Shadows in the Frame: Learning to Stand in My Light

Imposter syndrome doesn’t knock. It slips in quietly, like a shadow stretching across the floor. It tells me I don’t deserve the things I’ve worked for. It whispers that I’m faking it, that someone more talented, more polished, more "real" is out there doing it better.

I feel it when I look at my work and only see the flaws. When a kind word hits my ears and I flinch internally, unsure if I’ve earned it. I feel it when my hands hesitate over the shutter, questioning whether the moment is worth capturing. Sometimes, I feel like I’m standing in a room full of artists with my hands empty.

But even then—I keep going.

It starts with honesty. I no longer pretend it’s not there. I name it. I speak it aloud. Imposter syndrome feeds on silence, so I choose to starve it.

Then, I move. I pick up my camera, not because I’m confident, but because I believe in movement. In the simple act of showing up. Some days, the results don’t matter—just the rhythm of doing, of trying, of staying in the room with my doubts.

I let go of the myth of perfection. ADHD has made me a wanderer in my own mind. I lose focus, jump styles, start things and abandon them. But somewhere in that chaos is truth. Some of my favorite images came from the moments I let go and let the world blur a little.

I remember that I am not alone. So many creatives I admire feel the same way. We’re all just trying to translate something invisible into something seen. No one has it all figured out.

Imposter syndrome doesn’t vanish. It lingers. But now, I’ve learned to walk alongside it without letting it steer. I still hear the doubts—but I don’t hand them the camera anymore.

Thank you for reading. If you’ve ever felt like you don’t belong, I hope you know this: your art is enough. You are enough. And the world is better with your voice in it.