Since December 2024, I’ve had no income. Not a cent. It’s not quite as bleak as it sounds — it was part accident, part intention, part something in between.
One of the main reasons? My last contract was cancelled — a casualty of government funding cuts to the disability sector. After years of dedicated work, it ended with a quiet email. No replacement. No transition. Just… stop.
And then, I was injured. Nothing life-threatening, but enough to force me to slow down. If I’m honest, I wanted to stop. After nearly 40 years of work — most of it self-employed — the idea of a break wasn’t unappealing. In fact, it was long overdue.
There’s been some beauty in the pause. A chance to breathe, heal, reflect. I’ve been exploring a new focus. One that’s less reactive, more intentional. Less about solving problems, more about asking better questions.
But, as with most things, there’s a shadow side.
No income means dipping into savings — the same savings I was proud to have because I’d chosen self-employment for the freedom, not the false security of a regular salary. It means uncertainty. It means the quiet pressure of knowing that nothing’s coming in, even as everything else — rent, food, life — keeps going out.
Worse, perhaps, is the existential drift. Without projects, deadlines, or purpose, motivation has become slippery. It turns out doing nothing is hard work when your identity has always been about doing something.
So here I sit — somewhere between liberation and limbo. Between grateful stillness and gnawing instability. It's a dichotomy I didn’t anticipate, and one I can’t easily resolve.
But maybe that’s the point. Not every chapter needs a tidy arc or a heroic comeback. Some are just about sitting with the contradiction — and letting that be enough, for now.