slow it down.
on burnout and figuring out how to live with less (again).
Spoiler: i burned out in January. Again.
Not the dramatic, Hollywood-style burnout where i throw my laptop out of the window and storm off into the mist. No, this was the slow, creeping kind. The kind where you wake up every morning with a pit in your stomach, dreading the day ahead. Where your body is in the chair, but your brain is off somewhere screaming quietly into the void. The kind where you start fantasising about getting sick, just so you can lie down and stop.
In March, i quit my job.
It wasn’t my first burnout. Back in 2013, i hit the same wall – slammed into it, actually. That one arose from Sheryl Sandberg telling all the tech girlies to Lean In, that we could ‘have it all’, and, tragically, i believed her. i leaned in so hard i nearly toppled over.
i was working 24/7 for a US social media start-up, chasing their mythical hockey stick of growth. One month, i was working out of Tel Aviv; the next, it was San Francisco. All the while, i was pretending to be “crushing it.” i was juggling Slack notifications, a gazillion emails, a puppy, a small child and a toddler – often all at the same time. It was ambitious, exhausting, and completely unsustainable.
Soon after, we left London altogether. We moved to the Cotswolds, bought Blundstones and learned to make soup from root vegetables. It was a full reset.
Self-diagnosing as ‘allergic to stress’, i chased a slow life long before it was trending on Instagram. And for a while, it worked. i learned how to breathe again. i walked without my phone glued to my hand. i remembered how much i liked taking pictures; how much i enjoyed cathartically spilling myself into words.
But somewhere along the way, the emails started creeping back in. The calendar started filling up. The meetings started breeding like rabbits. i got busy at being “better”. Until, suddenly, i wasn’t.
This time, though, i’m hoping to do things differently.
i’m walking away from being a corporate bunny (for the second time), and with it, the regular salary, the job title, and the slightly smug status updates that made me feel important. i'm also walking towards uncertainty, which, if i’m honest, is terrifying when you’re a single parent. Last time it happened, i wasn’t alone.
But here’s the thing. i’ve started to wonder if earning less might actually mean living more.
i know. Radical. Borderline unpatriotic. But hear me out.
If i spend less, i won’t need to earn as much, right? And if i don’t need to earn as much, i won’t have to work as much. Which means less of the Sunday scaries, less stress, and more time for... i don’t know, whatever i used to do before my job became my personality.
i'm not dropping out. i’m not thinking of starting a YouTube channel about composting toilet hacks (unless the algorithm demands it). But i am going to try to live a life that doesn’t revolve around buying things to soothe the exhaustion that comes from earning the money to buy the things. You know the cycle. It’s exhausting just typing it out.
So here’s my not-even-remotely-complete plan for doing less:
1. accepting less money (without spiralling).
i’m actively telling myself that earning less doesn’t mean i’m failing. It just means i’m prioritising something else: calm, space, maybe even a spine that’s not locked in a permanent hunch. It’s going to take a shift in mindset. My worth isn’t tied to my income. Neither is my creativity, or my usefulness to the world. i’m trying to detach from that dopamine hit of “being needed” at work and find it somewhere else. Maybe in baking bread. Maybe in talking to my neighbour's dog.
2. cutting back without feeling deprived.
The goal isn’t austerity. It’s alignment. i’m not looking to punish myself by cutting out coffee or cancelling Netflix. i’m just paying closer attention. i’m asking: does this expense actually bring me happiness, or is it just a placeholder for not having time to do something more meaningful? i’ve started selling stuff, unsubscribing from emails that make me want things i don’t need, and slowly realising that having fewer options sometimes feels like freedom.
3. time-rich, not cash-rich.
i’d rather have a Tuesday afternoon free for a long walk than a bank account that looks impressive but comes with a side of migraines. The new luxury is time. The new flex is rest. It’s having the bandwidth to cook my own lunch, or spend an hour lost in a book, or just being bored long enough to remember what my own thoughts sound like. i’ve been time-poor for so long i forgot it’s a resource i can reclaim, one notification at a time.
4. getting real with the numbers.
i’m finally sitting down with my budget – properly this time, not just sheepishly squinting at it and hoping it improves on its own. i’m tracking what i spend, looking for patterns, and questioning the assumptions behind every recurring direct debit (no, Spotify, i am not looking at you <3). i’m learning that the key isn’t cutting back everything; it’s being honest about what matters. i don’t need five of the same white tee-shirt hanging on my rail, but i do need my monthly coffee subscription. It’s about choosing.
5. slowing down without losing momentum.
This is a tricky one. i still want to create things, contribute, build stuff i’m proud of. But i want to do it at a pace that doesn’t fry my nervous system. i’ve started working on projects i actually care about: writing more, helping friends launch things, i might even plant some vegetables. There’s no roadmap, and that’s okay. i’m learning to trust that slow doesn’t mean stagnant. It just means deliberate. Which is maybe the most grown-up thing i’ve ever said.
i’ll be honest, i’m still scared. i’ve built so much of my identity around being needed. Around being busy, important, always reachable. Letting go of that feels a little like pulling the plug on a life support machine, even if the machine was making me cry.
But i’m also kind of excited. There’s something wildly freeing about choosing less in a world that constantly screams more. Maybe i won’t have the ad-agency salary or the cool-girl matriarch status anymore, but maybe, just maybe, i’ll have something better. A little peace. Evenings that don’t end in an anxiety spiral. Mornings that don’t start with dread. Space to think. Time to feel like myself again.
And if it all goes terribly wrong... well, the Cotswolds are still outside my front door.
Until next time: may your inbox be quiet, your cup full of coffee, and your days a little more your own.
Love,
Lyss. x
p.s. got a hot tip for living with less? (or just to cheer me on), hit me up in the comments below.
It's hard isn't it. I oscillate between feeling I should be doing more (as in career climbing, or just more cash) and also pleased I can move things round to go for a sunny beach walk.