Last year, you couldn’t click on a news site or meet friends for dinner without the cost of living crisis being a central part of the conversation. From the price of butter to energy bills doubling, 2023 felt drenched in fear that costs would keep escalating. I spent most of that summer as a freelancer worrying that work would dry up and that money would be tight, until autumn arrived and, with a sigh of relief, an influx of work.
Going into the beginning of 2024, I felt hopeful – perhaps this year would be different and more consistent in terms of work and money. I had lived through various recessions and it had always worked out okay in the long term, so there didn’t seem to be cause for concern. I planned trips and spent money on things that I hadn’t been able to for a while.
But I wasn’t prepared for this year to then be much worse, to the point where, very suddenly, I’ve gone from feeling okay financially to white-knuckling it through the day.
As a sole trader dependent on the budgets of companies, I’m used to ebbs and flows, fallow periods where you think you’ll never work again, and periods so busy you think you’ll never sleep again. But this is different. The busy periods have not materialised, and my mortgage has increased by almost 40 per cent.
Although on paper it seems as if I should be fine given that I am writing two books at the same time, book writing has always been something that barely covers my costs (and with non-fiction, has always been at a loss). And with the lack of more lucrative corporate work, trouble is on the horizon with December and January being the quietest work periods. In the last couple of months, I’ve felt an old, familiar fear about whether or not I will be able to cover my basic bills.
For many people, this will have been the reality for some time. But for me, it hasn’t been the case since I dug myself out of debt 10 years ago. That doesn’t mean I haven’t been fearful around money. I’ve written before about my bad relationship with money and how I’ve tried to improve it, but debt casts a long shadow, and even when you are free from it, the feeling that you will be pulled back into it never leaves.
A few years ago, I realised I had to change my narrative around money if I was to be able to budget properly and plan in the long term. Unknowingly, I had felt frozen around being able to spend money because the fear of getting back into debt was so high. That fear left me wanting to throw up.
Over a period of time, I confronted my fears and realised that the ostrich approach – not looking at my bank balance, leaving my tax return to the last possible minute – was making things worse. I learned how to face it head on but more importantly, to allow myself to believe that I wasn’t bad with money as a default – I simply hadn’t been taught anything around managing my finances in a constructive and healthy way.
Things were good for a while, but the problem with having a toxic past around money is that when you run in to financial difficulties, it can churn up that old narrative. Particularly because a scarcity of money makes us feel a lack of control, and it distorts our perspective.
In recent weeks, it has been critical to break out of the doomsday narrative that I’ve found myself in. “How did I get myself back in this place?” I asked myself. Particularly as now, in my forties, it feels worse than it did in my late twenties when I could attribute it to youthful carelessness.
I raked over the amount I spent on beauty products, a party for my book launch that had almost zero impact on sales and publicity, a trip that I had planned to New Zealand to see family. I tortured myself with the same refrain: if only I had taken more care, I wouldn’t be in this position. It’s my fault for being so irresponsible. I am bad with money. This is why I can’t be trusted.
One of my favourite sayings is that two things can be true. Perhaps I should have been more cautious with spending given that the work that normally materialises in March around International Women’s Day, didn’t. But there are also very real circumstances that have contributed to this being more acute than normal, such as rising food, living and energy costs in the UK. And while there is a certain amount of padding a freelancer needs just in case work doesn’t come in, it is unusual for work to dry up almost completely – which is something I have heard from friends who work in completely different industries to me and who are also struggling.
It’s in times like this that financial compassion is critical alongside the practicality of trying to generate more money. Money may be tight, but I’m not the same person I was in my late twenties. I’ve made responsible choices, from setting up savings accounts to putting money into a retirement fund, not just my pension. I managed to get on the property ladder and yes, that ladder currently feels like it requires gold nuggets for its upkeep, but not so long ago that would have felt impossible.
But most of all, it’s reminding myself that if I have managed to weather bad financial periods while being irresponsible with money, so I can certainly do it again with a much more solid foundation and the consistent approach I have now.
And even if I hadn’t done any of those things, it still does not mean I am terrible with money or have failed at it. Wallowing in that feeling doesn’t lead to anything other than mental stress and it doesn’t create a forward momentum to change things.
Once I was able to take a step back from the situation, I could look at things that were in my control, from diversifying income streams to raising rates. I also asked myself what I needed to do to feel more secure in my bank balance, and that has led to working out what costs I can cut without feeling too restricted.
I wouldn’t have been able to do any of this without being kind towards myself, however. In a time of financial stress this can often feel short in supply, when actually at times like this, it’s more important than ever.
