I haven’t written a blog for a while, and if I’m being open about why, it’s because I haven’t had the headspace to. There’s been a lot going on up there, and I think I’m closer to burnout than I’ve been willing to admit, even to myself.

On the surface, it probably looks like things are going well, and in many ways they are. There’s work coming in, projects I care about, and Bring The Vivienne Home moving from an idea to something real. But underneath that, there are deadlines stacking up, briefs that shift without much direction, and the never ending admin of self-employment that nobody really warns you about, like chasing invoices for work you delivered months ago, to the point where I’ve had to take formal legal steps just to get paid.

That’s the part of self-employment that wears you down quietly. When you work for yourself, the work stress and the money stress aren’t two separate things, they’re the same thing, and you can’t switch one off without the other following you to bed. Saying no to work feels risky when the bills still need paying, so you say yes, and then you say yes again, and before long you’re spread across more than you can realistically hold.

And I’ll hold my hands up here, some of that is on me. I have a need to feel busy and productive all the time, as if my worth is measured in how full my calendar looks. Rest feels like falling behind. Passion projects become another workstream. Even the things I do for love start to carry the weight of obligation, and that’s not fair on them or on me.

Maybe I need to organise my time better. Maybe I need to be more upfront with people about my capacity, rather than quietly absorbing more until something gives. Those are probably both true… but they’re easier to write than to do when you’re also trying to make sure the rent goes out on time.

Then there’s the part that’s harder to say out loud.

I’m lonely. Not in a dramatic way, but in that background, persistent way that’s been there for most of my life. And I think that surprises people, because on the surface I’m seen as someone who’s well connected. I can walk into a room at an event and know half the people there, have a chat with everyone, and leave having made a few more connections. But knowing lots of people in rooms doesn’t translate into having a circle outside of them. When the event ends, everyone goes home to their friends, their partners, their group chats, and I go home, and it’s just me and Theo.

That’s the misjudgement, I think. Being visible and being known aren’t the same thing, and being surrounded by people isn’t the same as having people. I’ve never really had a circle of friends, the kind you see in holiday photos and Sunday afternoon plans, and as I head towards 36 in December, there’s a voice in the back of my head asking whether I’m going to end up the single old gay, still busy, still working, still going home to an empty flat.

I think the loneliness and the busyness feed each other. When you don’t have much of a circle, work fills the space, and when work fills the space, there’s less room to build anything else. It’s a loop, and I’m not entirely sure how to step out of it yet.

I don’t have a neat ending for this one. I’m not writing it because I’ve figured anything out, I’m writing it because I needed to get it out of my head and onto the page, and because I suspect I’m not the only one feeling some version of this.

If you’re self-employed, running on fumes, and quietly lonely with it, I see you. I’m right there with you.