Am I good enough?

Hey,

I had one of those conversations yesterday that's been sitting heavy on my chest.

A photographer—talented as hell, shooting for a few years, beautiful work—asked me the question that I hear in every fucking DM, every workshop, every quiet moment between sessions: "Am I good enough?"

Not "How do I get better?" Not "What should I learn next?" Just... am I good enough?

This question pisses me off. Not because it's stupid—it's not. But because it's the wrong fucking question, and it's keeping you stuck in a cycle of self-doubt that I know intimately.

The Wrong Question That's Keeping You Stuck

After 14 years of shooting, after panic attacks during weddings, after comparing my work to everyone else's Instagram highlights, after almost quitting this whole thing... I've learned something that might save you some pain.

The question isn't "Am I good enough?" The question is: "Good enough for what?"

Good enough to charge money? You probably already are. Good enough to capture someone's wedding day? If you give a shit about their story, yes. Good enough to call yourself a photographer? If you're taking photos that mean something to someone, absolutely.

But I think you're really asking something else. You're asking: Am I good enough compared to [insert photographer you follow]? Am I good enough to justify my prices? Am I good enough to stop feeling like a fucking fraud? Am I good enough to be taken seriously?

"Good enough" assumes there's some finish line. Some moment where you suddenly become "qualified" or "worthy" or whatever the fuck we're chasing. I've got news for you: That moment doesn't exist.

The Excel Sheet From Hell (My 2016 Wake-Up Call)

Let me tell you what happened to me in 2016. I was living the dream, right? Shooting weddings and love stories across Australia, Italy, Greece, Switzerland, Denmark, Iceland. My Instagram looked like a fucking travel magazine. I thought I had it figured out.

Then came this one wedding. Close to Hamburg. Something felt off from the inquiry—I couldn't put my finger on it, but my gut was screaming "don't book this one." The energy was weird. The questions they asked felt wrong. Everything in me said no.

I booked it anyway. Because money. Because I thought I was being dramatic.

The day itself went fine. Until the portrait session. The couple was... performing. Trying to be funny in ways that felt forced, wanting shots that didn't align with how I work. I felt like I was shooting strangers who were playing characters. I should have redirected better. I should have communicated clearer. But I was already mentally checked out.

The real nightmare started when I delivered the photos.

They sent back an Excel sheet. An actual fucking Excel sheet. With comments on 400+ images out of 600 delivered. They hated everything. The colors were wrong. The poses were wrong. The moments I thought were beautiful—wrong. Every single choice I made was dissected and dismissed.

They didn't want to pay. It turned into weeks of back-and-forth emails, justifications, revisions. I was defending every single creative decision, explaining why I shot what I shot, why I edited how I edited. I started questioning everything: my eye, my editing, my entire approach to photography.

"The worst part? Knowing they'd have this negative memory connected to their wedding day forever. That I'd somehow ruined something that should have been beautiful. That feeling ate me alive."

I almost quit. Seriously considered going back to my day job and leaving photography behind. I felt like a fraud. Like I'd been fooling people this whole time and finally got caught.

The Real Damage (What Nobody Talks About)

But here's the thing that really fucked me up: the damage didn't end when I stopped working with them.

For the rest of 2016 and honestly, way longer than that, every single time I delivered a gallery to clients, I'd get this sick feeling in my stomach. That anxiety of "what if they hate everything too?" I'd hover over the send button, second-guessing every image. Checking and rechecking. Waiting for another Excel sheet to land in my inbox.

I'd wake up in the middle of the night wondering if my latest delivery was good enough. If I'd captured what they wanted. If I was about to disappoint another couple on what should be the happiest day of their lives.

Thankfully, it never happened again. But that fear? That shit sat deep. It changed how I worked for years. Made me second-guess instincts that had served me well. Made me question everything.

"The gap between what they expected and what I delivered? That was on both of us. But the lesson was all mine."

What Actually Matters (The Lesson That Changed Everything)

It took me way too long to figure out what actually happened. It wasn't about the photos. It wasn't about my skill or my eye or my worth as a photographer. It was about fit.

I ignored my gut. I didn't communicate my vision clearly enough. I tried to be what they wanted instead of being who I am. I took on a client who wasn't right for me because I was afraid of saying no.

That Excel sheet couple taught me more about business than any workshop ever did. Not because they were right—they weren't. But because they showed me what happens when you ignore alignment for the sake of booking. When you try to please everyone instead of serving your people.

The Real Truth About "Good Enough":

"Good enough" isn't about technical perfection. It's about finding your people and serving their story authentically.

"Good enough" isn't about pleasing everyone. It's about being clear about who you are and what you create.

"Good enough" isn't about never failing. It's about learning to trust your gut and communicate your vision.

Now I listen to my gut. Now I communicate my vision upfront. Now I'd rather have five clients who love what I do than fifty who want me to be someone else.

"The question isn't 'Am I good enough?' The question is 'Am I good enough for the right people?'"

Your Daily Choice (What This Actually Means for Your Work)

Every time you show up with your camera, you're choosing to say: "I see something worth capturing here." Every time you edit a photo with intention, you're choosing to say: "This moment mattered." Every time you deliver a gallery, you're choosing to say: "I believe this story deserves to be told."

That's not about being "good enough." That's about being present, intentional, and giving a fuck.

Action Steps You Can Take Right Now

Instead of asking "Am I good enough?" try asking these questions:

• "How can I serve this couple's story better?"
• "What do I want to say with my work?"
• "How can I make this person feel amazing in front of my camera?"

Before Your Next Inquiry:

1. Trust your gut feeling - If something feels off, listen to it
2. Communicate your vision clearly - Show them exactly what you create
3. Ask the right questions - Make sure you're aligned before you book

Before Your Next Delivery:

1. Remember why you shot what you shot - Trust your creative decisions
2. Focus on the story you told - Not whether every image is "perfect"
3. Know that the right clients will love your work - Because it's authentically you

"The world doesn't need another 'perfect' photographer. It needs you—messy, learning, caring, present you."

A Question for You

Hit reply and tell me: What would you create if you knew you were already good enough?

Not in five years when you've "figured it out." Not when you have better gear or more followers or whatever milestone you're waiting for. Right now. Today. If you knew you were already good enough—what would you shoot?

I read every reply. I'm genuinely curious.

You already are good enough. You just haven't given yourself permission to believe it yet.

Hugs,
Bjørn

For the hearts still beating—keep creating, keep pushing, keep giving a damn.

If this hit different, forward it to someone who needs to hear it.