Photography Didn’t Heal Me—But It Helped Me Come Back to Life

There was a time I didn’t feel anything.

Not joy, not sadness—just a quiet, constant overwhelm. I didn’t know I was in a depression. I just thought I was tired. And after years of raising three kids, moving countries, and juggling everything while pretending it was all no big deal... maybe I was.

But something in me knew I had lost touch with myself. And strangely, it was photography that helped me find my way back.

Picking Up the Camera Again

When I started taking pictures again, I didn’t have a plan. I wasn’t trying to “make art.” I just needed something—anything—that felt like mine.

I began going on walks with my camera, usually with my dog beside me. I started seeing things again: broken branches, glowing leaves, a single droplet of light on a quiet surface. These small moments didn’t ask anything of me. They just let me witness beauty.

There was peace in that. Peace I hadn’t known in a long time.

These quiet, shadowed images still take me back. I remember feeling lost—adrift in a beautiful world I couldn’t fully reach. The darkness wasn’t just in the scene, but in me.

The Image Always Knew Before I Did

Sometimes, I took photos I didn’t fully understand until later.

In the moment, I couldn’t feel the heaviness that lived in my body—but I could see it in my pictures. They were quiet, distant, soft. Often lonely. Looking back, it’s like my camera was telling the truth I couldn’t face yet.

That realization was powerful. Because it meant even when I didn’t know how to process my emotions, I was still expressing them. I was making space for them. And slowly, that helped me start to feel again.

Art Became My Vessel

Photography didn’t fix anything. But it gave me something to hold onto.

Making images became a way to be with myself. It offered a kind of escape—not from life, but from its noise. When I was behind the camera, there were no to-do lists, no pressure to perform. Just light, shape, and feeling.

The more often I stepped into that world, the safer it became. I started giving myself permission to slow down. To listen to music. To dance. To walk with no destination.

And without realizing it, I was building a softer way of living.

These images mark a turning point. The light began to return—not all at once, but enough to notice. I started seeing color again, softness, possibility. And for the first time in a while, I felt a little more like myself.

Healing Took Many Shapes

Of course, it wasn’t just photography that helped me find my way back.

I sought help—from friends, from nature, and eventually from therapy. Daily walks and hiking became sacred rituals. Spending time in community—especially helping my friend at her art studio—reminded me how deeply we need one another. I reconnected with neighbors. I looked up from my phone. I learned to show up again, first for others, and eventually for myself.

And all along, photography stayed with me. A witness. A mirror. A quiet friend.

What I Know Now

Today, I begin my mornings differently. I start with stillness—often a short meditation or a few pages from a book that grounds me. (I recommend When Things Fall Apart by Pema Chödrön.)

Most importantly, I’ve become more honest with myself.

And that honesty has made room for love—for others, and for myself.

I never expected photography to be such a part of my healing journey. But it was. And still is. There’s a power in doing something you love, even when you don’t fully understand why. That’s something I now see reflected in my work—and it means everything to me.

A Gentle Reminder

Photography didn’t heal my depression.
Therapy, time, and the support of people I trust have been essential parts of that journey.

But photography gave me a way to process heavy emotions. It helped me express what I couldn’t yet speak. It offered beauty when I couldn’t find it anywhere else.

If you’re going through something difficult, please know this:
Art can support healing. But it is not a substitute for professional help. You deserve to feel better. You deserve support that holds you fully.

And you also deserve to make things—to create, to play, to express what’s true for you, even if it takes time to understand.

Your story matters. And it’s okay to take your time telling it.

Keep Exploring

If this story resonated with you, here are more posts that explore the emotional and creative power of photography:

Creative Flow: Beyond the 365 Project
A gentle invitation to follow your creative rhythm—even when you feel uninspired.

Color and Emotion in Photography: A Visual Language of Feeling
Discover how intuitive color choices can reflect and support emotional storytelling in your photography.

What Travel Taught Me About Growing as a Photographer
Insights from the road that helped me reconnect with myself—and my camera.

Develop with Light: A Creative Photography Workshop
My yearlong workshop designed to help photographers find their voice through play, presence, and creative curiosity.