FROM MODEL TO PHOTOGRAPHER

My Journey of Self-discovery and Helping Others Reclaim Their Stories

There’s a strange, beautiful irony in how my journey into photography began, not as a photographer, but as a model.
I didn’t grow up thinking I’d be behind a camera. I didn’t even grow up thinking I’d be in front of one.
I grew up being told I was too much.
Too loud, too soft, too ugly, too strange.
I was called fat, stupid, ugly…unworthy.
And even though some part of me knew those words weren’t mine, I carried them. Like stones. Like facts. Like, shame you forgot how to put down.

When I started modelling, I wasn’t chasing confidence. I was chasing proof. I needed to see myself through someone else’s eyes, because mine had been trained to distort. The camera didn’t feel safe, but it felt like a way out. A way to be rewritten. If I were receiving money to do a job I was chosen for because of my looks, then all the words, all the shame and hate, couldn't possibly be true. It was something objectively true…and THAT was something I could hold on to.

But what I didn’t expect was how much power lived behind the lens.

One day, someone placed a camera in my hands, and it changed everything. It wasn’t just about taking pictures. There was so much more to it than just the settings, the composition, the lights.
It was about seeing.
Holding.
Witnessing.
It was about offering back the kind of gaze I had needed for most of my life. One that didn’t flinch. One that didn’t fix. One that was objectively true.

Over the years, photography took over from modelling and became a quiet possession. A deep dive into the human mind and spirit. I wanted to understand humans with every fibre of my being, and the camera helped me to do just that.
I realised then, I don’t photograph people to make them look beautiful. I photograph them to help them remember.
Just like I needed remembering…just like I still need to remember every once in a while when the narrative slips, and the old voices and ugly words pop into the back of my head, haunting me, teasing me with their spite and bile.

I don't photograph the polished version of you. I photograph the one that survived the judgment of others and yourself. The one underneath. The one that’s always been there, waiting for someone to say, You don’t have to hide here.
There's such a freedom in being seen. Allowing someone who doesn't actually matter all that much, to see you and show you that all the lies aren't true.

This isn’t about perfect images. This is about presence. About reclamation. About the slow, quiet work of coming home to yourself.

That’s what photography has become for me - a return. And it consistently is. Every time I stray away from the core of my being, I find my way back to myself through my camera and a way forward with others.
When I photograph someone, I’m not just performing a service. I’m offering space. To exhale. To show up. To stop apologising for taking up however much space you need to take up.

If this calls to you, if there’s a version of you that’s never really been seen, and you’re ready to meet them, then come.

Let’s begin here…