I never planned to be a photographer. To be honest, there was a time when the last thing on my mind was art or creativity. For two years, I didn’t even have a front door. I slept rough, on benches, in hostels, and once in a public toilet because it was the only place I could lock the door and feel safe. In those years, the world passed me by. People saw the problem, not the person. I was invisible.
Then something small — but life-changing — happened. I was invited to a photography workshop. They handed me a camera, and for the first time in years I felt like I was holding something that gave me value. I started noticing things I hadn’t noticed before: the way sunlight painted a wall, the laugh lines on a stranger’s face, the quiet dignity of someone just sitting and waiting. Photography made me look again. My photos ended up on display at the local museum, the library, and even John Lewis. It was surreal. Two years later, days after I finally moved into a flat of my own, someone gave me a camera. That was the real turning point — the moment photography stopped being an activity and started becoming part of who I am.
What surprised me most was how photography reshaped the way I moved through the world. A camera gave me confidence I didn’t know I had. Walking into new spaces felt impossible before, but with a camera in my hands I could tell myself, I’m just here to take photos. That excuse opened doors — first into community centres, then into charities, and later into cathedrals where my work would hang on the walls. Over time, I realised I didn’t need the excuse anymore. The camera wasn’t just a shield — it was a key.
Photography also connected me to people. At first, it was strangers who let me take their portraits. Then it was communities who invited me to share their stories. Survivors of domestic abuse. People living with dementia. Individuals rebuilding after homelessness. Each person had a story worth telling, and a photo was often the doorway to that conversation. I’ve stood beside people as they saw their portrait displayed for the first time, watched the pride in their eyes, and heard them say: I didn’t think anyone would care about my story. Photography showed them otherwise.
Along the way, I realised something else: photography isn’t just creative — it’s therapeutic. For me, it grounded my mind. When I was framing a shot, I wasn’t worrying about the past or the future — I was present. I’ve seen the same thing happen in others. I’ve watched someone who barely spoke light up when they explained the picture they had taken. I’ve seen people living with dementia connect to long-forgotten memories through a single photograph. I’ve seen survivors of abuse find a safe way to tell their story without needing to find the words. Photography heals in ways you can’t always explain, but you can always feel.
That’s why my work now goes beyond just exhibitions. Through The Narrator’s Lens CIC, I bring together individuals and organisations to raise awareness of social challenges. Photography becomes both art and evidence — the images and stories turn into reports shared with councils, charities, and funders. They spark conversations that influence decisions. They give communities a chance to be heard. The photographs might hang in cathedrals or museums, but the real impact happens in the lives of the people who stand in front of them.
When I look back, I see the path clearly. From invisible to visible. From lost to focused. From holding a borrowed camera to helping others find their own voice through one. That’s the power photography holds.
And here’s the truth — you don’t need to call yourself a photographer to feel it. You don’t need expensive gear. You don’t even need a plan. Just pick up whatever camera you have, even if it’s your phone. Notice the light. Take a picture of something ordinary. Share it with someone. You’ll be surprised how often the ordinary turns extraordinary when you take the time to really look.
You might never see your work in a gallery. You might never make a career out of it. But you will start to see the world differently. And once you see differently, everything else begins to shift.
Photography changed my life. And it can change yours too.
