A few years ago, a woman moved to a new country with two children under the age of two. The idea of a fresh start by the sea felt exciting at first, but that excitement faded when she realized she did not know anyone. There were no friends to call, no family nearby, and no one to sit with her on a hard day.
She was not prepared for the deep, quiet loneliness that crept in slowly. It was not dramatic or visible to others, just a low hum of disconnection that followed her through the day. She had two children who needed her completely, and she felt grateful for them. But gratitude and loneliness can exist at the same time, and she learned that the hard way.
The hardest moments were the small ones. Times she wanted to see a friend but remembered there was no one to call because they all lived in another country. Times her children got sick and she had no one to help. Times she watched other mothers laughing together at the park and felt invisible in a crowd.
Making real friendships takes time, and she waited. In the waiting, she started to disappear a little from herself.
She tried to meditate. Everyone said it would help. She downloaded apps, sat quietly, and tried to follow her breath. She failed repeatedly. Her mind would not be still. Instead of finding peace, she found a running list of everything she had not done yet. She still does not know how to meditate well. For a long time, she thought that meant something was wrong with her.
She now understands she was not failing at presence. She was trying to enter it through a door that did not feel natural at that time. She needed movement before stillness. She needed color, air, curiosity, and something gentle to place her attention on.
Photography had always made her happy. Even before she understood why, picking up a camera shifted her mood. It was a quiet reminder that beauty existed and she was allowed to look for it. One day, in the middle of her loneliness, she picked up her camera again. She did not do it to create something impressive or build a portfolio. She did it to go outside, walk, and see what she noticed.
She started breaking the rules she had been taught about photography, such as composition, light, and the perfect shot. She pointed her camera at whatever caught her eye, however imperfect or small. A shadow on a wall. The color of the sea on a particular afternoon. The texture of something ordinary she had passed a hundred times without seeing.
Something happened that she had not expected. Not because she forced it or followed a technique, but because creativity gave her worry less room to take over. When she was truly looking, really noticing what was in front of her, her mind was too busy being alive to be anxious. Too busy playing to be sad.
She calls it getting into the happy zone. That place where you forget, temporarily, about loneliness, exhaustion, and guilt. There was guilt too, the feeling that you are not entitled to take time for yourself, that stepping away for even fifteen minutes is somehow a betrayal. But she kept going back because she came home different every time. Lighter. More present. More herself.
Mindful photography gave her back something she did not know she had lost: her own attention. Not just attention to the world around her, but attention to herself. The practice of noticing outward beauty taught her to notice her own inner state, to check in, and to ask what she needed that day.
She says you do not need to be a photographer, own an expensive camera, or have technical skill. You just need your phone and fifteen minutes, and the willingness to look for one thing, one color, one shadow, one small detail that catches your eye. Let yourself be curious about it. Forget the rules. Forget the perfect shot. Just notice. Just play.
Sometimes the thing that brings you back to yourself is not stillness. Sometimes it is the simple act of looking up and seeing what was there all along.
Maja Kerin is an award-winning fine art photographer and founder of Your Daily Pause, a mindful photography practice that helps people slow down, notice, and reconnect through simple creative pauses.
