I Wasn't Lost, I Just Wasn't Listening...

How I stopped panicking, started listening, and built a life and career designed around my needs.

I spent most of my 20s confused as fuck. A few years into my 30s, I’m still figuring things out, but with more clarity, less panic, and a deeper trust in myself. That lost-in-the-sauce feeling that proliferated my 20s has finally simmered down.

Especially when it comes to how I want to spend my time and chi making money.

I’ve had long-standing qualms with work as a structure: the way it’s organised, rewarded, and controlled, and the way we’re taught to extract our self-worth from it.

As a child, the question was What do you want to be when you grow up?

Once I “grew up”, the question got more direct: What do you do? Not what do I like to do, or what am I curious about, or what feels meaningful.

And yet, sitting with those very questions, on my own time, has led me to a more honest understanding of my needs, and it’s from this place that I actually started to imagine the work I want to show up for and the life I want to build around it.

For me, work is less about the title and more about the lifestyle it allows. The rhythms you can follow: the morning dip at the beach, the time to prepare a proper breakfast, the freedom to create your own schedule, and the space to rest without shame.

Working Less, Living More

I’ve always wanted to make money, but I couldn’t care less about working.

The idea of exchanging my labor for hours has always felt like an equation I’m trying to solve: how to work the least amount for the most return. As I continue on my path, I’ve realised that return doesn’t always have to be measured in dollars. It’s in freedom, the freedom to choose how I spend my time, where my energy goes, and what type of work I say yes or no to.

This awareness grew from engaging in work that just missed the mark; close enough to be convincing, but never quite aligned. In those moments, I felt lost… but in hindsight, I wasn’t lost at all. I just wasn’t listening closely enough to what was being shown to me.

The Gift of (F)unemployment

Money is so tightly linked to survival that when it stops flowing, or even pauses, the nervous system feels threatened immediately. The absence of a steady income doesn’t just create uncertainty; it surfaces fear, conditioning, and long-held beliefs about safety, productivity, and worth.

It took me a minute, but six months into a one-year stretch of unemployment, instead of profusely applying to jobs, I began truly listening, to my body, to my capacity, to what felt expansive versus what felt extractive. Stripped of urgency and external validation, I started to notice what I actually needed, and how much of my previous “drive” had been anxiety in disguise.

This is when I was able to reap the gifts of (f)unemployment: to see it as an opportunity to reflect on my rhythms, my energy, and the kind of work and life I actually want to create.

And with that came its own can of worms: fears around being seen, stepping into a new version of myself, charging for my work, and holding both success and failure without letting either define my worth.

I now work for myself, on my own terms. I support soul-led coaches and creators in sharing their work with clarity and confidence, without forcing strategies or ignoring their inner rhythms. So they can show up fully, lead with presence, and grow their businesses sustainably.

And yes, I nap whenever I want. I also make time for the farmer’s market, the sea, and the quiet, ordinary rituals that remind me I’m a person first, not a factory machine.

The Seasons of Life

Life mimics nature in many ways. Just as there are seasons in nature, we too move through our own personal winters, periods when everything pauses, when the world feels quiet, and when the only thing we can do is wait, reflect, and listen, until things begin to blossom again in spring.

Whatever season you’re in, take a moment to reflect on the seeds you’re planting, they hold the potential to bring about your richest, most abundant harvest yet.