As of February 2025, I’ve been self-employed and working from home for fourteen years. For the most part, I love it. Sure, it’s hard work, I don’t always know where my next pay check is coming from, or how much it’ll be for, and there’s an awful of admin involved, but no two days are the same. I’m often juggling multiple tasks, with things bubbling away in the back of my brain for my next project even as I’m working on my current one. I also have a great deal of flexibility in how I manage my time.
It’s this flexibility that actually saved my sanity. During the summer of 2024, I was working on a novel. I’m not the world’s fastest writer, and I do find it hard to stay focused, especially if there are distractions around me (I have massive envy and admiration for those writers who can put fingers to keyboard, or pen to notebook and get lost in their writing to the extent they shut out everything around them). To counteract this, when writing I often close all computer programs except for Word, and put my phone on silent and turn it face down on my desk.
Unfortunately, not all distractions are so easy to control. The outside world is much more unpredictable, and last summer it seemed like the whole neighborhood was getting construction work of some sort done on their houses (I wish I knew where they were getting the money!). It was hot, so it was necessary to have tons of windows open to stay cool and get some air (I’m in England, so air-conditioning just isn’t a thing here, unless you’re rich), but this of course makes any sound even louder. And when you’ve got builders working on a house opposite, with all the power tools, shouting and van-door slamming involved in that, even closing the windows and putting in earplugs doesn’t help much. At one point, I had the windows closed, a fan on (loud white noise doesn’t distract me, as well as the fan helping keep me cool), noise-cancelling earplugs in, and noise-cancelling headphones over the top. It just about blocked out the racket, but my God I was in agony with the discomfort in my ears.
So, I’m trying to write a book with pins in my ears and my head in a vice, and sweating—all distractions in themselves. And there was little respite—the sense of relief I felt at seeing workmen packing up and leaving for good was brief, since no sooner did one gang leave one house, than another showed up to do something else at another property. Every quiet day, or even half day, felt like a miracle. It was insane, unbelievable, and started to really mess with my head. I’m incredibly sensitive to noise as it is, and it got to the point where it felt personal (I know it wasn’t, and obviously people have the right to do what they want, and this was happening during “sociable” hours, but the brain isn’t rational, particularly under duress). All I was doing was minding my own business, trying to earn a living so I might eventually be able to afford the work that desperately needs doing on my house, and it seemed like everything and everyone was against me.
Throw in a bunch of other minor first world problems, dramas, health issues and a couple of pretty traumatic events related to those close to me (they turned out okay, but it was a very worrying time), and I was completely at the end of my tether. Getting more stressed each day, occasionally tearful as I panicked about how I was going to get the damn book finished on time and make sure it was actually good. Working elsewhere isn’t an option—I don’t have anywhere quiet to go.
A week away on vacation with my other half provided some relief from the mental battering, but on returning the same old stresses were back with a vengeance, as well as a couple more for good measure.
That’s when I did something that surprised me.
No, I didn’t go on a murderous rampage, despite the frequent temptation.
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