When I first started taking photography seriously, I assumed the hardest part would be learning how to use my camera. But honestly? One of the biggest challenges I didn’t expect was just having it with me in public. Walking around with a camera in hand as a beginner—especially in busy places or around strangers—made me feel awkward. I worried people would think I didn’t know what I was doing (because… I didn’t) or that they’d assume I was trying too hard to look like a “real” photographer. But over time, I’ve found small ways to push past that self-consciousness—and I’m really glad I did.

There’s something about a big camera that makes you feel like you’re being watched. Even when no one’s paying attention, you start imagining that every person around you is judging you for crouching on the ground or taking a photo of a signpost or brick wall. It’s a weird kind of self-awareness that kicks in when you’re holding something that signals, “I’m here to capture this.” And when you’re new and still figuring things out, it feels like all eyes are on you in the worst way.

At first, I would bring my camera places but leave it in my bag. I’d tell myself I was waiting for the right moment or better lighting, but really, I was stalling. I didn’t want to look like I was trying to be someone I wasn’t. I wasn’t confident enough yet to feel like I belonged in that space—with a camera, making creative decisions out loud and in front of people. But here’s what I realized: the only way to feel comfortable with it is to actually do it.

So, I started small. I’d go out early in the morning when fewer people were around. I’d shoot empty parking lots, sidewalks, and street corners. I’d give myself permission to look ridiculous. Eventually, I started to care less and less about what anyone else thought because I was more focused on what I was getting out of it. And I was getting better. Slowly, but better.

Then came shoots with actual people. The nerves hit all over again. Not only did I have to hold my camera with confidence—I had to use it in front of someone who trusted me to capture them well. That felt like pressure. And again, that little voice in my head kicked in, saying: You don’t know what you’re doing. They’re going to notice. You’re not legit.

What helped me most was being honest about where I was in the process. I stopped pretending to have it all figured out. Instead, I let people know I was still learning and genuinely excited to be working with them. That honesty took the pressure off, both for me and the person I was photographing. It made the shoot feel more collaborative and less like a performance I was failing.

Another thing I’ve learned: most people aren’t judging you. They’re doing their own thing. If they glance your way, they’re probably curious or just wondering what you’re shooting. And if they are judging you? That has everything to do with them and nothing to do with your journey.

Carrying my camera more often, in more public spaces, has helped me see photography not as a role I have to live up to but as a practice I’m building. It doesn’t matter if I’m crouched in front of a trash can trying to capture light and shadows or asking someone to turn slightly to the left for the tenth time. What matters is that I’m out there doing it. And every time I do, I’m building confidence, whether I realize it in the moment or not.

Now, I make a point to bring my camera everywhere—even if I don’t end up using it. There’s something about simply having it that reminds me I’m allowed to take up space. I’m allowed to be curious, to explore, to create. Even if I’m new. Even if I make mistakes. Even if the shot doesn’t turn out how I hoped.

If you’re in the same spot—struggling with the discomfort of looking like a “beginner” or feeling like you haven’t earned the right to take your camera seriously—let me just say: we all start somewhere. You’re not weird for feeling awkward. But don’t let that awkwardness keep you from doing something you love.

The only difference between the photographers you admire and where you are now is time and practice. Everyone had to push past those first few uncomfortable steps. Everyone has fumbled settings in front of people. Everyone has felt unsure. But every click, every photo—good or bad—is a step forward.

So, go ahead and pull your camera out in the middle of a crowded street. Set up your shot. Adjust your settings. Take your time. You belong there.

Have a story, a moment, or an idea you think deserves to be captured? I’d love to hear about it! You can submit your experiences through the “Share a Story” form on my website or check out the “Suggest a Shot” page to let me know what you’d like to see next.

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