"Take Back Your Life." – A Reflection Through the Lens

Some photos demand your attention. This one did. I was walking the streets, camera slung over my shoulder, when the moment unfolded before me—raw, unfiltered, and entirely unplanned. The man in the frame wasn’t posing; he wasn’t waiting for me to capture him. He was simply moving forward, his expression etched with the weight of lived experience. A nearby sign reading “TAKE BACK YOUR LIFE” stood boldly in the frame, an unintentional but striking juxtaposition. Was he homeless? I don’t know. But there was something in his walk, in his gaze, that told a story of struggle and perseverance. Maybe I was projecting. Or maybe I saw a reflection of my own past in his stride.

There was a time in my life when the idea of comfort was foreign to me. My twenties were spent navigating a world where security was a luxury I simply couldn't afford. I slept where I could, often on cold concrete, beneath flickering streetlights, my only possessions tucked away in a tattered backpack. When I finally got a car, it became my home—a tiny, metal cocoon shielding me from the elements but never from the weight of my own thoughts. On the bitterest nights, I found warmth in shelters, where the quiet hum of exhausted souls mirrored my own weary existence.

Then came the basement—the moldy futon mattress that became my resting place. It wasn’t much, but compared to the streets, it felt like an upgrade. The damp air clung to my skin, and the smell of mildew settled in my clothes, but I was indoors. I was safe. And I convinced myself that safety, even in its smallest measure, was enough. That comfort, even when laced with the scent of decay, was something to hold onto.

But is "taking back your life" about removing yourself from those comforts? Or is it about finding your way back to them—on your own terms, in a way that is sustainable, lucrative, and persistent?

I didn’t have answers then. I just knew I needed to keep moving.

A Slow Climb Out

My journey forward wasn’t some cinematic moment of instant success. It was slow. Agonizingly slow. It started with a job—cold calling for a radio station, my voice strained from nerves and desperation. I wasn’t good at it at first, but I learned. And that job led to another, and then another, each one pushing me forward, inch by inch, step by step.
I moved from street, to car, to basement, to apartment, and finally to a house that I dearly love.

I went from jobless to a temp job coldcalling people about radio playlists, to a gas station, to a bank. Eventually, I became a writer. A photographer. I found my voice not just in words, but in the images I captured—the faces of strangers, the details of a world I had once felt invisible in.

And now? Now, I have a home. A real dependable home. A beautiful house that I share with my partner, Amanda. We have built a life together, one of warmth and security. We even rent out the connected apartment in our house—a way to give someone else a stepping stone, just as I once needed.

I don’t say this to brag. I say it because I still remember the cold. I remember the loneliness. I remember what it felt like to believe I would never make it out. And if someone out there is feeling that way now, I want them to know—it is possible to take back your life.

Homelessness in Cincinnati

Cincinnati is no stranger to homelessness. On any given night, hundreds of individuals find themselves without a safe place to sleep. Shelters do their best, but resources are stretched thin. The reasons people end up on the streets vary—job loss, medical bills, mental health struggles, addiction. Or, like me, a complex cocktail of negative ingredients that dragged me down. There is no single story of homelessness, just as there is no single solution. But what I do know is this: no one chooses to suffer. No one dreams of merely surviving instead of living a full and happy life.

Organizations across the city are working tirelessly to make a difference—places like the Shelterhouse, the Drop Inn Center, and Freestore Foodbank. They provide more than just meals and beds; they provide hope. They remind people, as I was reminded, that where you are now does not define where you will be forever.

The Road Home

Taking back my life wasn’t about erasing the past. It was about learning from it. About using those years of struggle as a foundation for something stronger, something more resilient.

So, is "taking back your life" about stepping away from comfort or returning to it? I think the answer is both. It is about reclaiming comfort in a way that does not compromise who you are. It is about finding security without fear that it will be ripped away. It is about creating a life where you can breathe—where survival is no longer the only goal.

A Moment Captured: The Photo That Found Me

I wasn’t waiting for the picture we are talking about today. I was just walking the streets when it came to me, but it stands as a strong reminder of where I came from. The man in the photo—homeless? I don’t know. But he looks determined. His countenance carries a history etched into the lines of his face. His eyes seem to hold the weight of struggle, as if they’ve witnessed hardships most would shy away from. Perhaps I am projecting? Or maybe, in some way, I recognize a piece of myself in him.

Three Strong Aspects of the Photo:

Emotional Depth: The expression of the subject conveys resilience, determination, and a silent story of perseverance.
Composition: The balance of the subject, the sign with the bold message, and the perspective of the street all work together to create a compelling narrative.
Contrast and Texture: The black and white processing enhances the raw details, from the wrinkles on his face to the rough texture of his clothing.

Three Areas for Improvement:

Lighting on the Face: A slight adjustment in ISO could have brighten the face, at the cost of noise, but in a black and white, noise can be charming. This would have made the subject’s expression even more impactful.
Framing: A little more space above the subject's head might have added to the openness of the composition.
Background Blur: While the depth of field is strong, a larger aperture would add slightly more blur on the background pedestrians, and enhance the isolation of the subject.

This photograph is a reflection—not just of the Bodega Cat man, but of myself. Of where I’ve been, where I am now, and the roads I’ve walked to get here. To take back my life meant to first understand what it meant to lose it, to endure, and ultimately, to reclaim it on my own terms. And maybe, just maybe, that’s what this man is doing too.

To anyone reading this who is struggling: keep going. Even the longest journeys begin with small, stubborn steps forward. And one day, you may find yourself where I am now—looking back with gratitude, not just for where you are, but for the path that led you there.

A great nationwide resource for people experiencing homelessness in the U.S. is 211.

Call 211 or visit www.211.org
It connects individuals with local services for shelter, food, medical care, mental health support, and more.
Available 24/7 and confidential.