Photography came into my life at a time when I needed a creative escape. With young children at home, my days were filled with routines, responsibilities, and constant caregiving. I needed something that was just for me—something that could light up my world. Photography offered exactly that.
When I started my photography journey, I wasn’t sure what to expect. It began as an interest, a way to document my children growing up. But as I began to explore the technical and creative aspects of the craft, it quickly transformed into a passion. I enrolled in an online Enthusiast Photography Course and instantly felt at home. Not only did I start learning new skills, but I also became part of a welcoming and supportive community that inspired me to keep growing.
The structure of the course provided me with the motivation I had been craving. Each lesson came with assignments that pushed me to use my camera in different ways. I found myself making time for photography in my busy schedule. It was a form of self-care, a slice of time I could claim as my own. More than just improving my photography, the course gave me a sense of identity outside motherhood.
Motivated by the progress I had made, I didn’t stop there. I moved straight into the Advanced Photography Course. It opened my eyes to how much more there was to learn. I was amazed at how quickly I was developing as a photographer. The lessons were easy to follow, thoughtfully explained, and rich in both creative and technical content. My growth during this time was profound. I was no longer just taking snapshots—I was crafting photographs.
That experience gave me a solid foundation and a sense of confidence that had been missing. But like all courses, it eventually came to an end. I found myself missing the structure, the community, and the weekly challenges. I was ready for more, but I wasn’t quite sure where to go next. That’s when I discovered the power of ongoing photo challenges.
Craving Growth
The photography courses had been more than educational—they had been transformational. Each week had brought new techniques, new goals, and new ways to see the world through my lens. But when the final lesson ended, I felt a sudden void. I had been so used to having a creative target to aim for that I felt a little lost without one.
I didn’t want to lose the momentum I had built, so I looked for ways to keep pushing myself creatively. That’s when I joined a 52-week photography challenge created for course graduates. At first, I was intimidated. The work being shared in the group was nothing short of incredible. The level of artistry, technique, and originality from other participants made me question whether I belonged.
But I reminded myself why I started. I wasn’t here to compete with anyone else. I was here to challenge myself, to grow, and to keep creating. And the community welcomed me with open arms. Their support reminded me of the experience I had during the course—uplifting, constructive, and deeply inspiring.
The format of the challenge was simple yet powerful. Each week, we were given a new theme. Some weeks focused on technical skills, like depth of field or lighting. Others emphasized creativity, emotion, or storytelling. These weekly themes gave me a renewed sense of purpose. They encouraged me to keep learning, keep shooting, and most importantly, keep experimenting.
What I loved most about this challenge was how it pushed me out of my comfort zone. I found myself photographing subjects I had never attempted before. I researched unfamiliar techniques and tried out new editing styles. I made mistakes, yes—but I also made some of my favorite images during this time. And every mistake taught me something new.
One of the most valuable lessons I learned through these challenges was that growth doesn't come from repeating what you already know. It comes from doing things you’re not good at—yet. It comes from the willingness to try, to fail, and to try again. That’s how you evolve not just as a photographer, but as an artist.
A Creative Project
As I became more comfortable with the weekly challenges, I felt ready to take on something even bigger—a long-term creative project. I decided to commit to another 52-week challenge, but this time, I approached it with more intention. I wasn’t just following the prompts—I was using them as springboards for personal expression.
Each week, I explored a new theme with curiosity and openness. Some weeks were straightforward and fun. Others were more difficult, forcing me to dig deep into both my technical skill set and creative vision. One week might focus on silhouettes, while another week might ask us to capture emotion in a portrait. Some weeks, I found myself scouring the internet for tutorials and tips, trying to figure out how to bring an idea to life.
One of the themes that stands out in my memory was light painting. It was a technique I had never tried before, and honestly, something I would have avoided in the past. But armed with the knowledge I gained from the Advanced Course, I gave it a shot. The results were magical. It wasn’t just that I had mastered a new technique—it was the joy of discovering that I could do something I once thought was beyond me.
The same thing happened with themes like hard light and environmental portraiture. These were concepts that once seemed intimidating, even impossible. But through repeated practice and a willingness to experiment, they became part of my creative toolbox. The longer I stuck with the challenge, the more I began to believe in my ability to handle any photographic concept that came my way.
That’s the beauty of a long-term creative project—it doesn’t just improve your skills, it transforms your mindset. You stop seeing limitations and start seeing opportunities. You stop fearing failure and start embracing it as part of the process. And most importantly, you begin to trust your creative instincts.
Through this experience, I learned that photography isn’t just about beautiful images. It’s about storytelling, exploration, and self-discovery. Each theme, each photo, each experiment brought me closer to understanding who I was as a photographer—and as a person. I wasn’t just capturing moments. I was expressing myself in a way that felt real and honest.
Capturing the Everyday
As my confidence grew, I took on yet another challenge—this time, a 365-day project. The idea was simple: take one photo every day for a year. In theory, it sounded easy. In practice, it was one of the most demanding but rewarding experiences of my photography journey.
There were days when inspiration struck like lightning. I’d see perfect light streaming through a window, or my kids playing in a way that told a story. Other days, I had to dig deep to find something worth photographing. But every single day, I showed up with my camera. Even when I was tired. Even when I wasn’t feeling creative. Even when the image didn’t feel “good enough.” I took the shot.
Over time, this daily practice became a ritual. It wasn’t about perfection. It was about presence. Each photo was a pause, a moment of mindfulness in an otherwise hectic day. And collectively, those moments became something beautiful—a visual diary of our lives.
Looking back at the images, I see more than just photos. I see memories. I see growth. I see love. I see the small things that often go unnoticed—the way the light hits the floor in the morning, the way my daughter hugs her brother, the quiet moments before bedtime. These are the things that make up a life, and I was capturing them every day.
The 365 project taught me discipline and resilience. It taught me that creativity isn’t something you wait for—it’s something you practice. It showed me that art can be found in the mundane, that beauty exists in the ordinary, and that some of the most powerful images come from simply paying attention.
It also helped me let go of perfectionism. Not every photo was amazing. Some were rushed. Some were technically flawed. But every single one mattered. Together, they told a story. And that story was mine.
In completing this project, I felt a profound shift. I was no longer just learning photography. I was living it. I was seeing the world differently—through the eyes of someone who knows how to find meaning in the everyday. And that, more than any technique or lesson, is what made me a better photographer.
Facing Creative Fears
One of the most transformative aspects of my photography journey has been confronting creative fear. It’s easy to take photos when you’re feeling inspired or when the conditions are just right. But what about when you’re feeling stuck, self-critical, or afraid that you’re not good enough? Those are the moments that challenge you the most—and help you grow the most.
Before I started participating in long-term photography challenges, I used to avoid subjects and styles that felt unfamiliar. I stuck to what I knew: soft natural light, candid portraits of my children, cozy indoor moments. I loved the familiarity of it, and I was good at it. But over time, I realized that playing it safe was holding me back.
In the early weeks of the 52-week challenge, I would glance at a prompt and immediately feel a wave of panic. Themes like “harsh light,” “minimalism,” or “intentional blur” didn’t just seem outside my comfort zone—they seemed completely out of reach. My instinct was to skip those weeks or twist the theme into something that felt more manageable.
But I made a decision. I didn’t want to just get better at what I already knew. I wanted to become a creative, confident, well-rounded photographer. So I forced myself to face those fears head-on. I embraced the themes that scared me the most, and I permitted myself to fail.
What I discovered was eye-opening. The fear was never really about the technique—it was about me. I was afraid of producing something that didn’t live up to my standards. I was afraid of feeling like a beginner again. But by pushing through those fears, I opened myself up to new possibilities. I learned that some of my best work came from those uncomfortable places.
I also learned that every photographer, no matter how experienced, faces fear. The difference between those who grow and those who stay stuck is the willingness to keep going despite it. Creativity is not about avoiding fear—it’s about moving through it.
Exploring New Techniques
Once I overcame the fear of trying new things, I began exploring techniques that had always intrigued me but seemed too complex. One of the first areas I explored was night photography. The idea of photographing in low light used to feel intimidating. I worried about blur, noise, and not getting the shot. But with the support of the challenge group and a few late-night sessions under my belt, I realized it was all about experimentation and patience.
I experimented with light trails, long exposures, and even dabbled in astrophotography. Each attempt taught me something new—not just about camera settings, but about light, motion, and the rhythm of the world after dark. It made me see photography as a 24-hour art form, not something limited to golden hour or sunny days.
Next, I explored intentional camera movement (ICM), a technique I’d never understood before. The idea of moving the camera while the shutter was open sounded chaotic. But after a few trials, I saw how it could be used to create mood, motion, and emotion. It was no longer about sharpness or perfection—it was about expression. That shift in mindset was a creative breakthrough for me.
I also began experimenting with freelensing, double exposure, and unconventional compositions. Each new skill brought fresh excitement. Photography no longer felt like a checklist of settings and rules—it felt like a language, and I was expanding my vocabulary.
One of the most rewarding moments came when I revisited an old subject—my kids—with a new technique. I used freelensing to capture my daughter in soft morning light, the edges of the frame blurred like a dream. It was a scene I had photographed a hundred times, but with this new tool, it felt completely different. That’s the power of creative exploration—it makes the familiar feel brand new.
Seeing with Fresh Eyes
As I continued with my photo challenges, I noticed another profound change—my vision was evolving. I wasn’t just learning new techniques; I was seeing differently. I started noticing things I had never paid attention to before—the way shadows moved across the floor, the texture of tree bark in late afternoon light, the interplay of color in everyday objects.
My eye became more attuned to detail, contrast, and emotion. I began composing my shots more thoughtfully, not just clicking the shutter but waiting, watching, anticipating. Photography was no longer just a hobby—it was becoming a way of life.
I also began thinking more critically about storytelling. What was I trying to say with my images? What emotion did I want to convey? What story was unfolding in front of me? These questions guided my work and helped me become more intentional.
Documentary-style photography became a new interest for me. I loved the idea of capturing moments just as they were—raw, honest, and unposed. I began photographing everyday routines not just for memory’s sake, but as a form of art. There was beauty in the chaos of breakfast, in the quiet of bedtime, in the in-between moments that often go unnoticed.
This shift wasn’t just about improving my technical skills—it was about connecting more deeply with my subject matter. I started photographing not just what I saw, but what I felt. And that connection brought a richness to my work that I had never experienced before.
One of my favorite projects during this time was documenting a week in the life of our family. I chose seven days and committed to capturing honest, unfiltered glimpses into our daily routines. It wasn’t glamorous—there were messy kitchens, grumpy faces, and cluttered floors—but it was real. And when I looked back at those images, I saw a beautiful, chaotic, deeply meaningful story.
That project reminded me why I fell in love with photography in the first place. It’s not about perfection—it’s about presence. It’s about honoring the moments that make up our lives and telling stories that matter.
Building Creative Confidence
With every project, every challenge, every new skill, my confidence grew. I stopped questioning whether I was good enough. I stopped comparing myself to others. I started trusting my instincts and embracing my unique perspective.
That shift didn’t happen overnight. It came from consistent effort, honest reflection, and a willingness to keep showing up—even when it was hard. The photo challenges taught me discipline, but more importantly, they taught me self-belief.
I remember one particular week when the theme was “self-portrait.” I nearly skipped it. The idea of turning the camera on myself felt uncomfortable and vulnerable. But I did it anyway. I set up my tripod, found the light, and started shooting. At first, I felt awkward and self-conscious. But then something shifted. I stopped posing and started being. I allowed myself to be seen, flaws and all.
That image turned out to be one of my favorites—not because it was perfect, but because it was honest. It captured a moment of courage, and it reminded me that I am part of the story too.
Since then, I’ve completed multiple self-portrait challenges. Each one has helped me connect more deeply with myself and with my art. It’s no longer just about the photos—it’s about the process. The act of creating, of trying, of seeing beauty in imperfection—that’s where the real growth happens.
As I built confidence, I also began sharing my work more publicly. I created a portfolio, started a blog, and even booked a few paid sessions. The support I received from the photography community was overwhelming. What had started as a personal journey was now becoming something bigger. I was inspiring others, just as I had once been inspired.
That sense of connection—through art, through storytelling, through shared experiences-was—was one of the most unexpected and rewarding parts of this journey. Photography brought me joy, but it also brought me community. And that community continues to fuel my passion and purpose.
Embracing Creative Risks
As I moved deeper into my photography journey, one theme kept emerging again and again—growth only happens when you're willing to take creative risks. It's easy to stay within the safety of what you already know, to repeat techniques that feel natural and comfortable. But comfort rarely leads to transformation. True progress comes when you try something you’ve never done before, even if it means risking failure.
There was a point when I deliberately started choosing the most challenging weekly prompts. Not because I expected perfect results, but because I wanted to stretch. I knew that in pushing past my creative limits, I would grow. So I stopped playing it safe and started leaning into discomfort. I took on ideas that felt bold, abstract, or even strange. I didn’t always succeed, but I always learned.
One week, the prompt was "surreal." At first, I had no idea how to approach it. Surreal imagery had always felt far removed from the documentary style I was comfortable with. But I began brainstorming, sketching ideas, and experimenting with composites. I used reflections, layering, and in-camera multiple exposures. By the end of the week, I had created an image that felt completely different from anything I had made before. It told a story I hadn’t known I needed to tell. That’s the power of creative risk—it reveals parts of yourself you didn’t even know were there.
Other times, the risks were more personal than technical. For example, I decided to photograph a series based on vulnerability. I asked friends and family to let me capture them during quiet or emotional moments—no posing, no smiling for the camera. Just raw, honest connection. It was terrifying to ask, and at times awkward to shoot, but the results were some of the most moving images I’ve ever made. The trust between us came through in the photos. The authenticity was undeniable.
Through these experiences, I learned that creative risk doesn’t have to be dramatic. Sometimes, it’s as simple as using a new lens, choosing a different angle, or telling a story you usually shy away from. What matters is the intention—the willingness to go beyond what you already know, and to explore the unknown with curiosity and openness.
Reflecting on the Journey
At various points throughout my creative journey, I paused to reflect. I went back and reviewed old images—some from the very beginning of my photography path. At first, I cringed at the technical mistakes: blown highlights, awkward compositions, missed focus. But then I looked closer, and what I saw surprised me. I saw growth. I saw curiosity. I saw a person who dared to start, even when they didn’t know what they were doing.
That perspective shift was powerful. It reminded me that every step matters. Every failed shot, every frustrating session, every confusing technique—they all played a role in getting me where I am today. Growth in photography isn’t linear. It’s messy, full of setbacks and breakthroughs. But over time, the pieces come together.
Looking back also helped me appreciate how my voice as a photographer had evolved. In the early days, I was focused on capturing what looked good. Now, I was more interested in capturing what felt true. That shift from aesthetic to emotional depth had transformed the way I approached every shoot.
I began keeping a photography journal, jotting down thoughts after each weekly challenge. What worked, what didn’t, what I learned, and how I felt about the process. That small habit made a huge impact. It allowed me to see patterns—what inspired me, what drained me, what themes kept emerging in my work.
Over time, I noticed recurring subjects: light and shadow, solitude, connection, and everyday rituals. I wasn’t just taking photos—I was building a visual language. My images began to reflect not just the world around me, but my inner world. They became a mirror for how I saw, felt, and experienced life.
This practice of reflection didn’t just help me creatively—it helped me personally. Photography had become a form of self-discovery, a way to process emotions and make meaning from my surroundings. It gave me a deeper sense of purpose and identity, and for that, I will always be grateful.
Balancing Passion and Professionalism
As my skills and confidence grew, people began to notice. Friends and acquaintances started asking if I had paid for shoots. At first, I hesitated. I was still exploring, still learning. I worried that if I turned my passion into a job, it would lose its magic. But eventually, I decided to say yes. I dipped my toes into professional photography, and it changed everything again.
My first official client session was both thrilling and nerve-wracking. I prepared meticulously—scouting the location, reviewing my settings, and making shot lists. But of course, things didn’t go perfectly. A sudden change in light, a restless toddler, and my anxious energy made the shoot more difficult than I anticipated. Still, I delivered the gallery, and the client loved the images. That feedback gave me the push I needed to keep going.
From there, I began booking more sessions—mostly family portraits, maternity shoots, and small events. Each experience taught me something new. I learned how to communicate clearly, direct gently, and adapt quickly. I learned how to edit efficiently and stay organized. But most importantly, I learned how to stay grounded in my creative vision, even when working for others.
Balancing personal creativity with client expectations can be challenging. There’s a fine line between delivering what the client wants and staying true to your style. But over time, I found that the two didn’t have to conflict. I attracted clients who resonated with my artistic approach, who trusted me to capture real moments rather than picture-perfect poses. That alignment made every session feel like a collaboration, not just a transaction.
Still, I never let go of my projects. They remained the heartbeat of my photography practice. No matter how busy I got, I made time for the 52-week challenge, the occasional 365 project, or a self-portrait series. These projects kept me creatively nourished. They reminded me why I started. They helped me experiment freely without the pressure of pleasing anyone but myself.
I found that the more I invested in my work, the better my professional work became. I brought more creativity, confidence, and intuition to client sessions. I saw light differently. I anticipated moments more quickly. I trusted my instincts. My personal growth was fueling my professional growth, and that harmony was incredibly fulfilling.
Becoming Part of Something Bigger
One of the most unexpected gifts of my photography journey was becoming part of a larger creative community. Through challenges, courses, and online groups, I connected with photographers from all over the world. Some were beginners, others were seasoned pros. But we all shared a common love for capturing the world through our lenses.
These connections made a huge difference. On days when I felt discouraged, someone else’s post would lift me. When I had a question, there was always someone willing to share advice. When I completed a project, there were people cheering me on. This sense of support and belonging was more valuable than I ever imagined.
In time, I began mentoring newer photographers. I answered their questions, offered feedback, and encouraged them to keep going. It felt like a beautiful full-circle moment—giving back the same support I had once received. Watching others grow reminded me of how far I had come, and it reinforced the idea that creativity thrives in community.
Eventually, I started participating in collaborative projects—group exhibitions, themed collections, and shared challenges. These opportunities pushed me to refine my work even further. They required me to think about my audience, my message, and how my images fit into a larger narrative. They helped me grow not just as a photographer, but as a communicator and storyteller.
Most importantly, they reminded me that photography is more than just a personal journey—it’s a shared language. A way to connect, to witness, to celebrate life’s moments both big and small. Through this lens, every image became a conversation. Every project, a contribution. Every photo, a piece of something bigger than myself.
Creating Sustainable Habits
As my photography journey matured, I realized that long-term growth isn't about bursts of inspiration or fleeting motivation. It’s about habits—small, sustainable actions repeated over time. The challenges I participated in had created that structure for me, but now, I began thinking about how to maintain momentum on my own.
I started by creating a weekly routine. One day for shooting, another for editing, another for reviewing my images. I set creative goals for each month—exploring a new technique, starting a small project, revisiting a favorite location. These goals gave me focus without overwhelming me. They allowed me to continue learning in a way that fit into my life, even when things got busy.
I also carved out a dedicated creative space at home. A quiet corner with good light, inspiring prints on the wall, and a shelf of photography books. Having that physical space served as a visual reminder to keep showing up. It was my invitation to create.
Just as important as space and schedule was the mindset I brought to the process. I no longer waited for perfect conditions or creative clarity before picking up my camera. I shot even when I didn’t feel ready. I trusted that the act of doing would lead to discovery. That consistency helped strengthen my creative muscle. It made photography feel like second nature.
I also permitted myself to rest. There were weeks when I skipped prompts, days when I didn’t touch my camera. Instead of feeling guilty, I embraced those pauses as part of the process. Just like nature has seasons, so does creativity. Sometimes growth looks like action; sometimes it looks like stillness. Both are valuable.
These sustainable habits didn’t just keep my photography alive—they allowed it to evolve. I was no longer chasing progress. I was living it, day by day, frame by frame. And in doing so, I became not just a better photographer, but a more present and intentional person.
Sharing My Story
With years of growth, practice, and exploration behind me, I began to see the importance of sharing my story—not just through photos, but through words. I started writing about my experiences, documenting what I had learned and how it had changed me. I shared my journey on social media, in photo groups, and on my website. The response was humbling.
Other creatives reached out, saying they saw themselves in my words. Some were just starting their journeys. Others were in creative ruts and looking for a way out. My vulnerability permitted them to be honest about their struggles. My risks encouraged them to take their own. It became clear that our stories, when shared with honesty, have the power to inspire and connect.
Sharing my journey also helped me reflect more deeply. Putting thoughts into words helped me understand my growth. It helped me process the doubts and celebrate the wins. It gave me clarity on who I was becoming—not just as a photographer, but as an artist, a mother, a woman.
Eventually, I began teaching beginner workshops. I wanted to give others what had been given to me: structure, support, inspiration. Seeing someone light up as they finally understood how to use manual mode or frame a photo creatively—that joy was infectious. Teaching didn’t take away from my creativity. It fueled it. It reminded me why I fell in love with photography in the first place.
By telling my story and guiding others, I found a new layer of purpose. Photography was no longer just a personal outlet or a professional path—it was a bridge to community, empathy, and creative empowerment. And that felt more meaningful than any single image I could ever make.
Honoring the Journey
As I reflect on the years since I first picked up a camera, I’m filled with gratitude. What started as a hobby has become a lifelong practice, a way of seeing, a way of being. The journey has not always been easy. There have been frustrations, plateaus, and doubts. But every step—every photo, every challenge, every breakthrough-has—has mattered.
I no longer measure success by technical perfection or external recognition. I measure it by presence, progress, and personal truth. Am I creating work that feels honest? Am I learning something new? Am I enjoying the process? Those are the questions that guide me now.
Photography has taught me patience, resilience, and curiosity. It’s helped me navigate motherhood, identity, and self-worth. It’s helped me connect with light, with stories, with people. And perhaps most importantly, it’s helped me connect with myself.
The images I’ve created along the way are not just pictures. They are evidence of my growth. They are visual affirmations that I showed up, that I tried, that I cared. They are fragments of a bigger story—the story of how I became a better photographer, not by chasing perfection, but by embracing challenge, risk, and reflection.
Conclusion
Creative growth doesn’t come in a straight line. It comes in spirals—looping back, circling, moving deeper. Photo challenges gave me the structure I needed to begin, the freedom I needed to explore, and the community I needed to thrive. They helped me see that photography is not about arriving at mastery—it’s about committing to the process.
I learned that creativity is a practice, not a destination. That showing up matters more than being perfect. The most meaningful images are often found in the smallest, most ordinary moments. And that growth is always available, as long as you’re willing to stay curious and keep clicking.
If you’re on your photography journey—whether you’re just starting or feeling stuck—I hope you know this: you don’t have to do it all at once. Start small. Try a weekly prompt. Take one photo a day. Say yes to that thing that scares you. Keep shooting, keep reflecting, keep showing up.
You might be surprised at what you create. You might discover things you didn’t know you were capable of. And in doing so, you’ll not only become a better photographer—you’ll become a more creative, more present, more courageous version of yourself.