Today's post is two-fold. I've had many people asking me recently how I got started in photography and how I ended up where I am today, so I wanted to share my journey. Additionally, I’ve noticed a growing conversation among students about one of the most common challenges they face. Surprisingly, it’s not about shutter speed or technical skills—it’s about the curse of comparisons. And I felt it was time I finally jotted down my thoughts on that too.
But first, let’s begin with how it all started. This is the part of the story where I show you that I didn’t begin taking the kinds of photos I do now. It took me a long time to reach this point, and that’s precisely why I designed my courses the way I have—so your progress can be faster and more efficient than mine.
The Curse of Comparisons
One of the biggest mental hurdles I’ve noticed among photography students is the tendency to compare themselves to others. Seeing the incredible work of professional or advanced photographers and immediately feeling like we fall short can be disheartening. I’ve been there many times myself. Even now, I sometimes find myself in awe of an image created by one of my photography idols and start to question my ability.
As photographers—or any kind of creative—we need to pull back from this mindset. Instead of letting comparison consume us, we must take time to reflect on our progress. The truth is, we’re all at different stages. If you’re finding yourself constantly comparing, feeling like you're not “there” yet, then this is especially for you.
The creative journey takes time. It requires patience, persistence, and lots of practice. So, I want to take you back a few years to where I started—so you can truly see how far it’s possible to come with consistency and love for the craft.
Turning Comparison Into Motivation
If you’ve been letting frustration build, here are two things that helped me move forward.
First, use that frustration as fuel. Let the hunger to improve push you to try something new. Let it drive you to take more photos, experiment with fresh techniques, and find joy in the process of learning. Every time you pick up your camera, you’re one step closer.
Second, take the time to celebrate your progress. Sit down and look at your work from a few months—or even a few years—ago. Compare it to your most recent images. You’ll see the evolution. As my third grader once said at the dinner table, “Mum, it’s not about being better than anyone else, it’s about being better than the person you were yesterday.” Wise words, and they’ve stuck with me ever since.
Let the beautiful work of others inspire you rather than discourage you. Everyone starts somewhere. To prove it, I want to share my humble beginnings—my real "before" photos.
I Was a Mum With a Camera
I started like many others do—I was a mum with a camera and adorable kids to photograph. I knew I wanted to take great photos, so I played around with my camera settings, composition, and anything I could think of. I was fascinated by how much impact “the light” had, but I couldn’t quite figure it out at first. Still, I kept experimenting.
That curiosity led me to want to know more. I saw glimpses of beauty in the shots I was capturing, and I knew my camera had the potential to create stunning images—I just had to learn how. That desire drove me to keep trying, even when my early results didn’t always match my vision.
In late 2009, we moved to the US, and it was there that I had the time and space to finally throw myself into learning photography properly. I devoured every piece of information I could find. I picked up tips and slowly began understanding more about exposure, lenses, and composition.
One of the most exciting discoveries came when I bought my “Nifty Fifty” lens. Suddenly, I was able to create beautiful background blur and bokeh. But even then, my images still felt like they were missing something. I hadn’t yet mastered “the light,” so my photos didn’t quite.
The Turning Point – Learning, Light, and Letting Go
Moving Beyond Auto Mode
There’s a moment every photographer remembers vividly: the day they step out of Auto mode. For me, it was both thrilling and terrifying. I still remember the day I switched to manual mode. It was July 4th, 2010, and I had taken a photo that would stick with me for years—not because it was technically perfect, but because I felt something different when I looked at it.
That image had warmth, softness, and a feeling of freedom. I didn’t know the technical reasons why it worked, but I knew that somehow I had captured light and emotion in a way I hadn’t before. That photo taught me that there was something magic in understanding the balance between light and camera settings—and I was determined to learn more.
Learning the Language of Light
Light, as I would soon discover, is the very heart of photography. It defines shape, creates emotion, and brings a subject to life. But in those early days, it eluded me. I didn’t fully understand how to see it, how to read it, or how to use it to my advantage.
So I began looking for it everywhere.
I watched how light filtered through curtains in the morning. I noticed how it bounced off sand, how it changed during golden hour, and how shadows behaved in midday sun. I started following the light indoors and outdoors. It became a bit of an obsession—in the best way.
I slowly learned that light isn’t just something you use. It’s something you see, feel, and shape. Understanding that changed everything.
The Eye-Enhancing Phase
Looking back now, I cringe a little when I remember one particular stage of my editing journey. I’d stumbled across a tutorial on how to enhance eyes in portraits. Like many beginners, I got carried away. The eyes were bright—too bright. They didn’t quite look real, but at the time, I was proud of my newfound editing skill.
My daughters’ photos from this phase all have a distinct, overly edited glow. It was a learning curve. I didn’t understand skin tones yet. My white balance was off, often leaning towards grey or yellow. But that phase—awkward as it was—served its purpose. It taught me what not to do. And it taught me that clean, simple edits stood the test of time far better than trendy filters or overly manipulated features.
When It Finally Started to Click
There came a point when the practice started paying off. I remember taking a photo and thinking—this looks like a professional shot. It was a quiet realization, not a loud moment of victory. But I knew something had shifted. I could feel it.
By then, I had invested in a 24-70mm f/2.8 lens. The difference between this and my old kit lens was profound. The sharpness, the depth, the way it handled low light—it elevated my work to a new level. And combined with my growing understanding of exposure, light, and composition, my confidence grew.
I was finally creating photos I loved.
Developing My Creative Voice
This was also the time when I began to find my style. I was no longer imitating other photographers. I was starting to follow my instincts. I preferred soft, natural light. I liked simple, uncluttered backgrounds. I found beauty in candid moments and everyday life.
My girls became my muses. I took photos of them laughing, jumping in puddles, and reading books by the window. I captured quiet moments and wild energy alike. And through this process, I found my voice.
Not every photo was a masterpiece. Many were flawed. But I was finally consistent, and that consistency gave me the freedom to create without fear.
Creativity, Confidence, and Calling
From Practice to Passion
The more I practiced, the more my passion grew. Photography no longer felt like something I was learning. It felt like something I was living. I saw the world differently. I paid attention to the way sun spilled across pavement, the curve of a child’s cheek in soft light, the glow behind wildflowers in late afternoon.
That passion extended beyond my photography. I wanted others to feel what I felt. I wanted to show them that with patience and practice, they too could experience this sense of creative power and joy.
I wasn’t just taking pictures anymore. I was building memories. I was documenting life. And that gave my work a deeper meaning than I had ever anticipated.
The Struggles Were Still There
But let’s not pretend it was all smooth sailing. There were tears. There was frustration. There were photos I spent hours on, only to hate them. There were moments I wondered if I’d ever truly get it. Times when I thought, maybe I’m just not good enough.
But with every struggle came growth. I learned that frustration usually means you’re on the edge of a breakthrough. That being stuck means you care. That trying, even when it’s hard, is what leads to progress.
I began to welcome the struggles. They showed me I was moving forward.
The Gift of Time and Reflection
Returning to Australia in 2011 brought with it a new phase of life. The light was different, the locations were new, and my girls were growing up. But the camera was still in my hands. I kept shooting, kept experimenting, and kept refining.
Years later, I would look back at those early photos and smile. Not because they were perfect—but because they told my story. They were proof of how far I had come.
One of the most powerful things you can do as a creative is to look back and see your growth. It’s easy to forget how much progress you’ve made. Reflection helps you see that every mistake, every awkward edit, every failed shot—it all mattered. It all moved you forward.
Creativity in Everyday Life
Eventually, photography became part of my daily rhythm. I no longer needed a perfect backdrop or ideal light. I could make magic in the most ordinary places—on the kitchen floor, by the laundry basket, in the car park.
I started to appreciate the beauty in everyday life. A sunbeam through the window. Crumbs on the table. Dirty hands from a morning spent painting. These moments were real. And they were beautiful.
Photography helped me slow down. To see my children. To notice their quirks, their growth, the little things I might have otherwise missed. It was a form of mindfulness I didn’t expect.
Doing What I Love
We eventually moved to the beach, and photography changed again. I played with movement, backlight, sand, water, and golden sunsets. The possibilities felt endless. I was in love with it all over again.
Now, I get to do what I love for a living. That’s not something I take lightly. I feel incredibly fortunate to share what I’ve learned, to help others grow, and to see students experience their lightbulb moments.
And while my style and skills have evolved, the heart of my photography remains the same: capturing real moments in beautiful light.
The Emotional Side of Photography
As I continued this journey, I discovered something deeper. Photography is emotional. It connects us to the people we love. It holds memories. It reminds us of who we are, who we’ve been, and who we’re becoming.
The best photos I’ve taken are not always the most technically perfect. They’re the ones that make me feel. A fleeting expression. A hug between sisters. A quiet look of wonder. These are the moments I treasure.
I also realized how much emotion is tied up in the creative process itself. Some days I feel inspired, confident, and in flow. Other days, I feel unsure or unmotivated. That’s normal. That’s part of being a creative.
The key is to keep going, no matter how you feel.
Your Journey Will Look Different
If there’s one thing I want you to take away from this part of my story, it’s that your journey will not—and should not—look exactly like mine. You’ll have your lightbulb moments, your struggles, your creative voice.
Comparison is a trap. It pulls you away from your path and plants doubt where there should be confidence. Instead of asking why you’re not like someone else, ask how far you’ve come. Ask what you’ve learned. Ask what excites you next.
Celebrate your unique way of seeing the world. That’s your superpower.
Looking Back, Moving Forward
So here I am, years after those first blurry photos. I’ve grown in skill, yes—but more importantly, I’ve grown in understanding. I know what matters. I know that creating art is as much about heart as it is about technique.
And now I get to help others do the same. I get to teach, to mentor, to support. That’s one of the most rewarding parts of this entire journey.
The girl who once felt lost in camera settings is now guiding others through the very same process—and nothing makes me prouder.
Embracing the Journey and Inspiring Others
Returning with Purpose
When we returned to the United States after several years in Australia, I had changed. I wasn’t just a mum with a camera anymore. I had grown into a confident, creative person with a voice and a purpose. My understanding of photography had deepened, and I knew how I wanted to show up—not just for myself, but for others who were just beginning their journey.
This time, life looked different. We had a new baby. My daughters were growing into independent little humans. The rhythm of life was different, but photography still fit into it beautifully. My camera wasn’t just a creative tool anymore—it had become an extension of my identity. Wherever we were in the world, it allowed me to stay grounded, present, and connected.
And with each new season, I evolved. My photography style became softer, more intentional, more focused on emotion and story than perfection. I no longer chased technically flawless images. I chased truth. I chased meaning. I chased the fleeting moments I didn’t want to forget.
Capturing Childhood from the Start
One of the most special things about having my son later in life was that I already knew how to take beautiful photos. Unlike when my daughters were little and I was still experimenting, he was born into a world where I could document his life with skill and intention.
From his first yawn to his wobbly first steps, I was able to capture it all with clarity. His journey is frozen in time through images that tell a deeper story. There’s something incredibly powerful about knowing you’ve done the work to preserve these memories—not just for yourself, but for your children too.
As my girls grew older, their stories changed. They were no longer toddlers but growing young people with expressions, emotions, and evolving identities. And my camera came along for that ride, capturing their transformations in quiet, honest ways.
Photography gave me a gift I didn’t know I needed until I had it—the ability to see the passing of time with tenderness instead of regret. It let me hold onto pieces of their childhood that words alone could never describe.
Reflecting on Growth and Grace
Looking back now, I can see how every phase of the journey mattered. The frustrations, the breakthroughs, the countless photos that didn’t work—they all had a role. They all moved me forward.
I learned not to rush the process. Not to expect overnight results. There’s grace in going slow, in being patient with yourself, in finding your rhythm and your voice. I let go of the pressure to “keep up” and instead focused on showing up—for myself, my creativity, and my family.
Each photo became less about the result and more about the experience of creating it. I found joy in the process. I permitted myself to explore, to fail, and to keep learning.
Photography taught me how to appreciate the ordinary. How to find magic in a mess. How to honor growth even when it felt invisible. And that’s something I now try to teach others—not just how to take better pictures, but how to trust themselves along the way.
Teaching What I’ve Learned
As I shared my journey more openly, I realized how much people connected with it. They weren’t just looking for camera settings or editing tips. They were looking for reassurance. They wanted to know it was okay to be unsure, to take bad photos, to feel overwhelmed at the beginning.
And I understood that feeling deeply. I had walked that road. I knew the doubts, the comparisons, the impostor syndrome. And so I began designing my courses not just around technique, but around mindset. Around encouragement. Around giving people the tools and confidence they needed to find their way.
I wanted to create a learning experience that didn’t just teach people how to take beautiful photos—but showed them they already had beauty within them. That all they needed was a guide, a little direction, and permission to grow at their own pace.
That became the foundation of everything I’ve created since.
Building Community and Connection
One of the most surprising and fulfilling parts of this journey has been the community that grew around it. Connecting with others who are passionate about photography, sharing stories, celebrating wins, and lifting each other through setbacks—it’s an incredible gift.
Creativity can be lonely. Especially in the beginning when your confidence is still fragile and your inner critic is loud. But finding others who understand your journey, who remind you you’re not alone, who cheer you on when you’re unsure—that’s powerful.
I’ve watched students blossom not just in their photography, but in their lives. I’ve seen how creativity opens doors to self-expression, joy, and deeper connection. It’s not just about images. It’s about identity, growth, and honoring who you are.
And I’m endlessly grateful to be part of that process for others.
Conclusion:
So here we are—at the end of this chapter, but not the end of the story. Because photography, like life, is a continual journey. There’s always something new to learn, something beautiful to notice, and something real to capture.
Looking back on where I started, I feel nothing but gratitude. I started as a mum with a camera and a curious heart. I didn’t know the difference between ISO and aperture. I didn’t understand light. I didn’t have fancy gear. But I had a desire to learn. And that was enough.
If you’re standing at the beginning of your journey, wondering if you’re good enough or if you’ll ever “get it,” let me reassure you—you will. Progress doesn’t come all at once. It comes slowly, quietly, and sometimes invisibly. But if you keep going, it comes.
Pick up your camera. Take the photo. Try something new. Make mistakes. Celebrate your growth. And remember that every great photographer you admire once stood where you are right now—unsure, unskilled, and full of hope.
Let photography be your reminder to slow down, to see, to feel, and to appreciate life as it unfolds. Let it ground you in presence. Let it give you memories you’ll treasure forever.
Because in the end, the greatest gift photography has given me isn’t just better images—it’s a deeper connection to the people I love and a stronger understanding of who I am. And that, I believe, is a journey always worth taking.