I used to think working hard was the answer to everything. Work hard, the money comes, the respect comes, the love comes. That’s what I was taught, by my family, by my culture, by a marriage that looked like love from the outside but was really just two people doing business together.
Then it all fell apart. My marriage ended. My business stopped. I ended up on Universal Credit, watching my savings disappear, starting over in a life I didn’t recognise.
Here’s what nobody tells you about a mental health crash in your 30s: it’s not just emotional. It’s physical, and it’s financial, and the three feed each other in a loop that’s hard to see from the inside, especially at night, when your brain won’t switch off.
The Body Keeps the Score, Even When You Don’t Notice
I have complex PTSD (C-PTSD), a lesser-known form of trauma caused by prolonged or repeated harm rather than a single event. For years I thought my constant low energy, the cycles of getting ill, the inability to eat until 3 or 4pm, were just “who I am.” They weren’t. They were my nervous system, trained since childhood to stay alert, never resting, because rest never felt safe.
If you’re a woman in your 20s, 30s or 40s lying awake at night overthinking, running through conversations, bracing for tomorrow, this might be your nervous system doing the same thing: trying to stay safe by staying switched on.
When you grow up in homes where your needs don’t register, you learn that your worth comes from being useful. So you give everything, to your family, your partner, your job, and you don’t ask for much back. It feels normal. It isn’t.
Why I Kept Ending Up in the Wrong Rooms
I’m good at what I do. Genuinely good. But for years I poured that talent into places that took and didn’t give back: a controlling family, a neglectful marriage, underpaid work. I used to think I’d failed. I hadn’t. I was working hard in the wrong rooms, with people who didn’t reciprocate, because that’s what felt familiar.
The question I wish I’d learned to ask sooner: does this give back? If the answer is no, or only when I beg for it, that’s not my failure. That’s my cue to leave.
The Poverty Premium Is Real
When you’re poor, everything costs more. Higher interest if you need credit. No buffer to absorb a shock. No spare capacity to shop around when you’re just trying to survive the week. This isn’t a character flaw. It’s structural, and it’s compounded when you’re also recovering from trauma that drains your energy before you’ve even started the day.
What Actually Helped Me Heal
Not the big dramatic fixes. The small, boring, unglamorous things: water, food before 3pm, sleep, therapy, slowly learning that rest isn’t laziness, it’s recovery. My nervous system had to relearn, one small act at a time, that I was allowed to be looked after.
I’m not fixed. I’m not fully “better.” But I can see the shift happening.
If This Resonates, Here’s Where to Start
You don’t need to overhaul your life overnight. Start smaller than you think:
Feed your body on a clock, not a feeling. If appetite is low, eat something small by midday anyway. Your nervous system needs fuel before it can calm down.
Ask one question before you give your energy away: does this person, job or relationship give back? If the answer is no, or only when you beg for it, that’s information, not a failure on your part.
Get checked, not just counselled. Chronic fatigue and getting ill often can have physical roots too: iron, B12, vitamin D, thyroid. Ask your GP for bloods alongside the therapy.
Find support that doesn’t need a diagnosis first. In the UK, NHS Talking Therapies take self-referrals, and you don’t need a formal diagnosis to ask your employer for reasonable adjustments if you’re struggling to function.
Write it down. A line a day, what you noticed, what helped, what didn’t. You don’t need to remember everything. You just need a record you can look back on.
You’re not broken, and you’re not behind. You’re unlearning a way of surviving that no longer fits the life you’re trying to build. That’s not small. That’s the whole work.