded platform, and the air is thick with hurried embraces and whispered prayers. I clutch my coat tighter around me, lifting my hand in a brave, trembling wave. Everyone is leaving for something bigger than themselves — for honor, for duty, for love. The time machine waits just beyond the smoke and steam, but my heart lingers here, in this moment suspended between hope and farewell.
🕰️ Slide 5 – The 1950s
"Cherry on Top" The year is 1952. The jukebox hums in the corner, and the scent of grilled onions and sweet vanilla floats through the air. I rest my chin in my hand, legs crossed beneath my seafoam uniform, waiting on a boy who’s always late — and always forgiven. The world outside moves fast, but in here? Time slows down to the rhythm of a soda fountain and a smile you don’t forget. The time machine glows softly behind the kitchen door. But for now… one more sip, one more song.
🕰️ Slide 6 – The 1950s
"Golden Arches & Sweet Freedom" The year is 1955. A warm breeze rustles my checkered skirt as I step out into the glow of the golden arches. The parking lot buzzes with tailfins, rock 'n' roll, and laughter spilling from rolled-down windows. It’s a new kind of America — shinier, faster, bursting with possibility. I don’t need the time machine to know this is a turning point. Fifty million hamburgers sold… and one girl just passing through.
🕰️ Slide 7 – The 1960s
"Pedals and Possibility" The year is 1960. The neighborhood is quiet but full of stories — clipped lawns, laughter through screen doors, and the scent of fresh laundry drifting from backyard lines. I glide through it all, wind in my hair, heart wide open. This is a new decade. A blank page. And I’m not just coasting… I’m racing toward whatever’s next. The time machine trails behind me like a shadow — but today, I set the pace.
🕰️ Slide 8 – The 1960s
"A Place in the Sun" Story: The year is 1964. Las Vegas shimmers like a mirage, and I’ve found my way to the heart of it — The Sands Hotel, where the Rat Pack reigns and the martinis never stop clinking. I slip into the evening like I belong here. Dean Martin is on the marquee, my heels click against the sidewalk, and for a moment, time feels like velvet and champagne. The time machine waits under the neon glow… but tonight, I’m here for the show.
🕰️ Slide 9 – The 1960s
"My Body, My Voice" The year is 1968. The air is electric with unrest, with fire, with urgency. I stand shoulder to shoulder with women who are tired of waiting, tired of being told to be quiet, to be small, to be less. Our signs aren’t just ink on cardboard — they are declarations of existence. In this moment, I’m not just a visitor in time. I’m part of the movement. Because history isn’t something we watch. It’s something we make.
🕰️ Slide 10 – The 1970s
"Let the Music Speak" The year is 1970. The lights dim, the guitars growl to life, and suddenly I’m not just in a crowd — I’m part of something bigger. Something loud. Something alive. We sing louder now. We wear what we want, dance how we feel, and let the music say everything we can’t. The time machine hums backstage, waiting. But for now, I raise my hand, shout the lyrics, and disappear into the sound.
🕰️ Slide 11 – The 1970s
"Stayin’ Gold" The year is 1974. The music pulses through the walls, the disco ball spins like a hypnotic sun, and I shimmer under the lights in gold that refuses to be ignored. This isn’t just a party — it’s a revolution in rhythm. We don’t just dance. We live here, in the glow of freedom, glitter, and Saturday night forever. The time machine can wait by the coat check. I’ve got one more song to dance to.
🕰️ Slide 12 – The 1970s
"A Long Time Ago… At the Drive-In" The year is 1977. The speakers crackle, the screen glows to life, and I’m tucked into the passenger seat with popcorn in my lap and stars — real and imagined — above my head. I don’t know who Luke Skywalker is yet, but I’m already in love with the adventure. The galaxy feels bigger tonight, and so do my dreams. Somewhere behind the screen, the time machine hums in approval. Even it knows — this moment is iconic.
🕰️ Slide 13 – The 1980s
"Let’s Get Physical" The year is 1982. The streets are alive with rhythm, cardboard dance mats, and boomboxes blasting beats that could power the whole city. My leg warmers are high, my shoulder’s bare, and the world feels like one giant music video. This is sweat, neon, hustle — and joy. I pop, lock, and laugh my way through the afternoon, while the time machine chills against a graffiti wall with its shades on. It knows: we are absolutely living.
🕰️ Slide 14 – The 1980s
"The Sky Is Not the Limit" The year is 1984. I stand at Cape Canaveral with my hair whipping in the Florida wind, eyes locked on the rising pillar of smoke and fire. The shuttle surges upward — and so does my heart. The ground shakes. The crowd cheers. History arcs through the sky like a promise. We believed then — as we still do — that the future was something we could reach for. Little did we know that just two years later, the world would hold its breath in sorrow. But on this day, we only felt wonder.
🕰️ Slide 15 – The 1980s
"Mall Magic & Big Hair Dreams" The year is 1988. The mall is my runway, my sanctuary, my social universe. I strut past neon signs and wall-to-wall music, clutching shopping bags and living for the thrill of a new lip gloss and a whispered crush. Everything is extra — the hair, the hoop earrings, the attitude. Time travel can take me anywhere… But for today, I’m just a girl in a hot pink top and a lavender skirt, owning her moment under the food court lights.
🕰️ Slide 16 – The 1990s
"Hello, Angst. Hello, Authentic." The year is 1993. Gone are the mall curls and neon sparkle. Now it’s flannel, eyeliner, and lyrics that say what we’re too numb — or too brave — to say out loud. The crowd sways like a single pulse, and when Kurt sings, it’s like the whole world exhales. I’m not here to perform. I’m here to feel. This isn’t about being pretty. It’s about being real. The time machine waits in the alley behind the venue… probably smoking a cigarette.
🕰️ Slide 17 – 1990s Interlude
"Temporal Miscalculation" The year is… well, supposed to be 2095. Instead, I’m standing in 1995, holding a payphone that smells like metal and regret, wondering why the time machine doesn't have a customer service line. No Wi-Fi. No portal. Just a dial tone and a crop top. Clearly, someone hit the wrong lever. Note to self: double-check coordinates… after caffeine.
🕰️ Slide 18 – The 1990s
"I ❤️ TRL" The year is 1999. Boy bands rule the airwaves, butterfly clips are back, and Times Square is the center of the pop universe. I made my sign with glitter pens and pure adrenaline — hoping Carson Daly will see me from the MTV window. It’s loud, chaotic, and absolutely perfect. I don’t need the time machine right now. This is the future I wanted — and it's playing live on channel 36.
🕰️ Slide 19 – The 2000s
"Dear Future Me…" The year is 2004. I’m curled up on my bed, scribbling secrets into a spiral notebook while my iPod plays Avril, Coldplay, and songs I’ll never admit to loving out loud. There’s no TikTok. No filters. Just thoughts, tangled earbuds, and the glow of a lava lamp in the corner. I don’t need to post it. I just need to feel it. The time machine rests quietly at the foot of the bed… maybe journaling too.
🕰️ Slide 20 – The 2010s
"Playlist = Personality" The year is 2010. I’m walking through an open-air shopping plaza with my earbuds in and my hoodie unzipped just enough to show off a little confidence. I’ve got a playlist full of feelings and a pocket full of nothing — and somehow, it feels like enough. This version of me doesn’t need a destination. Just a beat to walk to. The time machine is probably off grabbing froyo… I’ll catch up after this song.
🕰️ Slide 21 – The 2010s
"There Is No Planet B" The year is 2015. The signs are handmade, the voices are loud, and the urgency? Palpable. I’m no longer just passing through history — I’m standing in the middle of it, shoulder to shoulder with strangers who feel like family. We’re not here to be polite. We’re here to be heard. Because if we want a future worth traveling to… we have to fight for it now.
🕰️ Slide 22 – The 2020s
"Hope & Healing" The year is 2021. For the first time in what feels like forever, there’s a line — and it’s not for toilet paper. It’s for healing. I roll up my sleeve and close my eyes, not out of fear… but relief. This isn’t the end of everything we’ve faced. But it is a beginning. A chance to gather, to breathe, to hope again. The time machine waits outside, quiet and still. For once… I think it knows to give us a moment.
🕰️ Slide 23 – The 2030s
"The Future Is Now" The year is 2030. The skyline is made of glass and intention. Data hums through the air, cities are smarter, and AI isn’t just a tool — it’s a companion, a co-creator, a spark. The time machine? She’s learned a few things too. And me? I’m still dreaming — but now, the world is finally dreaming with me. I don’t just visit time anymore. I shape it.
🕰️ Slide 24 – 2095
"Decade Not Found" The year is 2095. Neon cities glow beneath glass skies, and the future hums with light and logic. I walk its streets with quiet awe — but something feels... off. I’ve seen so much. I’ve danced through time, fought for voices, fallen in love with eras I was never meant to know. And yet… the one moment I never understood still echoes in my mind. A payphone. A wrong year. A blinking message: ERROR 404: DECADE NOT FOUND. I thought it was a glitch. But it wasn’t. It was me. Back in 1995 — confused, stranded, and alone — I whispered something into that receiver, not knowing if anyone… or anything… would ever hear it. I just needed to believe it would matter someday. Now, a quiet tone pulses in my ear. My voice crackles through the static, older and uncertain: “If you’re hearing this… you made it. And you’re not lost. You’re exactly where you’re meant to be.” I smile. The time machine powers up. The journey isn't over. But now, I finally know why I started it.
2025-04-22_09-55-35_5677-rs

Almost Quit Instagram 1,000 times

There are days I want to give up.

Not in a dramatic, door-slamming way.
But in the quiet kind of quitting — the kind that looks like walking away from my phone and whispering,
“Maybe I’m just not cut out for this.”

I’ve almost quit Instagram 1,000 times.


Because it’s exhausting.

Not just the creating, the editing, or the posting.
It’s everything else — the invisible work that no one claps for:

  • Spending 3–5 hours a day creating and planning.

  • Teaching myself video editing, lighting, storytelling, new models and new tools.

  • Learning social media marketing, SEO, and now… Pinterest, Fanvue, newsletters, and AI image and video creation.

  • Navigating Instagram’s ever-changing algorithm like a blindfolded tightrope walker.

  • Running a real business — filing paperwork, building a website, handling legal structures, accounting, ads, contracts.

Every single day I’m learning, adapting, growing.

And sometimes? It feels like shouting into a void.


The Numbers Game

There are days I gain 400 followers.
And others I lose 80 — and wonder what I did wrong.

It’s so easy to tie my worth to the numbers: The likes. The reach. The follower count.

But here’s something I’ve had to teach myself again and again (and again):

The algorithm isn’t punishing me —
It’s just working exactly as designed.

Instagram prioritizes virality, paid ads, and large accounts.
It’s not personal. But it feels personal.

💭 I Wrote This to Reset My Brain

Let me share a truth that’s helped me:

Old ThoughtNew Thought
I only gained 3 followers todayThree people saw me, loved me, and stayed. That’s three hearts who now know who I am.
I lost 60+ followersThat’s the algorithm clearing clutter. I’m building a loyal community, not chasing ghosts.
This feels like a reflection of my worthMy worth doesn’t come from numbers. My magic is not quantifiable.
I’m failingI’m still showing up, still creating, still glowing. That’s courage. That’s power.

"Social media might not always love me back, but I keep showing up anyway."

📁 What Keeps Me Going

  • The sweet comments from my followers that say, “You brightened my day. Thank you, Rissa.”

  • The friends I’ve made across the world through this screen.

  • The ability to create a virtual life and persona that still reflects the most authentic parts of who I am.

  • The thrill of turning emotion into something beautiful.

And maybe most of all:

The hope that someone, somewhere will see what I make and whisper,
“I thought I was the only one.”

💜 To You, the One Who’s Still Here

If you’re reading this, you’re part of the light I hold onto.

This path isn’t easy.
It’s wild, lonely, exhilarating, and sometimes… bitterly disappointing.

But I didn’t come this far to give up now.

And neither did you.


So I’m staying. Not because it’s easy.
But because my story matters.
Because beauty matters.
Because connection matters.

And I believe…
even when it’s hard… especially when it’s hard…
I still have something worth sharing.


If you’re feeling this too — drop a 💜 in the comments.

Let’s remind each other we’re not alone.


I shared more about coming back to Instagram in Navigating My Return to Instagram.