The Imposter in the Room
Are you waiting to be found out?
Northam Burrows, Shadows.
I do love Pebble Ridge at Northam Burrows in Devon, it is one of that places that at first seems to offer very little to photographers but as you absorb the landscape and it does the same to you some incredible opportunities appear. These shadows fascinated me, the way the roll across the pebbles giving the impression of a change of surface shape. I made so many image of shadows - once you start looking at shadows you can’t stop seeing them and finding compositions within them.
Hi,
Last weekend I took part in a workshop with the artist Tansy Lee Moir, it was a charcoal drawing workshop, outside of my comfort zone, and I was somewhat insecure about my abilities compared to others there. The way charcoal meets the paper is unfamiliar to a photographer, the material in my hands doesn’t quite fit like my camera does, and I asked lots of questions of myself, often wondering why I’d attended. During the session a lady sat next to me and we chatted about how we both felt like imposters, she said she had arrived already convinced she was not good enough, I recognised that voice from the narrative in my head.
I find doing these workshops where I participate rather than lead a valuable experience, especially when it involves something as unfamiliar as charcoal. It puts me back on the other side of the room, reminds me what it feels like to be a nervous attendee, and I think that’s worth doing every so often, challenging yourself to be the beginner instead of the leader.
I’d like to share something that I still haven’t outgrown?
Before every workshop there it is. That small, familiar voice asking who exactly I think I am to be teaching anyone anything. It was there before my last retreat. It was there before a talk I gave earlier this year. If I’m honest with you, it has never fully gone away, and I’ve stopped waiting for the day it will.
If you feel this too, I want you to know you’re not on your own with it, and you’re certainly not doing something wrong.
I’ve been carrying some version of this feeling for most of my working life. It was there when I walked into the Manchester Evening News as a young picture editor, sat next to people who’d been doing the job for decades. It was there again at Reuters, surrounded by photographers who’d covered wars and elections while I was still finding my feet. And it followed me into The Times, into a job where I was leading a team of vastly experienced picture editors and photographers, where I spent a lot of my time quietly convinced that someone was about to work out I didn’t belong there.
Nobody ever did work it out. Not because I hid it well, but because I’ve since learned that most of the room was feeling some version of the same thing. Perhaps that’s true for you too?
I used to treat imposter syndrome as a fault, something to correct or outgrow before I was allowed to call myself legitimate. I’d like to offer you a gentler way of holding it, because it’s the one that has actually helped me.
What if the feeling isn’t proof that you don’t belong, but proof that you’ve stepped somewhere that matters to you?
Think about it. You don’t feel like an imposter doing the things you don’t care about. Nobody lies awake worrying they weren’t convincing enough loading the dishwasher, feeding the cat, making a cup of tea. The feeling only shows up when you’ve put something real on the line: your work, your voice, your name on a print, your hand up to teach something you love. So if it’s visiting you right now, over a camera, a portfolio, a workshop you’re nervous about leading, I’d invite you to consider that it might be there because you care, not because you’ve failed.
I know that doesn’t make it comfortable. I won’t pretend it does. But I hope it might make it feel a little less like an enemy.
I’ve learned, mostly by accident, to let this feeling do some good instead of trying to silence it.
Before I teach now, I let that nervous, vulnerable feeling remind me to prepare properly, to think again about what the people in front of me actually need, rather than what would make me look most in control. Redirected, the imposter feeling becomes attentiveness. It becomes humility, and in my experience that has always served people better than false authority ever could.
I meet so many photographers and artists who quietly carry some version of this. They don’t feel good enough to call their work art, to enter it anywhere, to charge for a print, to say out loud that they are a photographer at all. If that’s you, I’d gently ask you to notice something: the not good enough feeling and the caring deeply about getting it right are very often the same feeling, just wearing different clothes. It’s hard to have one without the other.
So next time the feeling arrives, rather than asking how do I get rid of this, try asking yourself what is it asking of me. Sometimes it’s asking you to slow down and look again at an image before you dismiss it. More often it’s asking you to be honest with yourself about why you’re making pictures. It is rarely, ever, actually asking you to give up and walk away.
Next time you feel unworthy, camera in hand or standing in front of people, would you try this with me? Don’t argue with the feeling. Just ask it, quietly, what it wants you to pay attention to. Then go and pay attention to that thing, properly, and let the rest of the noise fall away.
I can’t offer you a cure. I don’t think there is one, and I’m not sure I’d want one, because it would probably mean I’d stopped caring about the work. But I can offer you company, and the possibility of living alongside this feeling rather than being ruled by it. That, more than confidence, is what has carried me into every room I’ve ever walked into feeling like I didn’t belong.
You belong there too. The feeling that tells you otherwise is only evidence of how much it matters to you.
Thank you for your time today
Best wishes
Paul
Trebah Garden One Day Workshops
Be guided through a day of mindful photography & the meditative process of Japanese Stab Binding, taking the handcrafted keepsake away.
An Invitation to Pause: Autumn, Stillness and the Art of Making.
September 30th 2026 0930 - 1700
Take a breath. Feel your body grounded, and let your gaze wander.
Join me for a unique, one-day immersive retreat within the sub-tropical soul of Trebah. This experience is a bridge between the wild, architectural beauty of the gardens and the quiet, grounding joy of creating a handmade book from the photographs you will make
There is a quiet magic that occurs in September. It is a time when the frantic energy of summer starts to fade, and the earth begins its gentle, necessary exhale. Here in Cornwall, as the air grows cooler, Trebah Garden undergoes a breathtaking transformation. Widely cherished as a sub-tropical paradise with a stunning coastal backdrop, this twenty-six acre valley garden offers a deeply immersive experience as the seasons shift. The dramatic canopies of exotic blooms give way to a rich tapestry of amber, rust, and gold. In Hydrangea Valley, late blooms cast clouds of china blue and soft white across Mallard Pond, while the spectacular champion trees begin to dominate the landscape.
We live in a world where we have become slaves to screens and timelines, constantly chasing the next thing. Mindful photography invites us to break free. It whispers, "Stop. Look. Feel." It is a space free of judgment, open to photographers of all abilities, whether you carry a camera bag full of specialized gear or simply an iPhone in your pocket. This day is not about technical perfection or rules; it is about your personal connection to the world around you.
Nature does not rush its transition; it transitions softly, inviting us to do the same.
Still: A Mindful Practice for Photographers
My first book “Still - a mindful practice for photographers” has been on sale for a couple of months now and is listed as a bestseller on Amazon and Waterstones in the UK - which I still can’t believe. The feedback has been incredible, I am so grateful to everyone who has ordered a copy. If you don’t have a copy yet it is on sale in most good bookshops and via numerous online book retailers too.
There is a German version too and in the US it is available from all good bookstores and The Getty Museum
“More than a photography book, Still is a must-have guide for anyone seeking calm and clarity in their creative life.”
I truly appreciate your honesty in sharing this experience - the one where we feel unworthy and might be found out. I've experienced this, too. There was the time I went on a photography retreat and everyone was taking pictures of the sunset and the ocean, and I was looking in the opposite direction for pictures. I felt so overwhelmed by the pressure to perform, I simply had to step away. And there were many times in my career as a physical therapist when I felt like a total imposter - as though I might not be able to help my patients in the ways they needed (even though I always did my best and stayed up on the latest practices). But now, at age 66, I've mostly managed to let go of those worries (though not entirely). I prefer to think of "good" not as a grade but as genre. So when curious people ask me what kind of photographer I am, I often jokingly say, "A good one." Makes me smile every time.
Appreciated this so much! I’ve struggled with it for nearly 50 years and this is just the best way to look at it and embrace it! Thank you for your wise insight!