When Your Own Body Sets the Limits in Photography
There’s a strange irony in how photography makes me feel free—yet my own body constantly reminds me of its limits.
I’ve always loved walking. Not just as a necessity for photography but as a ritual. There’s a certain clarity that comes with it—the rhythm of footsteps, the way the world unfolds around you, the stillness it brings to the mind even when the streets are alive with movement. Walking has always been as much a part of my creative process as pressing the shutter.
But now, the thing I love most about photography is also the thing that holds me back.
The Weight of One Injury
It started years ago—an injury I never chose, inflicted in a moment that had nothing to do with me. A protest. A police officer pushing someone who fell straight onto my ankle, studded trainers digging in with force. Who wears studded shoes to a protest, anyway? 🤔
At the time, it felt like an inconvenience. Something that would heal, something temporary. But the years have proved otherwise. The pain comes creeping back after long shoots, after city walks that stretch just a little too far. I don’t always notice it in the moment—adrenaline, focus, and sheer determination push me through—but by the next morning, it’s undeniable.
Some days, I wake up and can’t even stand properly. The soreness, the swelling, the reminder that my own body has a say in what I can and can’t do. And I hate that. I hate the feeling of being forced to stop, of my work being dictated by something outside of my control.
Adapting to the Unwanted Reality
I’ve had to change the way I work, whether I like it or not.
Pacing myself—something I never thought I’d have to do. I used to be the photographer who could walk for miles chasing light, angles, and compositions. Now, I have to be intentional. Plan my routes. Choose my locations wisely or I could see myself unable to walk for a few days
Knowing when to stop—because pushing through always has consequences. It’s frustrating when my mind is willing, my creativity is sparking, but my body says no more.
Finding different ways to see—because if I can’t move as freely, I have to let my perspective do the moving instead.
The Struggle of Acceptance
The hardest part is accepting that this is my new normal. That the way I love to create comes with limits I can’t ignore. That some days, I’ll have to cut a shoot short. That some projects will take more out of me than I’d like.
But maybe limits don’t have to mean less. Maybe they just mean different.
Photography has always been about adaptation—light changes, subjects shift, moments pass in an instant. Maybe this is just another version of that. Learning to work with my body instead of against it. Finding new ways to create that don’t rely on pushing myself past breaking point.
Still, I can’t pretend it’s easy. Today’s one of those days where it feels like a defeat. Where I wake up, try to stand, and instantly know that my ankle has called the shots again. But tomorrow, I’ll get up, grab my camera, and keep going.
Even if I have to walk a little slower.