Yesterday, I wandered the streets of Chicago with my camera in hand. I had no agenda, no shot list, and no destination in mind. It was just me, a full battery, and whatever the universe decided to show me. It happened to be Pride Sunday, and the city was buzzing with glitter, banners, rainbow crosswalks, and people bursting with joy and identity. As much as I appreciated the celebration, I wasn’t there to be seen. I was there to see.
Photography has always been more than a hobby to me. It is the one place where I’m not trying to pass, explain, hide, or defend. Behind the lens, I don’t have to perform. I simply witness. And in doing so, I find pieces of myself in every shadow, reflection, and unexpected shot.
For many transgender people, life is often filtered through judgment, whether from society, from the mirror, or from our own internalized fears. But when we are the ones holding the camera, the perspective shifts. We get to decide what deserves focus. We get to chase light. And that simple act can be healing in ways words rarely capture.
Photography as Personal Therapy
The city has always given me a certain kind of energy. A place like Chicago, where architecture clashes boldly between old and new, seems to carry a distinct rhythm. Every block has a different story to tell. When I’m photographing the city, it feels like I’m in conversation with it. Some days it’s loud and proud. Other days, it feels like it’s just barely holding itself together. That sounds a lot like me too.
As a transgender woman, I’ve had my share of days that felt like cracked sidewalks, worn down by time and still being stepped on. But walking into that chaos with my camera reminds me that I still get to choose how I see the world. More importantly, I get to choose how I see myself in it.
Yesterday was a form of therapy. It didn’t involve a couch or a therapist’s office, but it was healing all the same. I caught people dancing in alleyways, flags hanging from windows, and a child on someone’s shoulders blowing kisses at drag queens. But I also noticed quiet corners. An older couple holding hands behind a bus stop. A pigeon silhouetted against a church steeple. Light slicing through the L tracks.
These are the moments I keep for myself. When I’m behind the camera, I stop worrying about being clocked. I don’t replay awkward interactions or misgenderings. I’m not in survival mode. I’m simply present. And sometimes, that’s all we need.
The Spiritual Side of the Shutter
Photography doesn’t just help me cope. It helps me connect. There is a spiritual element to it that I didn’t fully understand until I began chasing sunrises. Standing in a forest preserve while dew clings to spiderwebs and the world hasn’t quite woken up yet feels sacred to me.
There is something almost holy about watching the light change. About witnessing the sun rise or fall in silence. In those moments, I’m not thinking about my gender, or politics, or the shape of my body. I’m just alive. The universe breathes, and I get to breathe with it.
I love photographing storms as they roll in, watching clouds curl into shapes that feel like emotion made visible. These skies carry a kind of drama that reflects the intensity I often carry inside. Sometimes I sit on my balcony before dawn, camera ready, to photograph the moon in her many phases. No matter how many photos I take, she always surprises me.
Perhaps that’s the real spiritual part. Photography teaches you to stay curious and to really pay attention. It allows you to see something familiar; your city, your cat, even your own reflection, in a new light.
Portraits of Play: My Cat as Muse
Not all healing happens outside. Sometimes it happens in the quiet corners of your own space. For me, that space is occasionally interrupted by my cat, who believes every flat surface belongs to her and that 3 a.m. is the best time for a sprint through the house.
She has become one of my favorite subjects, not just because she’s adorable but because she reminds me how much personality exists in the smallest gestures. A stretch, a yawn, the flick of a tail, each moment is a performance worth capturing. Trying to photograph her is equal parts comedy and meditation. I can spend an entire afternoon waiting for that perfect moment where she looks both regal and ridiculous.
It isn’t about social media or getting the perfect photo. It’s about connecting with her energy and honoring the joy she brings. She reminds me to laugh, to be patient, and to stay in the moment. She is, without question, my emotional support chaos gremlin.
And honestly, she probably thinks she’s the photographer and I’m just her assistant.
Why Photography Matters for Trans People
Many transgender people are searching for a reflection. We want to see something in the world that tells us we exist, that we matter, and that we are beautiful. Society doesn’t always give us that. In fact, it often tries to take those moments away.
Photography gives that power back. Whether you’re capturing portraits of others or experimenting with self-portraiture, you are reclaiming how you see and are seen. You are giving yourself permission to be the author of your own narrative.
Photography offers:
- Affirmation through creativity: When you create, you validate your experience.
- Narrative control: You choose what to highlight, what to blur, what to frame.
- A grounding practice: Photography pulls you into the present moment.
- Sensory mindfulness: The textures, sights, sounds, and even stillness around you help calm the nervous system.
- Judgment-free joy: You don’t need to be an expert to enjoy capturing what makes you feel alive.
Finding Your Eye: No Experience Required
You don’t need expensive gear to start taking photographs. I began with an old Polaroid camera that taught me how fleeting and valuable a single moment can be. It didn’t matter if the picture was blurry. What mattered was the memory it captured and the feeling it sparked.
If you want to start, try something simple:
- Photograph your morning routine.
- Capture how sunlight hits your bedroom wall.
- Take a photo of your reflection in something unexpected, like a puddle or a window.
Eventually, you’ll start to notice patterns. Maybe you are drawn to certain colors or textures. Maybe you’re fascinated by movement, contrast, or empty spaces. This is how your photographic voice begins to take shape. This is where you meet yourself.
Nature, Cities, and the Space Between
Some days, I need the hum and rhythm of a city. The sounds of traffic, music from open windows, and snippets of conversation. Other days, I need a quiet forest preserve, the scent of damp earth, and the hush that comes when you’re truly alone in nature.
Each place offers something different. Cities teach me to be quick, to look for fleeting expressions and reflections in storefronts. Nature teaches me patience and presence. It invites me to slow down and observe the way light changes through leaves or how still the world becomes just before a storm.
No matter where you live, beauty exists. Whether it’s a brick wall covered in ivy, a crack in the sidewalk where weeds bloom defiantly, or a perfectly timed photo of your pet mid-sneeze, each image is a reminder that the world is rich with things worth noticing.
What I Hope You Take With You
If you are transgender and searching for a way to reconnect with yourself, photography might be the key. You do not have to be a professional. You don’t need thousands of followers or curated feeds. All you need is curiosity, a camera or phone, and the willingness to explore.
The world can be a loud, unkind place. But behind the lens, you get to filter the noise. You get to notice joy, color, emotion, and light. You get to tell your story in images and sometimes, that is exactly the medicine we need.
Because every time you lift the camera and click the shutter, you are saying, “This moment matters. I matter. I am here.”
The Bottom Line
Yesterday, I stood in the middle of a crosswalk while the Pride Parade marched on in the distance. I snapped a picture of two older women in rainbow suspenders sharing a quiet kiss behind the chaos. The image wasn’t technically perfect, and I ended up deleting it, but it was real. And in that moment, I felt so deeply connected to everything around me.
Photography doesn’t just help us see the world.
Sometimes, it reminds us that we are still part of it.
