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“You can’t cuss out the situation. So sometimes, we just need someone to unload our stress on.” — Jamie Hughes
Helping creatives find their voice in an industry that rewards conformity, trends, and bullshit.
Photographers. Designers. Filmmakers. Writers. If you’ve ever felt like you’re doing it all wrong in a creative industry obsessed with followers, hustle, and aesthetic perfection, this is for you.
Hosted by Patrick Fore, The Terrible Photographer is part therapy session, part creative survival guide. We talk about burnout (without the platitudes), making money (without selling your soul), and what it really takes to build a sustainable, honest creative life.
If you’ve ever wondered:
• How to make money as a creative without losing your voice
• How to recover from burnout and stay in the game
• Where to find clients who value the work
• Or if you’re just too honest for this business…
You’re not alone.
New episodes every Tuesday. Listen if you’re ready to build a creative career that still feels like you.
The Wrong Target
It's 1:32 PM.
Typical San Diego day, blue skies, 72 degrees, soft breeze drifting through the patio door. My dog, Loki, is outside chasing crows like a self-appointed back yard guardian.
The coffee on my desk is lukewarm—third cup of the day.
There's jasmine and orange blossom in the air. For a moment, I forget about invoices and deadlines and unpaid production costs. For a moment, it's just a Tuesday.
Then my phone buzzes.
It's a text from a guy I worked with on a recent shoot.
"Hey—just saw the campaign went live. Did you know that??"
And everything in my body changes.
I freeze.
That shoot—the one I delivered months ago, the one that hasn't been paid for? Yeah. That one. It's published. Live on the site. The client is using the work, cashing in on it, while my invoice is still sitting in digital purgatory somewhere between "processing" and "forgotten."
My back knots up between my shoulder blades. My jaw clenches. My breathing turns shallow.
I open my mail. I start typing.
It's not a rage email. Not quite. It's controlled. Precise. Sharp enough to make a point without drawing blood.
I read it back once. Twice. Professional, but unmistakably pissed. The kind of email that makes HR departments forward it up the chain. Subject line: Immediate Payment Required – Contract Violation.
I scroll back through the thread. Polite follow-ups. The original invoice. Proof of delivery.
Then I open their website again, and there it is — my work. My photos, videos. Already live. Already in use. And not a single goddamn cent in my account.
My finger hovers over the send button like it's a trigger. And I pause—just long enough to pretend I'm being thoughtful. That I "considered" the consequences. That I "stayed calm."
Then I click.
And for the next thirty minutes, I feel incredible.
Righteous. Justified. Electric. Like I finally stood up for myself after a hundred times letting things slide. I pace the kitchen. I pour a drink I don't need. I screenshot the email and text it to a few photographer friends.
The replies come in fast. "Hell yes." "You're totally in the right." "Finally someone puts these clients on blast."
They're hyping me up like I just gave a TED Talk on setting boundaries. And part of me eats it up. I feel like the protagonist in a revenge movie where the quiet guy finally snaps. Cue the applause. Cue the slow-motion walkaway from the explosion.
Then my phone rings.
My name is Patrick Fore, this is The Terrible Photographer Podcast, Episode 20 and today's episode is called, The Wrong Target. When the Rage Feels Right (Until It Doesn’t)
It's the client.
And I knew I should not have picked up that call. I wasn't in the right headspace. But, stupidly, I answered anyway. Because some delusional part of me thought this was my hero moment. That I'd say the perfect thing, and they'd crumble into apology. That justice would be served.
What happened next wasn't justice. It was rage. Pure, unfiltered, months-of-financial-stress rage. Measured, articulate rage — but rage all the same.
I didn't just burn the bridge. I dropped a bomb on it, then pissed on the ashes.
And as I hung up, part of me felt victorious. The other part… hasn't stopped thinking about it since.
What the Hell Happened to Me?
The timeline was complex. I'd delivered the work months earlier. Campaign shoot, complicated, production-heavy, a ton of moving pieces. This was the final invoice. Thirty days came and went. No payment. No explanation. I felt like an ignored girlfriend who just wanted an answer.
But here's what made me furious: the client seemed apathetic. He took no accountability. He refused to acknowledge the situation he had put me in.
When that executive called, he wasn't trying to explain their payment process—he didn't even know what it was. He was in another state, completely removed from accounts payable. He admitted he had no control over the timeline, no influence over when payments went out.
But here's what got to me: while he wasn't complicit in the delay, he wasn't pushing for urgency either. He was just... accepting it as normal business practice. Like this was my problem to deal with, not theirs to fix.
And that's when something darker took over. I wasn't just standing up for myself anymore. I was unleashing months of frustration about every late payment, every client who treated my work like a suggestion, every time I'd felt like a vendor instead of a professional.
I wasn't comfortable with how things played out, but more than that, I wasn't comfortable with why my brain seemed to go to such dark places when under stress. So I called someone who might have answers.
JAMIE: "With ADHD, there is a huge component of this sense of justice. It kind of has to do with the fact that we process a lot of information all at once, and so our brain tries to make sense of that, and one of the ways it makes sense of it is by creating categories and rules. This should be this way, it should be that way. Which also can lead to frustration even sometimes over little things."
That's Jamie Hughes. He's a social psychologist who specializes in trauma, resilience, and self-care. I called him because I had more questions—I needed to get to the bottom of what was happening to me and why. Jamie has a Master's degree in psychology and works as both a researcher and a certified life coach. He's written books on managing anxiety and PTSD, and he's spent years helping people understand the science behind their emotional responses.
That hit home. My brain had created a rule: clients pay on time, especially before using the work. When that rule was broken, it wasn't just a business inconvenience—it felt like a fundamental violation of how the world should work.
JAMIE: "It's one of those things where you kinda have to take a step back and look at yourself and say, alright, this is what I know about myself. Therefore, as soon as I recognize a trigger I need to practice taking a step back." [Timecode: 15:08-15:34]
I went after him. Hard. I was controlled, but barely. Professional, but aggressive. I pointed to my contract like it was a weapon. I questioned his company's integrity. I made him absorb all of it.
Now, I didn't say anything on that call I wouldn't want repeated in a mediation proceeding or in front of a judge. I may be dumb, but I'm not stupid.
But I was ruthless. Cold. I turned the conversation into an interrogation.
This wasn't some righteous Aaron Sorkin moment. No applause break. Just me, standing alone in my kitchen, feeling like a giant asshole.
And here's what I keep coming back to: Why did part of me enjoy it?
Is Something Wrong With Me?
There was this weird emotional cocktail happening. Rage, yes. Anxiety, absolutely. But also… satisfaction? This internal pop of "Finally, I get to be angry."
Because here's what I've realized about myself—I spend so much energy being agreeable, being the easy photographer to work with, being understanding when things don't go according to plan. So many times there isn't an outlet for frustration. You just internalize it, swallow it, move on.
I can physically feel what happens to my body when situations like this arise. My back tightens between my shoulder blades. My breathing gets shallow. There's this ache in my shoulders, like I'm bracing for impact.
I’ve had this as long as I can remember, so I asked Jamie about what is going on.
JAMIE: "That is the HPA axis, the hypothalamus pituitary adrenaline axis. So it's a communication network that runs your fight or flight or freeze system in your body. So when you have that frustration, it starts pumping adrenaline and cortisol through your system and you literally feel tense and flushed, that fight or flight response." [Timecode: 16:35-17:35]
And how rarely we get permission to let that out, especially as professionals, especially as men, especially as people-pleasers who've built careers on being accommodating.
I want to be clear—this isn't something that happens all the time. This was the first time I'd lost control with a client like this. And I want it to be the last.
But I can't pretend it didn't feel good in the moment. And that scares me.
So I started digging. I needed to understand what happened to me that day. What I found in the research was both disturbing and oddly comforting.
Turns out when your brain perceives injustice—real or imagined—it floods your system with stress hormones like cortisol and adrenaline. That physical pain I felt, that back tension, that shallow breathing? That's your musculoskeletal system responding to perceived threat. My body was literally preparing for battle.
But here's the fucked up part: that adrenaline rush triggers dopamine release. My brain was chemically rewarding me for being aggressive. The satisfaction I felt wasn't some moral failing—it was neurochemistry. My reward system lighting up like a Christmas tree, saying "Hey, that felt good! Let's do that again!"
I asked Jamie about this, and this was burning question for me—why did it feel good to be angry?
JAMIE: "Part of that is that sense of justice, and part of it could be that there have been times in your past where you may have felt powerless in some situations. So when something like this comes up, now your body's triggered into these emotions, to this physiological response, that's what's there. That's kind of what's beneath the surface."[Timecode: 18:49-20:00]
That hit me hard. Because he's right—there have been times I've felt powerless. Times I couldn't speak up, couldn't fight back, had to swallow my frustration and just take it. And maybe, in that phone call, I wasn't just angry at this client. Maybe I was finally getting to fight back against every time I'd felt small, every time I'd been dismissed, every time someone with more power had made me feel like I didn't matter.
The satisfaction I felt wasn't just about standing up for myself in this situation. It was about finally getting to be powerful after years of feeling powerless.
And that's even more unsettling than the original anger. Because it means I turned this poor creative director into a stand-in for everyone who'd ever made me feel less than. He became the face of every boss who'd talked down to me, every client who'd made me feel disposable, every situation where I'd walked away wishing I'd said something different.
And the guilt that followed? That's normal too. Research shows that guilt—unlike shame—actually indicates a healthy moral compass. It means my rational mind recognized that my actions didn't align with my values.
Jamie explained it this way.
JAMIE: "And especially if you're not narcissistic, and this is one the distinctions between people that are narcissistic and just have this huge ego, they don't feel bad after they treat people like crap." [Timecode: 25:18-25:32]
Knowing this doesn't change what I did. If anything, it makes it more unsettling. Because now I understand the machinery behind it. The next time I feel that cortisol spike, that dopamine hit calling me to be the hero of my own story, I'll know what's happening.
Whether I choose differently... that's the real test.
Money as a Trigger, Not an Excuse
Here's what I've learned about financial stress: it warps everything. When you're under pressure to pay contractors, when your own bills are stacking up, every client interaction gets magnified.
This wasn't just my money I was worried about. I had contractors waiting to be paid—thousands and thousands of dollars owed to people who had trusted me to handle this project. When you're responsible for other people's livelihoods, when their rent and groceries depend on you getting paid, every delayed payment becomes a betrayal of that trust. This wasn't just about me anymore. It was about all of us.
When you mix finances into the mix, people go a little crazy. Everything is heightened. Everything feels more intense.
A payment delay doesn't just feel like inconvenience—it feels like disrespect. A client mistake doesn't feel like human error—it feels like betrayal. You're not just protecting your business, you're protecting your survival.
But Jamie helped me understand something else—this wasn't just about this one late payment.
JAMIE: "I would say that it sounds more like this was just a stress buildup. And that maybe, you know, it is one of those straw that broke the camel's back kind of thing. I would guess this is probably not the first or the only thing that has been stressful or been on your mind recently." [Timecode: 11:27-12:20]
He was right. The financial pressure from this project had been building for months. Personal bills, contractor payments, the constant anxiety of cash flow. This client situation was just the match that lit the fuse.
It wasn't just about the money. But the money made it personal.
When you're operating from financial anxiety, empathy becomes collateral damage. The story in your head starts writing itself: They don't respect you. They think they can take advantage. They see you as disposable.
And maybe sometimes that story is true. But maybe sometimes it's not. And the problem is, when you're in survival mode, you can't tell the difference.
The Phone Call I Wish I Could Take Back
So there I was on the phone with this executive, and he's trying to explain their payment process. Something about approvals and systems and corporate bureaucracy. And instead of listening, instead of asking questions, I steamrolled him.
I talked over his explanations. I dismissed his attempts to clarify. I made him the face of every corporate entity that had ever made me feel small.
What I didn't consider in that moment: This guy probably didn't sign the checks. He probably had zero control over when payments went out. He might have been dealing with his own pressure from above, his own frustration with systems he couldn't change.
But he took the brunt of my anger anyway.
I turned him into a symbol instead of treating him like a person. And that's where I fucked up.
Ad Break
"Quick break—you're probably wondering what that email actually said, right? The 'professional but threatening' one with the subject line 'Immediate Payment Required - Contract Violation'?
I'm sharing the actual email in this week's FieldNotes newsletter at TerriblePhotographer.com. Everything redacted except the words that got me into trouble.
Because sometimes you learn more from seeing the breakdown than getting advice on how to avoid it.
Alright, back to the story—because sending that email was just the beginning of my very bad day..."
The Plot Twist That Changed Everything
Three days later, the payment came through. Full amount, no questions asked.
And that's when the guilt settled in. It hasn't left since.
Because suddenly I had to sit with the possibility that my nuclear reaction might have been disproportionate. Not wrong—they were still 30+ days late, they were still using my work without payment, that's still unprofessional as hell. But maybe it didn't require the level of intensity I brought to it.
So I asked Jamie about this—why does anger crash so hard into guilt?
JAMIE: "Guilt is one of those things where it's not like a core emotion, you know, it's not like anger, sorrow, things like that. It's a processing emotion. Your mind's trying to tell you something. So when you ask why, you can generally answer it." [Timecode: 42:00-42:30]
And when I asked myself why I felt guilty, the answer was clear: because I recognized that I was a little too harsh. Because I probably shouldn't have said some of the things I said. Because I aimed my frustration at someone who didn't deserve the full force of it.
So the guilt, as uncomfortable as it is, means something. It means I still have a moral compass that's working.
Then I had a conversation with a veteran photographer, someone who's been in this industry for decades. He told me late payments from big corporations are more common than I thought. "I have major clients who are regularly 60, 90 days out," he said. "They still use the work. It's just how it works."
Which made the guilt even worse.
I was operating under the assumption that this was an unusual situation, a violation that demanded a strong response. But apparently, I was dealing with standard operating procedure. The industry has just normalized something that shouldn't be normal.
The injustice is still real. Big corporations with resources treating freelancers like interest-free credit lines—that's predatory. They know small businesses can't afford lawyers or to walk away from big contracts.
But that doesn't change the fact that I aimed my frustration at the wrong target.
What Empathy Actually Looks Like
Real empathy isn't about being nice. It's not about letting people walk all over you or accepting bad behavior because someone might be having a hard day.
Empathy is pattern recognition. It's asking: What pressure might this person be under that I can't see? What part of this situation is beyond their control?
It's Sherlock Holmes-level observation: You see, but do you observe?
When that executive was trying to explain their payment process, what if I had listened? What if I had asked questions instead of making accusations? What if I had directed my frustration at the system instead of the person caught in it?
I don't know if it would have changed the outcome. But I know it would have changed me.
Because here's what I'm learning: When you respond to a broken system by becoming toxic yourself, you don't fix anything. You just add more toxicity to the world.
The Weight of Misdirected Anger
That mid-level executive went home that day having been yelled at for something that wasn't really his fault. He absorbed my anger about every late payment, every financial stress, every moment I've felt devalued in this industry.
That's not his job. That's not fair. And that's what I can't stop thinking about.
Jamie put it perfectly when I asked him about it:
JAMIE: "You can't cuss out the situation. It's not gonna do anything. So there's a part of us as human beings that we want fairness. We want the right thing to be done. We want someone to solve it. We want someone to fix it. And sometimes we just need someone to take out your frustrations on, someone to unload your stress on." [Timecode: 30:35-31:11]
The system is broken. Corporate payment practices are fucked. The way this industry treats creative professionals is wrong. But making one person carry all of that frustration doesn't fix any of it.
It just spreads the damage around.
It Will Happen Again
I'll face another moment like this. Different client, different stakes, but the same part of me that got triggered will be there, waiting.
The financial pressure isn't going away. The industry isn't going to fix itself overnight. And that part of me that lights up when I feel wronged—that's not disappearing either.
So maybe the work isn't to never get angry. Maybe it's to recognize when the story in my head has taken the wheel. Maybe it's to pause long enough to ask: Who am I really angry at? And is this person the right target for that anger?
But here's what gives me hope. When I asked Jamie if it's actually possible to change these deep-seated patterns, he said something that stuck with me:
JAMIE: "We have neuroplasticity... You still have that neuroplasticity where you can relearn, where you can alter the neural pathways in your mind, and it takes practice. Almost all of this stuff is skill-based in terms of your reaction and your behavior." [Timecode: 45:00-46:00]
So, fortunately or unfortunately, for me, I feel this kind of anxiety, and I wanted to know what do you do when you feel that cortisol spike coming on? When you can feel your muscles start to tense and your breathing start to shallow.
JAMIE: "When you started feeling that, you know, you were getting extra frustrated, angry, whatever. That's when you have to say, okay, whoop, I feel this coming on. I need to take a step back." [Timecode: 36:00-36:20]
Whether I choose differently next time... that's the real test.
So What Now?
This story doesn't have a neat ending. I didn't call him back to apologize. He didn't reach out to clear the air. The bridge is gone, and honestly, I'm okay with that.
But I'm not okay with how I showed up.
Not because it made me look bad—though it probably did. But because it didn't feel like me. It felt like some twisted version of me, someone who uses justified anger as permission to be cruel.
And I don't want to be that person again.
Ad Break 2
Okay, so this is the part where I do something that feels wildly uncomfortable: read compliments about myself out loud.
I know, I know — this is usually the part in other podcasts where someone says, “If you’re loving the show, don’t forget to like and subscribe!” in a voice that sounds like they just had dental work.
But here’s the deal: reviews actually do help more people find the show. So I’m gonna read a few — partly because they mean a lot, and partly because my imposter syndrome needs proof that at least four people are listening.
[Reads review — e.g. Carribeth000]
“Delightfully Terrible. I love this podcast because it’s different. It’s not a get-rich-quick roadmap, it’s not about using the best gear. It’s insightful, contemplative, somewhat historical, and yes, charmingly cynical…”
Honestly, if I ever need a dating profile bio, this is it. Insightful, contemplative, and charmingly cynical? That’s going on a tote bag.
[Reads another — e.g. LCphotog116]
“Every episode leads me to dig deep and really think about the ‘why’ when I look through my camera’s viewfinder…”
I love this one because that’s exactly what I hope the podcast does. If I can get someone to stop doomscrolling presets and start asking deeper questions — then I’ve done my job. Kind of. Maybe.
[Closing CTA]
If you’ve been listening and you haven’t left a review yet, please do. Especially if it’s five stars and includes the phrase “charmingly cynical.” It helps the podcast reach more people — and honestly, it just makes my day.
And if your review roasts me a little? Even better.
Close
This week, if you feel that spark of anger rising, ask yourself: What is this trying to protect? What am I afraid of losing? And most importantly: Who am I really angry at?
Then ask the same questions about the person in front of you.
The system might be broken. The situation might be genuinely unfair. But the person you're talking to might be just as trapped in it as you are.
That's not an excuse for bad behavior. It's not a reason to accept being taken advantage of. It's just a reminder that sometimes the enemy isn't the person across from you—it's the circumstances that put you both in an impossible position.
But I also want to be honest about something else. This was my first time losing control with a client like this. For me, it was an anomaly that I could learn from. But Jamie pointed out something important about when this kind of reaction might need more help:
JAMIE: "Be honest with yourself, be introspective. Just sit down and think, is this normal for me? Is this a repetitive behavior? Has that happened before? If you realize that this is something that's common or somewhat common occurrence, that's a good indication it's time to talk to a therapist because there's some underlying issue." [Timecode: 47:00-48:00]
If you recognize yourself in this story — if this kind of reaction happens more than once in a blue moon — maybe it’s time to talk to someone who can help you figure out what’s underneath. Not just the surface anger, but the survival instinct behind it. The fear. The grief. The old stories that still drive your reactions like they’re riding shotgun with a map and no seatbelt.
And if you’ve burned a bridge you wish you hadn’t — if you’ve said the thing you can’t unsay, slammed the door you meant to close gently — I’d love to hear your story.
Not to fix it. Not to absolve you.
Just to witness it.
Because sometimes that’s what empathy actually looks like.
Huge thanks to Jamie Hughes for helping me untangle this mess. You can follow him on Instagram @managing.mental.health, or check out his work and resources at his website. He’s got more wisdom, science, and straight talk than most people with four letters after their name. Check the show notes for more info on how to connect with Jamie.
And if this episode hit something in you — guilt, relief, recognition, whatever — shoot me an email: patrick@terriblephotographer.com.
I’m listening.
And hey — maybe next time we feel that familiar fire rising, we can pause just long enough to ask:
Is this the right fight?
Is this the right target?
Is this who I want to be on the other side of it?
We’ll see you next Tuesday
Until the, Stay Curious, Stay COuragous, and yeah, Stay Terrible