Oops, I Started a Business

Let’s get something straight right now:

This isn’t “I manifested a six-figure month” (with matching activewear and a ring light).

This is:

• overwhelmed

• disillusioned

• imposter syndrome on loudspeaker

• trying your best with the nervous system of a hunted deer

And if you’ve been quietly thinking, I feel like I’m failing, I need you to hear this:

You’re not failing.
You’re overloaded.
And you were never meant to do all of this alone.

Business gets heavy fast (and nobody warns you)

The early days of business are sold like a movie montage.

You’re in a café. You’ve got a laptop. You sip something aesthetically pleasing. Your calendar is “full” but in a sexy way. You’re thriving. You’re glowing.

In reality, it’s more like:

• You open your laptop “for ten minutes” and it becomes six hours.

• You learn ten platforms, seven strategies, and 300 new ways to feel behind.

• You start measuring your worth in engagement, income, and whether strangers on the internet like your face today.

• Your brain develops a new hobby called panic planning.

And somewhere in that chaos, a tiny gremlin moves into your head, grabs a megaphone, and starts narrating your life like it’s being paid per self-doubt.

Mine loves to whisper:

“You’ll set this on fire somehow… you always do.”

Which is a bold thing to say from an organ that forgets why it walked into the kitchen.

If you recognise that voice — the “I’m one mistake away from being exposed” voice — here’s the truth:

That’s not intuition.
That’s fear.
And fear gets louder when you care.

I used to think burnout was something that happened to other people.

People with fancy jobs. People with meetings. People who “worked too hard.”

Then I had that night.

I was working on orders upstairs in “my office” — aka the box bedroom that’s too small to be a bedroom, but is perfect for turning into a stress den.

I looked at the time and realised it was almost midnight.

Midnight.

On a normal weekday.

Like I’m a Victorian chimney sweep!

I shut everything down, crawled into bed, and started drifting off… and then sat bolt upright.

Crap. Little man.

I ran downstairs and found my nine-year-old son sound asleep on the sofa.

Sitting upright.

Surrounded by empty snack packets, hand still in a melted tub of ice cream, Pokémon playing on the TV like a tiny neon babysitter.

I’d given him his tea at 6pm and gone upstairs to “just finish a few orders.”

Turns out “a few” was: my remaining sanity.

That moment wasn’t just a “whoops.”

It was a warning flare.

Because if your business makes you to forget the human you love most is in the house… it can climb into the fuck-it bucket and think about what it’s done.

Here’s the part people don’t expect:

I didn’t start lots of businesses because I’m flaky.

I started businesses because I’m wired to spot opportunities.

My first one happened when I was fifteen.

My dad was a pub landlord.

His regulars were mostly single men in their forties — decent guys, hard workers — the kind who worked all day, had a pint or two, then went back to an empty house and repeated the cycle.

And I clocked something: they weren’t struggling with money. They were struggling with life admin.

So I started cleaning their houses while they sat having their pint. Then I added batch cooking: meals they could reheat through the week.

And I made a fortune.

Objectively? Not a fortune. But £100 a week felt like billionaire status to a 15-year-old in the early 2000's.

That little business taught me something early:

1. People pay for real help.

2. You don’t need permission to start.

3. I’m good at building something from nothing.

The problem wasn’t that I couldn’t build.

The problem was what came later — when building turned into proving, proving turned into pressure, and pressure turned into burnout.

Because when you’re the kind of woman who can start a business… you’re also the kind of woman who can accidentally start five.

The no-BS truth

You don’t need a new personality.
You don’t need more motivation.
You don’t need to “push through.”

You need a calmer way to run what you’ve built — and a way to rebuild confidence that doesn’t depend on how you feel today.

Because confidence isn’t a magical personality trait.

Confidence is evidence.

And if you’ve been overwhelmed, burnt out, and beating yourself up for years, it makes perfect sense the evidence feels thin right now.

We’re going to build it back.

Without pretending business is easy.
Without “just think positive.”

Without going all in like you’re auditioning for Most Exhausted Woman Alive.

Here’s what I wish someone had told me at the start (and what you might need today):

You don’t have to go all in from day one.
It’s okay to build slowly.
Validate the idea before you throw your energy and money at it.

You’re allowed to be steady.

Next post in the series

Imposter Syndrome: the Gremlin With a Megaphone — why it shows up when you’re growing, and how to stop letting it drive.