Things are ramping up workwise in Lotteland, which is great for stuff like paying for my new roof, but less so for my sanity.
I’ll level with you: right now I feel overwhelmed, under pressure and out of control, and worse off it’s all of my own making.
This whole ‘do what you love’ self-employment thing – especially when juggled with a toddler and other life requirements (y’know, paying bills, doing chores, getting a few hours sleep) – well, it’s HARD.
I work stupidly long hours. I put in more hours now than I did when I was employed full-time – and at the moment, most of these hours are unpaid.
The awesomising brings in income, but the blogging, the marketing, the admin, I do all that for free baby. I’m basically working my arse off now in the blind hope that my efforts will be rewarded at some point in the future.
In the meantime, I have to rely on my (also self-employed) husband to pay the bills. Our income is sporadic. We’ve no savings and a heckofalotta debt.
And I notice, with some pain, that most of my family (and many of my friends) have no idea what I do, and rarely ask after my work: I assume because it embarrasses them, or bewilders them, or because they think I’m fucking mad.
And maybe they’re right.
I might purport that everything is awesome, but sometimes it doesn’t feel that way.
Sometimes I feel lonely, pursuing something that the people I love don’t seem to understand.
Sometimes I feel afraid, that one month my husband won’t be able to pay the bills, that through our idealism we’re putting our family at risk.
Sometimes I feel stupid, for quitting the safe job that I hated so much to chase my ridiculous dream.
And at moments like that, I stop and ask myself:
“What the Hell Am I Doing?”
And a voice inside me chimes back:
“You’re living your fucking life.”
And I realise, with unbridled glee, that despite the fear, the loneliness, the long hours, the low pay, the questions the doubts the worries, I realise that since I started following my own path – living life on my own terms – I’ve never – not ever – not even during the lowest sleep-deprived shit-hitting-fan moments – wished a moment of my life away. And that I don’t want to be anywhere but right here, right now.