Back in December I visited the UK for the first time in over a year. I hadn’t seen my family since moving to Sweden, since another covid related bereavement and got to spend my Christmas and New Years with them. It was bliss. I was adamant on being in the UK this year for another reason particularly. Me and my twins 30th Birthday. We dragged it out, commemorating it by getting matching tattoos, going to a panto and eating a chippy dinner. Drowning my chips in vinegar and topping them with a crust of salt, I declared that I had no qualms about turning 30. I delighted in discovering new grey hairs appearing and (for some reason) standing on end from the rest on my head. I had grown so much or rather, had learnt so much about myself over the past year. Visual reminders of my aging were making me feel grateful for being able to do so, generally but more so as a Queer person. 

We inevitably reflected on our 20’s which reminded me that the age of 20 was when I had really begun to pursue photography. I had taken it as an A-level and loved it. However I had preferred Art, spending all my free periods painting and experimenting. When I began my foundation diploma in art and design, I had a plan. My intentions were to pursue fine art, then attend a degree, be an artist and teach. But life took a different turn. I loved combining photography with painting and creating mixed media pieces. Because of this, I followed the Photography pathway, thinking it would be good to get some technical knowledge if I was going to use it frequently in painting. I applied for both Fine Art degrees and Photography degrees and was rejected from all the former and received offers from all of the later. Thus began an accidental pursuit of Photography which I followed for the next 10 years.

I was excited about my degree but I was shy, anxious and angry. I had come out of a string of mentally abusive, manipulative, controlling and unhealthy relationships,  and was trying to figure out how navigate a normal relationship whilst also trying to figure out who I was and how to go about making friends. I had had no previous darkroom experience which put me in the minority of the year group. Anytime we had a project I would panic about making a decision on what to research about, so would choose a subject I had been hyper focusing on at the time and work on that. But I would quickly get bored of each project once the excitement and adrenaline was out of my system, so needless to say, I did not like a lot of my degree work. After the first term, I was officially diagnosed with an anxiety disorder that had been affecting me for years and which still effects me to this day.  

But I tried to make my time there a positive experience and not to waste any opportunity I encountered. I became interested in cyanotypes and photo materiality. I gained a deep love for research from my historiography and aesthetics tutor. I attended creative writing short courses (with the most fantastically wild teacher), ran a food blog and when the degree finished, I became a volunteer writer and photographer for a feminist magazine. So it was of no surprise that I went on to do a research and writing based Master Degree. But it was about 3 years after graduating the BA before I started to do practical work again. Focusing on my mental health and figuring out what I wanted to do with my life. And never did I think I would be a historian but here we are. The years after my masters have been a whirlwind. Volunteering in archives, gallery internships, photography collectives, curation, lockdown and moving to Sweden.

I cannot begin to describe how proud of myself I am for the progress I have made from 20-30. I am not perfect. I still have to deal with anxiety every day of my life, I still can’t make decisions about projects and I still find it hard making friends. But I have a clearer idea of who I am now and what is important to me, so I look forward to seeing what this next decade has in store for me.