Tag Archives: imposter syndrome

The Accidental Photographer Strikes Again

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I think this last week has probably been the pinnacle of my 2026 journey.

But before we get into that, let’s rewind a little.

At the start of the year I spotted an advert on Instagram looking for volunteer photographers for Torbay Pride.

Now, being me, I thought…

Why not?

So I threw my hat into the ring.

Somehow, they said yes.

And suddenly I found myself being one of the volunteer photographers for Torbay Pride.

My first proper photography gig.

And I bloody loved it.

Something had happened.

That little spark had caught light.

So when my hometown of Narnia announced its own Pride in July, I did what any sensible person would do.

I sent them a cheeky email asking if they needed a photographer.

Apparently, nobody had thought of that.

So, by a mixture of enthusiasm, timing and possibly nobody else putting their hand up, I became the official Pride photographer.

Which brings us to last week.

Totnes Pride.

Another fantastic day. Another camera full of photographs. Another reminder of just how much I love doing this.

And then came the inevitable bit.

The bit where I sat down afterwards and started looking through hundreds of photographs.

Yes, they were in focus.

Yes, they were clear.

But…

Did they have that something?

Probably not.

And when you combine that with a healthy dollop of imposter syndrome and failing to score in a poetry competition, it’s fair to say I was being a little hard on myself.

Then Friday happened.

One of the Pride volunteers contacted me.

She sent me a lovely photograph of me in action with my camera.

Then came the unexpected bit.

She was looking for a volunteer photographer to photograph 80s music legend Howard Jones while he had his portrait painted, followed by an auction raising money for a local youth music charity.

Would I be interested?

Well…

Yes.

Obviously.

I didn’t even need to think about it.

More experience.

More hours behind the camera.

A chance to build my portfolio.

And, quite frankly, an excuse to take photographs.

What’s not to like?

Then, as if the universe was trying to make its point, some of my astrophotography started producing some rather lovely results too.

And suddenly that slump didn’t seem quite so deep.

Perhaps I’d just forgotten something fairly obvious.

I’m still learning.

I’m still finding my eye.

Not every photograph is going to be the photograph.

And that’s okay.

You take the next one.

You learn.

You keep going.

Sometimes you just need to stop judging the last frame long enough to notice that you’re already holding the camera for the next one.

And maybe there’s something to be said for simply being there for that moment, rather than worrying too much about what comes afterwards.

Anyway…

The camera’s charged.

There are more photographs to take.

And apparently, I’ve got a portrait of Howard Jones to go and shoot.

So I’d better get on with it.

Stay safe,

BC

My One Wish Wouldn’t Be for Me

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The genie grants you a wish. What is it?

It’s one of those questions that sounds wonderfully simple.

You rub the lamp. The genie appears.

Three seconds later, you’re suddenly faced with the biggest decision of your life.

And I’m guessing most people would go for something fairly obvious.

£100 million in the bank. A mansion. Fame.

Maybe becoming a bestselling author, a world-famous photographer, or whatever else happens to float your particular boat.

And don’t get me wrong, I’d quite happily take the £100 million, but there’s a problem. If I became a successful poet or photographer because some magical blue bloke handed it to me, I’m not sure I’d want it. I want to know that I earned it.

Every poem. Every photograph. Every little bit of progress.

The mistakes. The failures. The hours nobody sees.

That’s where the meaning comes from.

So if the genie stood in front of me today and said: “Bob, you get one wish. Anything you want.” My answer would probably surprise you.

I wouldn’t ask for money. I wouldn’t ask for fame. I wouldn’t even ask for anything for myself. I’d wish for one thing.

I would wish to eliminate child sexual abuse.

Completely. Everywhere. No exceptions. No child ever having to experience it. No teenager carrying a secret they’re terrified to tell anyone.

No adult waking up decades later and realising that something that happened in childhood has somehow followed them through and affected their entire life.

Because I know what it’s like.

I’m a survivor of child sexual abuse.

It happened more than forty years ago.

Forty.

Years.

And yet here I am, all these decades later, still thinking about it. Finally talking about it. Still understanding that something that lasted for a relatively small part of my childhood managed to leave fingerprints all over the man I became.

That’s the thing about abuse.

People sometimes imagine that when the abuse stops, the damage stops too.

It doesn’t necessarily work like that.

The perpetrator might walk away.

The child grows up. Life moves on. People get married. Have children. Build careers. Take photographs. Write books. Stand on beaches. Have therapy.

Laugh. Love… Live.

But sometimes, the past comes along for the ride. It sits quietly in the passenger seat. You might not notice it for years. Then something happens: A smell. A place. A memory.

A conversation.

A particular feeling.

And suddenly that little passenger taps you on the shoulder and reminds you that it’s still there.

That’s why my wish wouldn’t be about making me rich. It wouldn’t even be about erasing my own past. Because if I could magically remove what happened to me, I’d also remove part of the journey that made me who I am today.

And despite everything… I don’t want to erase myself, now.

I want to erase the reason children need to become survivors in the first place.

That’s the difference.

I don’t want a world where we become really good at helping people pick up the pieces.

I want a world where fewer people have pieces to pick up.

I want children to grow up knowing what safety feels like.

I want survivors to know that they will be believed when they find the strength to tell someone what happened, or is happening.

I want them to understand that their bodies belong to them.

That saying no means no.

That adults are supposed to protect children, not exploit them.

And perhaps most importantly…

I want survivors to know that what happened to them wasn’t their fault.

Not then. Not now. Never.

Because shame has a nasty habit of attaching itself to the wrong person: The child carries it. The teenager carries it. The adult carries it. Sometimes, to their grave.

Meanwhile, the person responsible may carry absolutely none of it.

That’s backwards. The shame belongs with the person who caused the harm, not the person who survived it.

So yes, if that genie ever does turn up, lamp in hand, waiting patiently for my answer… I know exactly what I’ll ask for… I’d simply look him in the eye and say:

“Make sure no child ever has to become a survivor of sexual abuse again.”

And if that sounds like an impossible wish… perhaps it is.

But I’ve spent enough of my life being told that some things are impossible. Sometimes impossible just means we haven’t tried hard enough yet.

So until that genie turns up, perhaps the rest of us have a part to play.

Listen. Believe. Protect. Educate.

Speak when silence would make things easier for the wrong person.

And when a survivor finally finds the courage to say those words:

“This happened to me.”

Don’t ask them why they didn’t tell someone sooner. Don’t brush it off with a throwaway comment. Don’t ask what they were wearing. Don’t ask what they did to cause it. Don’t ask why they didn’t fight or scream.

Just listen.

Believe them.

And do remind them of something they may have spent years struggling to believe themselves:

It wasn’t their fault.

Forty years later, I’m still here. Still writing. Still taking photographs. Still telling stories. Still trying to turn some of the darker parts of my life into something that might help somebody else. Perhaps that’s the closest thing I have to magic.Not changing the past, but using what happened to me to try to make somebody else’s future a little safer.

And if I only ever get one wish… That’s the one I’ll choose.

Every single time.

Stay safe,

BC

Things I’ve Learnt Along the Way

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What are some life hacks that you practice?

I’m not sure I’d call these life hacks.

That makes them sound as though I’ve discovered some secret formula for life.

I haven’t.

If I had, I’d probably be considerably more organised.

And significantly less likely to walk into a room and immediately forget why the hell I went there.

But over the years, I’ve picked up a few little things that seem to make life slightly easier.

Nothing revolutionary.

No twelve-step morning routine involving seventeen different types of herbal tea.

Just a few things that seem to work for me.

Don’t Carry Everything (The Art of Letting Go)

This is probably the biggest one.

For a long time, I spent an incredible amount of energy carrying things that had already happened, you know.

Arguments.

Regrets.

Things people had said.

Things I wished I’d said.

Things I couldn’t change, no matter how many times I replayed them in my head.

Meditation has helped me with that.

Not by magically emptying my mind.

Anyone who knows me will understand how unlikely that sounds.

Instead, it’s taught me to notice my thoughts without automatically climbing aboard every single one of them.

Sometimes you just have to acknowledge something.

Learn whatever lesson there is to learn.

And then put the bloody thing down.

You don’t have to carry everything just because you once picked it up.

Some things belong in the past.

Leave them there.

Go outside

Another incredibly complicated life hack.

Leave the house.

Go for a walk.

Look at the sky.

Watch the birds.

Stand by the sea.

Get rained on.

Apparently, I’m particularly good at that last one.

There’s something about getting away from four walls and screens that resets the brain.

Sometimes the solution to a problem isn’t another hour staring at it.

Sometimes it’s a walk and a coffee.

Sometimes it’s feeding the crows.

Sometimes it’s standing in the sea with wet shorts and wondering why you thought that was a good idea in the first place.

And sometimes…

that’s enough.

We spend so much time trying to do things that we forget there’s value in simply being somewhere.

Outside.

Breathing.

Looking.

Listening.

Being present.

Write shit down

My brain has always been a noisy place.

So I write.

Sometimes it’s poetry.

Sometimes it’s complete nonsense.

Sometimes it’s a sentence that eventually becomes something.

And sometimes it’s simply a case of getting the thoughts out of my head and onto a piece of paper before they start having a bloody committee meeting in there.

There’s something strangely powerful about seeing a thought written down.

It becomes something outside of you.

You can look at it.

Question it.

Rearrange it.

Understand it.

Or decide that actually, it was rubbish…

…and throw it away.

Writing started for me as a way of processing thoughts and emotions.

Twenty years later, I’m still doing it.

Apparently, I’ve committed to the bit.

And I’m quite glad I did.

Protect you time

We live in a world that seems determined to fill every available second.

Notifications.

Messages.

News.

Social media.

Emails.

Opinions.

More opinions about the opinions.

Sometimes you need to switch the bloody lot off.

Read a book.

Play a game.

Sit in the shed.

Take photographs.

Write.

Watch the birds.

Drink a coffee.

Do absolutely nothing.

And yes, I know that doing nothing sounds like the sort of thing we’re all supposed to feel guilty about.

But doing nothing isn’t necessarily wasting time.

Sometimes doing nothing is exactly what your brain needs.

We don’t have to be productive every minute of every day.

Sometimes the most productive thing you can do is stop.

Fucking ask for help

This one took me far too long to learn.

I’ve still got the scars

I used to think asking for help meant

Not being able to “Man Up”

admitting weakness.

It doesn’t.

Sometimes it means recognising that you’re human.

We aren’t designed to carry everything alone.

If something is too heavy, put it down.

If you don’t know what to do, ask someone who does.

If you’re struggling, tell someone.

That isn’t failure.

It’s being sensible.

There’s a strange idea that we’re somehow supposed to have all the answers.

We’re not.

None of us do.

Sometimes strength isn’t about carrying something until your back breaks.

Sometimes strength is saying:

“I can’t carry this on my own.”

And letting somebody give you a hand.

Finally…

Don’t wait for everything to be perfect before you enjoy your life.

Because trust it probably won’t be.

There will always be another bill.

Another job.

Another problem.

Another thing that needs fixing.

Another bloody email.

There will always be something.

So enjoy the cup of coffee.

Read the book.

Take those photographs.

Watch the birds.

Have the conversation.

Laugh at something stupid.

Tell somebody you love them.

Go outside.

Stand in the sea.

Get your feet wet.

And if you end up with wet shorts afterwards…

Well.

Apparently that’s just part of the experience.

Sometimes life doesn’t need fixing.

Sometimes you just need to be there for it.

And sometimes…

that’s enough.

Stay safe,

BC

It’s Your First Time Being Alive

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What’s the best advice you’d give to someone younger than you?

Don’t worry if, in your twenties, you don’t know where you’re going.

Honestly.

Most of us are making it up as we go along.

There seems to be this unwritten expectation that by a certain age you’re supposed to have everything worked out. A career. A five-year plan. A purpose. A clear idea of who you are and where you’re heading.

Life rarely works like that.

When we’re young, we somehow expect ourselves to have all the answers despite the fact we’ve barely had time to collect the questions.

It’s your first time being alive.

Be kind to yourself.

I didn’t know who I truly was, or what I wanted my life to look like, until I was nearly forty. Looking back, I spent far too much time worrying that I was behind everyone else.

The truth?

Nobody knows what they’re doing quite as much as they pretend to.

And that’s okay.

Because life isn’t really about the final destination anyway.

It’s about the journey.

It’s about the people you meet along the way.

The late-night conversations.

The road trips.

The laughter that leaves your face aching.

The memories you make with friends and family.

Years later, you won’t remember every deadline, every promotion, or everything you thought was a disaster at the time.

You’ll remember the people.

You’ll remember how they made you feel.

You’ll remember the moments.

Another thing I’d tell my younger self is this:

Learn to love yourself.

Not in an arrogant way.

Not in a “look at me” sort of way.

Just learn to be comfortable in your own skin.

Because once you stop trying to be who you think everyone else wants you to be, and start accepting who you actually are, something wonderful happens.

You can breathe.

You stop fighting yourself.

And that feeling is worth more than you can imagine.

I’d also tell you to let go of grudges.

They’re heavy things to carry.

The person who upset you years ago is probably not sitting at home replaying the argument.

Meanwhile, you’re giving them space in your head they haven’t earned.

They don’t deserve to live rent free in there.

Forgiveness isn’t always about them.

Sometimes it’s about freeing yourself.

So be patient.

Be kinder to yourself than you think you need to be.

Take photographs.

Make memories.

Tell people you love them.

Don’t panic if the map isn’t clear.

Most of us are finding the path one step at a time.

And sometimes the scenic route turns out to be the best one.

Stay safe,

BC

Ps Don’t forget to wear sunscreen

The Glasses I Don’t Need

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I have a pair of glasses.

My glasses

Proper glasses.

You know the sort. You go to the opticians, sit in the chair while someone shines various bits of machinery into your eyes, reads out letters that get progressively smaller, and eventually tells you that your eyesight is apparently not quite as good as you thought it was.

Except…

Mine are a little bit different.

One lens is Plano.

In other words, completely plain. No prescription. Nothing.

The other one had a very, very small prescription in it.

And I mean tiny.

So tiny, in fact, that I’ve now outgrown the prescription altogether.

Technically, I don’t need the glasses anymore.

But I still wear them.

Why?

Because they are my Clarke Kent glasses.

Yes.

Really.

Those of you who know me will already know that I’m a massive comic book nerd, so perhaps this shouldn’t come as much of a surprise.

But there’s actually a bit more to it than that.

You see, glasses can create a little physical barrier between me and the world.

Not a huge one.

Nobody looking at me would think, “Blimey, that bloke has constructed a defensive perimeter around himself.”

But they do something.

Much like sunglasses do.

For years, I’ve found sunglasses useful in social situations because they make eye contact easier. They create that tiny bit of separation between me and the person I’m talking to.

I can still see them.

I can still listen.

I can still have the conversation.

But somehow, having something between their eyes and mine makes me feel a little less exposed.

A little less vulnerable.

And that can make a surprisingly big difference.

The problem with sunglasses, of course, is that they’re not exactly practical all the time.

At night?

Not really.

In a dark room?

Probably not.

When it’s raining and the sky looks like it’s personally offended by the existence of daylight?

Definitely not.

And wearing sunglasses indoors can occasionally result in people wondering whether I’m about to perform at a nightclub rather than attend a perfectly ordinary meeting.

So these glasses fill the gap.

They look like normal glasses.

Because, well, they are.

Nobody needs to know that one lens is doing absolutely nothing and the other one is basically on permanent holiday.

They give me that little barrier without making the world around me darker.

And when I’m nervous, particularly if I’m standing on a stage or speaking in front of people, they help.

Stage fright is an odd thing.

You can know exactly what you want to say.

You can have prepared.

You can know that the people in front of you aren’t actually waiting for you to fail.

And yet your brain can still decide:

“Excellent. This is the moment we panic.”

Having my glasses on gives me something.

A tiny bit of confidence.

A little shield.

Perhaps even a psychological costume.

Which brings me back to Clarke Kent.

Because Superman has always fascinated me.

Not simply because he can fly, lift cars and apparently survive being thrown through buildings.

It’s the idea of the alter ego.

Clark Kent puts on a pair of glasses and suddenly he’s just an ordinary bloke.

Nobody looks twice.

Nobody expects him to save the world.

And while I’m certainly not claiming that my glasses give me superpowers

They help me feel like I’m wearing my social armour.

They give me a little bit of distance.

A little bit of protection.

And sometimes, that’s all you need.

I think we all have things like that.

Little routines.

Objects.

Clothes.

Jewellery.

Music.

Something we carry with us that makes the difficult things feel slightly easier.

They might look completely insignificant to somebody else.

But they aren’t insignificant to us.

For me, apparently, it’s a pair of slightly ridiculous glasses with one lens that doesn’t need a prescription and another that doesn’t need one anymore.

To everyone else, they’re just glasses.

To me?

They’re my Clarke Kent glasses.

And sometimes, even when you don’t need a prescription, you still need the glasses.

Stay safe,

BC

I Finally Realised I Know Nothing

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What’s a moment when you realized you were officially an adult?

That’s actually quite a difficult question.

You might expect the answer to be something obvious.

Getting your first proper job.

Paying your first bill.

Buying your first house.

Or perhaps that moment when you realise that nobody is going to come along and tell you what you’re supposed to be doing anymore.

For me, though, it was none of those things.

I think it was when I finally learned to let go.

And, perhaps more importantly, when I realised that I actually knew absolutely nothing.

Now, that might sound like a strange thing to associate with becoming an adult.

Surely adulthood is about knowing things?

Having the answers.

Being responsible.

Knowing what you’re doing.

Apparently not.

Because the older I get, the more I realise that I don’t have all the answers.

I probably never did.

I just got better at pretending I did.

When you’re younger, you tend to think adults have everything figured out. Your parents seem to know everything. Teachers know everything. People at work definitely know everything.

Then, one day, you become one of those adults.

And you suddenly realise we’re all just making it up as we go along.

Some of us are just better at looking confident while doing it.

For a long time, I thought I had to hold on to everything.

Old arguments.

Old mistakes.

People who had hurt me.

Things I’d done that I wished I could undo.

The idea that I could somehow control what other people thought, said or did.

And that’s exhausting.

Eventually, I realised that some things simply aren’t mine to carry.

You can’t change the past.

You can’t control other people.

You can’t make everyone understand you.

And sometimes you can’t even make yourself understand why you’ve done something until years later.

So you let go.

Not because it doesn’t matter.

Not because it didn’t hurt.

But because carrying it around forever isn’t going to change what happened.

That’s when I think I finally started growing up.

Not when I got older.

Not when I had responsibilities.

Not when I became a husband, a father or eventually a grandfather.

It was when I stopped believing that adulthood meant having all the answers.

Because perhaps real adulthood is recognising how little you actually know.

And being comfortable with that.

I’m still learning.

I’ll probably still be learning when I’m an old bloke complaining about the price of a pasty and wondering why everything needs an app.

But that’s okay.

Life isn’t a test where you eventually reach the final question and someone hands you a certificate saying:

Congratulations. You are now officially an adult.

There isn’t one.

There are just experiences.

Mistakes.

Lessons.

People who come into your life.

People who leave it.

Things you hold on to.

And things you eventually learn to let go.

And perhaps that’s the real trick.

Not knowing everything.

Just knowing that you don’t.

Stay safe

Bc

Charlie Mike

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If you had a time machine and could send just one message to your past self, what would it say?

If I could send just one message back to the person I was, it would be this:

No matter how dark life becomes, you’re going to get through it.

There will be times when you genuinely believe the pain will never end. You’ll carry anger, fear, grief and questions you don’t yet have answers for. You’ll have moments when giving up seems easier than taking another step.

But keep going.

You don’t know it yet, but the hardest chapters of your life aren’t the end of your story. They’re the chapters that will teach you just how strong you are, and eventually, how to let go of the things that were never yours to carry forever.

You will find peace.

Not because life suddenly becomes perfect—it doesn’t. But because you’ll learn that peace isn’t about changing the past or controlling everything around you. It’s about accepting what you cannot change, letting go of what weighs you down, and choosing to keep moving forward.

So breathe.

Stay.

Keep going.

There is a life waiting for you that you cannot imagine from where you’re standing now.

And trust me…

“you’re going to be okay.”

Stay safe

Bc

Congratulations You Made it

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If your future self could send you one sentence, what do you hope it would say?

If my future self could send me one sentence, I think I’d want it to say:

“Congratulations, you made it through everything you once thought would break you, and somehow you became the person you were always meant to be.”

Not you became rich.

Not you became famous.

Not even you got everything you wanted.

Just…

You made it.

Because I think we spend far too much of our lives measuring success by destinations.

The job.

The house.

The money.

The achievements.

The things we can put on a CV and point at proudly.

But perhaps the greatest achievement is simply reaching the other side of the storms that once convinced us we wouldn’t.

Looking back and realising that the mistakes weren’t the end.

The heartbreak wasn’t the end.

The failures weren’t the end.

The days when getting out of bed felt like an achievement weren’t the end.

They were chapters.

Some difficult.

Some ridiculous.

Some I’d happily rip out of the book altogether.

But they were still chapters.

And if future me is reading this, I hope he smiles.

Not because life turned out perfectly.

But because it turned out to be worth it.

So yes, future me…

Congratulations.

You made it.

Now go and enjoy the next chapter.

Stay safe

Bc

The Best Advice I Can Ever Give You

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If you had to give one life-changing tip, what would it be?

If I had to give just one life-changing tip, it would be this:

Look after your mental health just as much as your physical health.

We spend hours thinking about our bodies. We count our steps, join gyms, watch what we eat, and book check-ups when something doesn’t feel right. Yet when it comes to our minds, many of us simply hope we’ll be okay.

Hope isn’t a strategy.

The truth is, your mind is involved in every decision you make, every relationship you build, every challenge you face, and every dream you pursue. If your mental wellbeing is neglected, everything else eventually feels harder. Stress becomes overwhelming. Small problems become mountains. Joy becomes difficult to recognise.

For far too long, we’ve been taught to “keep going,” “man up,” or “just get on with it.” Those phrases have probably caused more harm than they’ll ever receive credit for. Strength isn’t found in suffering silently. Real strength is recognising when you’re struggling and having the courage to speak up.

Looking after your mental health doesn’t always mean counselling or medication, although both can be life-changing for many people. Sometimes it means getting enough sleep. Sometimes it means putting your phone down and taking a walk. Sometimes it’s saying “no” without feeling guilty. Sometimes it’s talking honestly with a friend over a cup of tea.

And sometimes it’s simply admitting, “I’m not okay today.”

There’s no shame in that.

We service our cars before they break down. We charge our phones before the battery reaches zero. Yet so many of us wait until we’re completely exhausted before giving ourselves permission to rest.

Imagine if we treated our minds with the same care we treat our bodies.

The world would be a kinder place.

So, if there’s one thing I’d encourage you to do today, it’s this: check in with yourself. Not the automatic “I’m fine” we all give, but a genuine moment of honesty. Ask yourself how you’re really doing.

Because your mental health isn’t a luxury.

It’s the foundation everything else is built upon.

Stay safe.

BC

Ten Years of Words, Thoughts and a Journey I Never Expected

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Well, it turns out it’s my website’s birthday.

Ten years ago, I sat down and started building something from scratch. At the time, it was simply a place to put my thoughts, feelings and experiences into words — a way of making sense of the world around me after being diagnosed as Autistic. (Looking back it makes sense)

I don’t think, even in my wildest dreams, I could have imagined where that small beginning would lead me.

Ten years later, this little corner of the internet has become so much more than a website. It has become a place for connection, understanding and shared experiences. It has allowed me to tell my story, to open conversations, and to hopefully help others feel a little less alone on their own journeys.

When I first started writing, I had no idea who would read my words or where they would take me. I certainly never imagined that so many people would come along for the ride, follow my journey and offer their support along the way.

For that, I am truly grateful.

To everyone who has read a blog post, shared a story, sent a message, offered encouragement or simply taken the time to understand — thank you. Your support has meant more than you probably realise. Every interaction has been a reminder that sharing our experiences can create connections that we never expected.

Of course, there is one person who deserves a very special thank you: Mrs Bob.

Behind the scenes, she has been my constant support throughout this entire journey. She has written, proofread, made phone calls, helped shape my thoughts and, most importantly, been my neurotypical whisperer when I’ve needed someone to help translate my way of seeing the world.

She has worked tirelessly alongside me, often without recognition, and I honestly couldn’t have reached this point without her.

Looking back over these ten years, I realise this website has been a record of growth, discovery and acceptance. It has captured moments of frustration, joy, learning and everything in between.

The journey hasn’t always been straightforward, but it has always been mine.

So, on this tenth birthday, I’m not just celebrating a website. I’m celebrating the conversations started, the friendships made, the lessons learned and the incredible community that has grown around it.

Thank you for being part of my journey.

Here’s to the next chapter.

Bob

Stay safe

Bc

Ps here’s that first post I put out…

https://bob-christian.com/2016/07/31/hello/