Biography

Mikell Nielsen (she/her) was only 5 years old when she watched her grandfather develop film in his darkroom, but the experience left a vivid impression on her. She was absolutely mesmerized by the process: the red light, the smell of chemicals, the paper rocking back and forth, and finally an image that magically appeared. Her grandfather, Horace Overacker, was an engineer by trade and a photographer at heart. Though he passed away in 1974, his images, to this day, embody his creative spirit and help keep not only his memory alive but also the memories of his family and friends whose portraits he took. Nostalgically inspired by her grandfather, Mikell embraced his passion and became a photographer herself. 

At the beginning of her career, Mikell’s main focus was portraiture, including families, couples, and weddings. She eventually found herself adding fashion and commercial photography to her repertoire under the name Rebel Louise Photography. She owned and operated two photography studios in southern Oregon, but when the pandemic hit, well, it changed her course. Mikell now finds herself doing what her grandfather loved—taking photos of family and friends and special personal projects.

Artist Statement

I was a highly sensitive and empathetic child, groomed to be a people pleaser. Christianity taught me to be a good girl, to be virtuous, to be obedient, and to put other people’s needs before my own. Sometimes I wonder if the combination of who I was organically and who I was trained to be was a recipe for disaster. 

On a special morning in December of 1973, at the age of seven, I put on my most prized piece of clothing. It was a beautiful Beatrix Potter dress with large pastel vegetables that ran the length of the dress. It felt exceptionally fancy to me. Today was going to be a magical day as I had been chosen to lead my classmates in singing “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” at my school’s Christmas program. Our families would be in attendance, although I remember that only my Nana and grandfather were able to be there. 

As I walked to school with my classmates through a field covered in tall, dry grass, I was bursting with excitement and anticipation. A young man approached us on a bicycle, blocking our path, and announced he had no money and needed a nickel. In the distance, I heard the morning bell ring. All the children ran off to school. All of them, except me. I could not bear to tell the young man I had no money to give. As he climbed off his bike and crouched beside me, I discovered that it was not money he was after.

In that painful, terrifying moment, I wanted to scream for help and run, but my voice had disappeared, and my body froze. When he was done, he threatened even more harm if I told anyone. He left me like crumpled trash in that field, dirty and used. I remember hearing a blood-curdling noise as my hot, dry throat released fear and pain. Shame immediately began to bury the truth of what happened. I came up with a plan. If I hit my face, leaving red marks on my cheeks, what I could not verbalize would surely be obvious to an adult. I ran toward the school and into the office. The secretary asked me a few questions and directed me to sit on a cold plastic chair while she called my mother. My mom would not be coming to get me. I was asked to choose my lunch for the day. I chose spaghetti. Outside of the office, I walked to my classroom alone. I felt numb.

That afternoon, I led my classmates through the song as best I could. But absent was my enthusiasm that had shone brightly during rehearsals. While in the auditorium, I was aware of only blurry details: a Christmas tree, a piano, the echoed sounds of guests taking their seats, my heart beating so hard as I stepped front and center on the stage. I was stumbling through the hand motions I choreographed and practiced so many times, touching my nose and then using my hands to make antlers. After the performance, I begged my Nana to take me with her. Not understanding my tears, she got into her car and drove off. 

From that day on, I lived in a strange dual reality of acting like I was perfectly fine when, truthfully, I was terrified and sad and alone. I had no idea that day would somehow open a door to more sexual abuse. 

Today, at age 56, even after years of therapy and treatment for post-traumatic stress disorder, the events that occurred in my youth still affect me. Though now I understand that they do not define me. Creating my chapter for this project has placed me on a path toward finding my power. Every step into the dark waters of my past, I emerge a little more healed. The anger and rage that once burrowed deep inside me have been released; in its place, forgiveness and compassion grow. Two steps forward. One step back. One step forward

Appreciations

Thank you to my daughter, Carlen; an undeniable and special part of my heart and soul. She is fierce, loving, compassionate, empathetic, intelligent, and wise. In front of my camera, Carlen used those qualities to help share my story beautifully and, sometimes, hauntingly. I feel immense gratitude walking through this with her. And I am desperately relieved that her story is so different from mine.

Thank you to my sons, Justen and Jorden, who have always been empathetic, kind, and loving. Because of my internal angst and baggage, sometimes my ability to mother them made their own childhoods painful and frayed. Seeing them with their own families gives me great relief that I did not damage them beyond repair. In fact, they are not damaged at all. They have turned their experiences into strengths. And they are examples of all that is good, gentle, and loving.

Thank you to my husband, Nate, who has been on this journey with me since I was 19 years old. We were unaware that my buried secrets would demand attention; releasing a downpour of pain and rage. He has provided a safe place to fall and an abundance of unconditional love. Having had a front-row seat to the most difficult parts of my recovery has not been easy for him. But he has never wavered in his love and support. I am eternally thankful to love him, and to be loved by him.

Thank you to my mother, Barbara. For years she bore the brunt of my anger and blame. But now I see the two of us hand in hand; a true team. I appreciate her, not just as my mother, but as a whole human in all her complexities and beauty. We have grown and are healing. Together.

Thank you to my Auntie Debbie. She is my sister and best friend. And when I was young, Debbie was also my Protector. 

Thank you to Libby. She guided me through a jungle of darkness to rescue and protect little Mikell. The amount of appreciation and love I have for Libby is immeasurable.

Thank you to Tia, my soul sister. Together, we create beautiful and deeply meaningful art. Even more beautiful is the eternal friendship we share.  

Thank you to my kindred soul sister, Kirsten. She is courageous and empathetic and accepting and kind. Kirsten’s presence in my life has been a beautiful gift. She is a reminder that there is true goodness in this world.

Last, but not least. Gone, but never forgotten. My Bama and Aunt Maryl. They kept me grounded when I wanted to float away. I feel them with me. Every single day.  

Dedication

My chapter is dedicated to children who have been hurt by the unfathomable actions of others. We are all deserving of living a life free from the unbearable weight and darkness. We are worthy. I see you.