Capturing Hope: A Photographer’s Path Through Struggles and Healing
Depression doesn’t take away your talents — it just makes them harder to find. But I always find it. I learned that my sadness never destroyed what was great about me. You just have to go back to that greatness, find that one little light that’s left.”
— Lady Gaga
Things are starting to feel better for the first time in a while, with a little help. As I sit here in my office writing this, I realize that I truly enjoy writing—something I never expected. It's a process I need to embrace more, especially here. With my upcoming fortieth article for Fstoppers and the completion of my second book this year, I realize I wouldn’t be sitting here writing if I didn’t enjoy it. But this post isn’t about the writing journey; it’s about an image I captured last night.
As I sit here, I find myself wondering if I should be so open about everything, but then I remind myself that it might help someone. Back in 2020, I realized something wasn’t quite right. At first, I thought it was my job at the time—one I never expected to leave—and it wasn’t COVID that set things in motion. Fast forward five years, and what a journey it’s been. I'm about to hit my two-year mark at a job I love, and though things have improved, there are still rough patches that last longer than I’d like. It’s a part of the ongoing, lifelong journey.
Facing my mental health diagnosis felt like finally putting a name to something I’d sensed but couldn’t fully articulate. It shed light on the struggles I had been navigating in silence—finally, an answer, but not without a lot of self-advocacy, especially with a certain “professional” at the Veterans Hospital in Iowa City. With the help of a few good advocates, I learned that the issues I was facing were rooted in major depressive disorder, anxiety, and PTSD, all stemming from my time in the military. It was the answer I’d longed for, hoping it would resolve everything. But it didn’t. While I didn’t wish for these diagnoses, I am someone who needs to understand the “why” behind things—it helps me process and make sense of everything. If you’re still with me, I appreciate you sticking around. Now, let’s get to the point.
How does all of this relate to the image I created? Over the past year and a half, I’ve been in a terrible creative rut. I knew something wasn’t right again, but I was in a much better space than before, so I chalked it up to exhaustion and burnout from all the live sessions and the relentless climb toward some imagined summit. By the end of 2024, I made a few appointments with the VA and found out I had a new mental health doctor. Finally, Ursula at the VA was gone—well, that's not her name, but that’s how I see her!
After a few sessions, I’m now on a monthly subscription to an additional medication, Sertraline (Zoloft), to complement my Wellbutrin. In the last few weeks, I’ve noticed a subtle change. One night, I saw the neighbor’s house lit up with a warm glow, and I couldn’t help but notice how it stood out in the cool colors of the night. It reminded me of Todd Hido’s Homes at Night series. The itch to create an image had returned, but it took a while for me to find the energy to follow through. It’s hard to describe the daily impact of those diagnoses—like being paralyzed while simultaneously wanting to do it all.
Last night, for the first time in a long time, I snapped a photo, looked at the screen, and smiled. It was the first image I’d created in ages that made me happy. It felt like a small but significant win. I had been thinking about picking up the camera for almost a week, and last night, I did it. I created it. I loved it. Two major wins.
The image represents a lot to me. The cool nighttime colors symbolize the struggles within those diagnoses, while the warm light from the windows offers hope—a reminder that not all days will be bad.
I could have gone into detail about the gear and technicalities, but that’s not the focus of this blog. It’s about the creative journey, not the gear. I want to leave that out and focus on what truly matters: the process and the art.
And, I’ll be honest, I feel like I’m airing my dirty laundry here. But I don’t want this to seem like I’m seeking attention. My hope is that by sharing my story, it may help even one person reading this. To fellow photographers and artists, let this be a reminder that your mental and physical health plays a huge role in your work. You can’t separate the two.
While the diagnosis marked the beginning of a new chapter, it’s also a constant reminder that healing is a journey—one that requires patience, self-compassion, and the courage to keep moving forward, despite the setbacks.
Take a look at Todd Hido’s series, Homes at Night here.