It’s 11:03 on a Wednesday morning. I’ve walked Willow, read a few pages of my book, and I’m on my second cup of tea.
My inbox is still closed. The sun’s coming through the window. Music’s on low. I’m writing a little, slowly, because that’s what my brain wants to do first.
And still, in the back of my mind, there’s a voice:
You should be doing more.
I’ve worked for myself for eight years. I choose my projects. My hours. My pace. No one’s checking where I am or what I’m doing. And yet, sometimes it still feels like I’m being monitored. Not by a boss. By an old version of me. The one who sat at a desk five days a week and believed that being visibly busy meant being valuable.
I call it the corporate hangover.
Not burnout. Not resentment. Just the residue of a system I don’t live in anymore, but still carry in my nervous system.
What it actually is
It’s the guilt that creeps in on a slow morning. It’s replying to emails instantly, even when there’s no urgency. It’s feeling behind, just because you’re not glued to a screen at a socially approved hour. It’s that old equation: busy = good, rested = suspect.
It’s knowing, logically, that rest feeds creativity, that deep work needs space, that energy comes in waves… while still feeling like you should be “on” all the time.
Sometimes it’s like my body is still sitting in someone else’s office.
Where it comes from
Most of us were shaped by systems that rewarded availability, compliance, and pushing through. Stay late. Be reachable. Don’t drop the ball. Don’t be difficult.
We learned that being constantly “on” made us reliable. That slowing down needed a reason. That ease was indulgent.
You can leave the job. The wiring doesn’t always leave with you. It shows up in how you start your day. How quickly you respond. How hard you are on yourself when you pause.
What it quietly does
It messes with your self-trust. It makes you override your own rhythm. It rushes things that needed time. It fills silence that might have led somewhere interesting.
You end up recreating the same pressure, just internally. If you leave the office but take the culture with you, are you actually free?
The bit I’m learning
I’m trying to build something else now. Not a schedule that looks impressive. A rhythm that actually works.
Letting my week follow my energy, not the clock. Protecting deep work instead of fragmenting it. Letting light days be light. Letting rest exist without earning it first.
I’m not trying to do less. I care too much about what I make for that. I just don’t want urgency to be the default setting of my life.
Working for yourself isn’t only about being your own boss. It’s about noticing which rules are still running the show... and deciding, gently, that some of them don’t get to live here anymore.