What Jury Duty Taught Me About Self-Employment, Homeschooling, and Personal Responsibility
This isn’t a blog post about senior portraits, family portraits, or brand photography. It’s about something we all might face someday—jury duty—and what happens when it intersects with motherhood, homeschooling, and running a small business.
Spoiler alert: being self-employed doesn’t exempt you. Neither does homeschooling.
The Summons That Interrupted My Routine
Like many photographers and homeschool parents, my calendar is layered with color-coded priorities and iPhone alarms: sessions, editing queues, lessons, therapy appointments, meals, errands. So when a jury duty summons arrived, my first response was practical: How will I manage this? My second was honest: Is there any way out of it?
I’m a sole proprietor and homeschool full time. But none of that exempted me. I checked twice, reviewed county requirements, scanned online forums, and hoped my number wouldn’t be called.
From what I’ve observed, courts slow down in late December, but January kicks back into gear quickly. The system depends on citizens of all backgrounds—parents, business owners, students, retirees, and yes, homeschoolers—to function fairly.
Would it disrupt my routine? Sure. But civic duty doesn’t bend around comfort. Living in a free society means stepping in when called—even when it’s inconvenient.
So I rearranged everything. Thankfully, it wasn’t peak portrait season in October—it was January. My mom graciously stepped in to homeschool the boys. My clients were patient with edits. I packed earbuds, a snack, and a water bottle, then walked into the courthouse on a gray, chilly January morning with 200 other citizens—ready to serve.
Inside the Courthouse: Real-Life Civics
The mood was serious, like the DMV. Most people were doom-scrolling quietly on their phones. Small talk was minimal—except for the woman beside me, who had a few of us within an ear-shot chuckling with her robust career history. I thought to myself, “The attorneys are going to love her.”
This wasn’t my first time reporting. I was first summoned during college in Weld County and somehow avoided it for nearly 20 years while living in Boulder County. Back then, I was completely unprepared. I had near-perfect attendance in high school, but jury duty was not explained in any of my classes. What’s unsettling is—I didn’t even know how unprepared I was.
Fast forward to 2025: I noticed a college-aged girl sitting two seats down in the jury pool room. I asked if she’d ever done this before. She hadn’t. I told her, “The attorneys will take turns selecting jurors—not for balance, but to find individuals they believe might connect with their side of the case. If you want a crash course, check out a few episodes of Bull tonight.” (I cautioned her to skip the first episode of season one—it’s intense—but later episodes are surprisingly educational and of course entertaining.)
Jury selection isn’t just sitting in a waiting room. It’s a full-day commitment—or longer. A week or two is not uncommon for jury duty. One woman I know served six weeks on a jury. Even if you’re not picked, your presence is required.
Logistics tip: courthouse security is like airport security. Plan ahead. You’ll walk, wait, stand, wait some more and go through metal detectors. Leave belts and extras at home. Dress business casual. Yes, people showed up in slippers and pajamas—but if you were the one on trial, wouldn’t you want someone on that jury who at least looked like they cared?
Also: don’t leave after lunch. Someone did, and when we returned, the judge said, “Sorry for the delay—we’ve been trying to get in touch with people who left.” They’ll likely face fines, jail time or both – depending. Once you’re summoned, you’re expected to stay until formally excused.
You can plan ahead and bring lunch in a cooler (left in your car) or find a nearby restaurant. I visited one that’s used to jurors and got in and out quickly so I could report back.
Voir Dire: When You’re Not the Right Fit
“Voir dire” is a French term that means “to speak the truth.” It’s the official name for the jury selection process, where the judge and attorneys ask questions to determine whether you can serve impartially.
This was my second time through. (Back in college, I vaguely remember a classmate being selected while I was dismissed.)
This time, the charges were read, and I knew instantly: I couldn’t remain impartial for personal reasons. When I was called up, the judge asked, “Is there any reason you can’t serve?” I answered briefly and honestly. The attorneys and judge stipulated—meaning they agreed—and I was formally dismissed.
I wasn’t trying to dodge responsibility. I was acknowledging a limit.
Sometimes, the most ethical thing you can do is say, “I’m not the right fit for this role.”
Why Jury Duty Still Matters
If we want a legal system built on fairness—not force—we need juries made up of a variety of everyday people.
Over the years, I’ve come to understand that the justice system is made up of people—imperfect but trying. The process is designed to bring balance, not perfection. And I’ve gained a deeper respect for what the Founders intended: a system where power is shared, not centralized.
That’s why we have jurors, witnesses, and a trial process. It’s not perfect, but it’s built to safeguard against one person deciding another’s fate in a vacuum.
This judge earned my respect. He was patient and clear. He explained: “You’re not here to decide whether you agree with the law or not. I think we can all agree certain things are wrong. You’re here to determine whether the evidence supports the charges.” That was a helpful reminder—especially for first-time jurors.
Over the years, I’ve learned that justice isn’t always simple—and none of us in that courtroom is perfect. Judges, attorneys, jurors, defendants—we all have strengths, weaknesses, and blind spots. In daily life, the most loyal friends are the ones willing to gently point those out. But in court, that accountability has to be built into the system. That’s what the jury pool offers: multiple perspectives, working together to uncover what’s true and fair.
I’ve always understood the concept of reasonable doubt. It doesn’t mean certainty—it means using discernment. Jurors must ask questions, weigh evidence, and look past assumptions or emotion. Feelings aren’t facts. Vibes don’t hold up in court. The truth has to be supported—not just believed.
That’s why showing up—prepared, thoughtful, and willing to listen—matters more than we think.
To My Fellow Homeschoolers and Creatives
If you’ve ever thought, “I homeschool, so I’ll probably get dismissed,” or “My business can’t afford this,” I want to gently say—you’re still going to be expected to show up.
In our jury pool, I saw parents, teachers, students, caregivers, and small business owners. A friend from church, also self-employed, said, “If I get picked, it’s a two-week trial.” That’s half a month without income. The stipend barely covers lunch, let alone groceries for a family of four.
Jury duty is a real sacrifice. But it matters.
We can’t claim to value liberty if we avoid the responsibilities that protect it. The more diverse and representative the jury, the stronger the justice system becomes.
What I Took Away (Beyond the Courtroom)
- Life has moving targets. Be ready to pivot.
- Responsibility rarely fits our schedule. That’s not a flaw. It’s what service looks like.
- Truth matters. Say it in court. Say it in business.
- Support matters. I couldn’t have done this without my mom or my patient clients.
The day wiped me out. I came home, hugged my boys, and reminded myself: I want them to be equipped for real-world responsibilities—jury duty included. My oldest son turns 15 this year. In Colorado, eligibility to be called to jury duty begins at 18. That’s wild.
Yet they may be asked to decide if someone’s life is upended—jail time, loss of freedom, family, or finances. We need to prepare them. We need to take this seriously.
No Photos, But Plenty of Perspective
As a photographer, I’m usually capturing everything. But this day? No iPhone shots. No behind-the-scenes. Just me, showing up and doing my civic duty.
Final Thoughts
I didn’t write this to vent. I wrote it to clarify.
Jury duty isn’t a box to check. It’s a role to rise to.
It’s about treating others the way we’d want to be treated. A fair trial is what our founders envisioned—not one person ruling the outcome, but a group of citizens weighing the evidence together.
The system doesn’t give a pass to single parents. Or breastfeeding moms. Or business owners. Or homeschoolers. And honestly, it shouldn’t. Because if we excluded all those people, we’d lose what makes juries representative and just.
Let’s Talk About It
Have you ever been called to serve on a jury?
What surprised you most about the process—or what do you wish someone had told you ahead of time?
SHARE: