"Trauma is perhaps the most avoided, ignored, belittled, denied, misunderstood,

and untreated cause of human suffering."

Gabor Maté, Daniel Maté. The Myth of Normal: Trauma, Illness & Healing in a Toxic Culture

The image above is deeply personal to me. It’s a self-portrait, split across two Polaroid photos, suspended in a block of ice on a pebble beach. At first glance, it might seem serene or even picturesque, but for me, it represents a much deeper story—my own journey through emotional trauma after being in a prolonged, controlling relationship.

The ice block, trapping my self-portraits, speaks to how I felt during and after that relationship—frozen, stuck, unable to move forward. Trauma, especially the kind that comes from a controlling environment, can do that to you. It locks you in place, holding your memories, emotions, and sense of self in a state of suspension. For a long time, it felt like a part of me was encased in that cold, immovable state, unable to breathe, unable to see a way out. The two Polaroids inside the ice symbolise how fragmented I felt—my identity split and distorted by the impact of those years.

But then, there’s the setting—the beach, the open sky, the gentle curve of the cliffs. Nature, vast and open, became my refuge, a place where I could breathe, think, and just be. I found solace in the outdoors, in the waves that stretched out to the horizon, in the pebbles beneath my feet. Each pebble is unique, just like every emotion and memory I carry, and together they form a landscape of resilience. The cliffs standing tall in the background remind me of strength, the power to endure, even when the world around you feels like it’s crumbling.

Being in that relationship was like living in a confined, suffocating space. It fed on isolation and fear, and it made me feel small, powerless, and trapped. But bringing this block of ice—my frozen self—into the open, into nature where the waves can reach it, the sun can warm it, and the wind can touch it, was a step towards healing. Nature became a metaphor for leaving behind that toxic environment, a place where I could start to defrost, to feel again, to find my own strength and my own voice.

The setting sun in the image has a special significance for me. It’s a symbol of closure, of letting go. The warmth of the sun begins to melt the ice, releasing its grip on the portraits, letting me breathe again. Healing, I’ve learned, is not an immediate process. It’s slow, deliberate, and sometimes painful. It takes time, and it takes patience. The ice doesn’t melt in an instant, and I’ve had to allow myself to thaw in my own time, to be gentle with myself even when I felt frustrated by how slow the process seemed. As the ice melts, my self-portraits are freed, slowly regaining their clarity. I am still finding myself, still piecing myself together, but I am emerging—not as the person I was, but as someone who has been through something deeply transformative.

The sunset tells me that this chapter is closing. It signals the end of a long, dark period in my life, one where I felt powerless, silenced, and small. But just as the sun will rise again, bringing light to a new day, there is hope. The sunset doesn’t mean the end of everything; it’s a chance to start anew, to find warmth and light again. It’s a promise of renewal after so much cold and darkness. The sunset in this image tells me that while the trauma is still a part of my story, it doesn’t have to define my future. It can slowly, steadily melt away, making space for new growth, new light, and new possibilities.

Creating this image was a way for me to express what words sometimes fail to convey. It’s a testament to my own resilience and to the difficult, often unseen journey of healing. The process hasn’t been linear; it’s been filled with moments of stillness and progress, of cold and warmth, of fear and hope. Defrosting this trauma has meant stepping out of that confined, controlling space, exposing my wounds to light, and allowing time, nature, and care to do their work.

When I look at this image, I don’t just see a block of ice melting on a pebble beach. I see my own courage to confront pain, to step into the open, and to slowly, steadily, come back to life. It’s a reminder that healing is possible, even if the process is slow and uncertain, and that there’s beauty in the thaw, in the way the sun melts the ice and reveals something new, something whole.

I’m incredibly honored to share that this image has been shortlisted for a British Photography Award, marking the second year in a row that my work has received this recognition. Being acknowledged for such a personal piece is especially meaningful, as it represents not just my journey through trauma, but also my growth as an artist. It’s a reminder that even the most painful experiences can lead to something beautiful and that through art, we can find a way to connect, heal, and share our stories with others. Being shortlisted again reinforces the importance of continuing to create and express, and I am deeply grateful for the opportunity.