Why I Picked Up the Camera: From Combat Boots to Cold Arenas
I didn’t pick up a camera to become a photographer. I picked it up to survive.
For 24 years, I wore the uniform. First as a signal operator, then in special operations. I’ve been to places most people only hear about in news headlines—combat zones, peacekeeping missions, and tarmacs where sleep was a luxury and a bottle of water felt like gold.
When I came home, I thought the fight was over. I was wrong. PTSD isn’t loud. It doesn’t kick down your door. It creeps in silently—until you’re angry, shut down, pacing the room, pushing people away. I didn’t know who I was without the job, the structure, the adrenaline. I was lost in it.
Then one day, standing in a freezing cold arena watching my son Nico on the ice, something clicked. I was about to yell—at the ref, at Nico, at the game, maybe just at the noise in my own head. But instead, I grabbed my camera.
What started as a way to stay grounded—to not lose my temper—became something more. I looked through the viewfinder and saw things I hadn’t really seen in a long time: passion, fire, struggle, resilience. The game wasn’t just a game anymore. It was life happening in real time, right in front of me.
That camera saved me in ways I can’t fully explain. PTSD doesn’t just affect the person carrying it—it affects everyone around them. I made mistakes during that time. Big ones. I hurt people I love. Pushed them away. Took for granted the kind of loyalty and love most people only dream about. But even in that storm, she stayed. She saw something in me I couldn’t even see in myself. And while I was busy losing pieces of who I was, she held on. Not just to me—but to the belief that I could come back from it.
Now, photography is part of who I am. I don’t just shoot hockey—I capture emotion, energy, and effort. I shoot because it gives me focus. It calms the storm. It reminds me I still have purpose. Canadian Traditions Photography was born out of this second chance at life and identity. This blog? It’s my space to share the real behind the images. Not lighting setups or shutter speeds—but moments. Emotions. Struggles. Wins. Losses. The stuff that matters.
If you’re here, thank you. Maybe you’re a parent trying to make it through another hockey season, a veteran carrying your own weight, or someone just trying to find a new way forward. Either way—you’re not alone.
This is the start of something real.
—CT
