A few years back, a number of things all came together at the same time for me to make some big changes. The doctor told me I had type II diabetes. In my case, this meant I had too much body for my pancreas to take care of. At the same time, I was asked to take part in a fundraiser that basically meant I was spending about 10 to 15 hours a week on a road bike.

I wasn’t that big on taking Metformin (it smells like fish), so I put myself on a restricted calorie eating plan trying to lose weight.

Over the course of a six months, I lost about 50 lbs. The real moment of truth came when I decided to enter the local triathlon. Or rather, I was recruited. Some triathlons only let you do the whole thing, but a lot of the small, local triathlons let you enter as a team. I was recruited to be the bike rider for my team.

The day of the event, I went down to where the triathlon was to be held, and I went into the bathroom to change into my biking outfit.

Now, I don’t know if you have done any road biking, but there is a dress code for people riding road bike, which is lycra followed by more lycra. The shorts are tight and—I found out later—see through in the right lighting conditions. The top is tight and, while not so see-through, hugs the body quite tightly. I remember looking at myself and thinking I looked like a colourful, overstuffed german sausage, despite the weight I had lost.

It took me a good ten minutes to walk out of the change room and into the bright light of public opinion in my tight shorts and even tighter shirt, ready to face the ridicule of the world.

And … nothing. Nobody pointed and laughed. Nobody said anything about the outfit. Nobody cared. They were too caught up in their own little worlds, maybe thinking about how they looked in their outfits, maybe. Or more likely, maybe focusing on the race. To this day, people don’t come up to me to point and laugh about that time I wore spandex in public. The public reaction was underwhelming. Non-existent, even.

I learned later that I was falling for what social scientists call “the Spotlight effect.” This means that, because I am the centre of my own universe, I expect everyone to pay attention to me, too. This is not the case, as revealed in a set of experiments at Cornell University.

In some of their studies, Cornell undergraduates were asked to wear a Barry Manilow t-shirt. Most college aged kids would find wearing a Manilow's tee-shirt in front of other students to be embarrassing. At the end of the study, the shirt wearer was asked to estimate what percentage of the other students would remember their shirt.

Fifty percent, they guessed. In actuality, when the others students were asked to identify the shirt, less than a quarter of them could do it. On average, people expected that twice as many people would recall the shirt as they actually did.

This is, on the surface of it, good news for those of us who feel shy, or are worried the world is judging us. Because as a general rule, they’re not. Or at least, not as much as you might think. This means that if you decide to do a boudoir shoot? Most people won’t care. The people closest to you might, but, for the most part, they’ll support you and want what’s best for you.

And the photographer? Is all about capturing what is best and most lovely about you, He is on your side and your biggest cheerleader. To be in front of my lens is to be in a safe place.

It might seem scary. It might seem like you’re going out on a really big limb, but don’t worry that people will judge you, because ultimately, the only person whose opinion matters? Is you.