I came to this profession out of passion. I’ve been photographing more or less since the turn of 2000/2001. I quickly found a group of people who shared the same interest, and in their company, I developed my skills. Just as quickly, I had my first publications in photography magazines (2002) and took part in my first group exhibition. Everything moved fast—I went all in.

In 2002, I finished my studies (sociology and social work) and basically started working straight away. For four years—with different employment statuses: first briefly as a volunteer, then an intern, and finally on a temporary contract—I worked as a social worker in an emergency care centre. But I realised that it wasn’t my fairy tale. And it wasn’t the profession itself—it was the conditions in which it had to be practised.

In 2006, I made the decision to leave. The only direction I could turn was photography. I couldn’t do anything else. With full commitment, putting everything on the line, and learning photojournalism on the fly, I began working with several Silesian press titles and a photo agency.

The phrase “putting everything on the line” is key here. At the start, it was necessary to take off, to focus entirely on learning the trade, to be fully available and ready (as it is in the press world). Over time, I could’ve eased off but I didn’t. That full focus stayed with me for years.

Putting everything on one card meant maximum dedication to photography in every dimension. It also led me, perhaps unconsciously, to adopt what I called the “three-in-one model”.
I created a kind of construct – let’s call it PERSONA – consisting of three elements: me, Joanna + me, the photographer + me, the business owner.
I identified so deeply with what I was doing that I lost the ability to separate myself from the roles I had taken on. Maybe that doesn’t matter when all three areas are thriving. The problems begin when any one of them starts to fail.

A poor psycho-physical state can lead to reduced creativity and difficulty making business decisions. A creative block can undermine the point of running a business and hurt your self-esteem. Business struggles can cast doubt on the value of your work and, in turn, affect your mental health. It becomes a closed circuit.
Building a personal brand is based on I AM. That’s what it is. But I now understand how essential it is to maintain a healthy distance between I AM and the roles I’ve chosen.

And how does this relate to burnout?

In every way. A crisis in one area spills into the others. You start to sink across the board. You stop seeing your own resources, skills, competencies, achievements, your talent. Struggles with performance hit your confidence. Your self-esteem wavers.
Such strong attachment to the PERSONA construct makes it nearly impossible to change direction or do something different. It becomes all or nothing. Or rather – everything, at any cost.

I know I need to restructure my business. It became clear that if I couldn’t, I’d have to close my studio and company. Saying that for the first time – with a stomach in knots – I actually felt relieved.
I began to see the “three-in-one” model unravel. I saw who I still was, the skills and experience I had – transferable to other fields – and that I would still be me, even if I started doing something completely different. Changing paths wouldn’t erase my achievements in photography.
That moment of unraveling and letting go,  had a healing power.

So I started saying out loud – though not without difficulty – that maybe I would “shut it down”. I needed to hear myself say it. I needed to talk about it, even though it was incredibly painful. I went from feeling like a total failure to accepting that it could happen.
Now, I’m exploring other possibilities. I’m giving myself time, trying to be patient and respectful of the process. I’m not rushing decisions, though it’s not easy to hang in this “in-between.”
I’m opening up to suggestions, even ones that (perhaps only seemingly) are far from photography.

Back to “putting everything on the line”. From then on, I lived only for photography. The first few years demanded 100% focus in a completely new field – then it just stayed that way.
Sure, I exercised, went hiking, read books. But making my passion into a profession meant I never created a new passion, a balancing interest, something clearly non-work and creative.
This “one card” mindset also shaped how I worked: only taking photos. It was hard to look sideways, introduce variety, broaden my activities (not just new areas of photography, but using my knowledge about photography), or allow in something completely different. PERSONA was uncompromising.
Looking back, I wonder if I believed that once I achieved “this” or improved at “that”, I could finally relax. But the bar just kept moving. No limits.

I want to challenge the saying, “Do what you love and you’ll never work a day in your life”.
When I hear it, I’m furious. I find it absurd, though I get that others might feel differently. Turning your passion into your profession changes everything. From that moment on, you’re creating for money. And that brings pressure.

By choosing to make photography my profession, I took on the entire package: treating it as a product, improving service quality, client acquisition and relations, sales, marketing and communication, personal branding, correspondence, contracts, finances, social media.
I became an entrepreneur. I entered the market – with all that entails. For the system, I stopped being an artist and became a business owner, even though the core of my work remained the same.
Isn’t all that work?

{Digression. In Katowice – I’m not sure how it is in other cities – this shift has another consequence: I don’t qualify for a subsidized studio space for artistic activity from city resources. Only commercial rentals are an option.
There is the “Lokal na Kulturę” (Local for Culture) programme, where having a sole proprietorship is required, but in my opinion, it’s largely a way for the city to renovate dilapidated premises using someone else’s money. The programme has been around for a few years now, so soon most of the worst spaces will likely be gone.}

Fortunately, I enjoyed all this “corporate” stuff. I was curious, eager to learn new skills and I genuinely liked it. But I know many artists for whom this setup is oppressive and, above all, unprofitable. That’s enough about sole proprietorship for now, I’ll return to it in a later piece.

I realise this text may carry a note of bitterness. My intention isn’t to complain, or to discourage artists from becoming entrepreneurs, or to deny anyone’s accomplishments.
I just need to name the dark sides of my path, the things that led me to burnout. Commitment and determination are necessary. But in excess, like anything else, they become destructive. Because now I know: I could have prevented my burnout or at least softened its blow.

May 2025

Articles in this series can be found under the category “burnout in freelancing”.