Hey Reader,

I reckon the idea that the Sunday scaries disappear when you're self-employed is total BS.

I’ve been self-employed for a while now, but during a stint back in employment, the Sunday scaries crept right back in. Maybe it’s a Libra thing, a neurodivergence thing, an eldest daughter thing—or maybe it’s just a thing.

Here I am on Saturday night in Strasbourg, writing this while my husband snores like a freight train next to me (I swear, we might get thrown out of this hotel). And it hit me: I haven’t written to you just to chat for a while. Sure, my scheduled emails are ticking along, but I love writing off the cuff, and that’s been missing lately.

Writing late at night got me thinking about burnout, working long hours, and the strange pride we sometimes take in it. I’ve always said I’m a night owl, that I work best when the world is asleep. And sure, it’s partly true (I wrote my dissertation the night before it was due—don’t do that, by the way. Failed the degree. Who needs a degree in International Relations anyway?).

But let’s be real: working late and grinding endlessly isn’t a badge of honour. It’s not something I want to wear like a LOOK HOW BUSY I AM medal. At the same time, I won’t pretend I don’t work hard, because I do. Late nights, long hours, lots of focus. And honestly? I love it.

I recognise I’m in a privileged position.

• No kids.
• A self-sufficient husband.
• Parents who don’t need care.

No one depends on me, so I get to pour hours into my business. I’m lucky. But that doesn’t mean I buy into the “work two hours a week and make six figures” dream. It’s nonsense. If someone is working two hours a week and actually making six+ figures, they are doing it with the help of a small army they conveniently forget to mention at all the important bits.

If all you have is two hours, use them well. Progress will be slower, sure. But wouldn’t you rather spend that time working for your gain than worrying on a Sunday about what Monday will bring?

Do the Sunday scaries still get you?