4 ways my side hustle is ruining my health
I’ve had 2 days off in the last month.
Like off-off, as in no work, no screens, no housework, no chores. Two. Out of 30.
My husband and I started a side gig a year ago so we could whittle down our debt and move closer to the dream.
The dream includes moving to a location with four seasons. Where we live now has two — hot and not as hot, with a few days of “kinda chilly”.
The dream includes having land and cattle — we both grew up farming and ranching, and have been trying in one way or another to get back to that life.
The dream includes being in charge of our own schedules, so if we wanted to take a mid-week trip over the narrow-gauge railroad or go to New Zealand to watch rugby all summer, we could, and still run our business.
What started as a single business idea has blossomed to three — and they are all taking off at the same time.
Good news, right?
Well, the other side of the side hustle is that you still have a full time commitment to your full time gig.
Because they pay our health insurance — you gotta keep it as long as possible, right?
So because we have health insurance through my 40, I am bound to go to a wellness visit once a year. This is what I found out after that:
My side hustle is ruining my health.
How? Glad you asked.
I work through lunch every day now.
I used to work through lunch or just poke around on Facebook during lunch. I had a mental break in the middle of the day, and could start work again when I felt refreshed — whether that was after 10 minutes or an hour.
Now, I go in early so I can go home as early as possible to go back to work on my side hustle.
So I get up, go to work, so I can come home and go to work.
The stress of not having down time or time to decompress in the evening is compounding my inability to lose weight that I’ve put on from finishing my doctoral dissertation (20 pounds), and the happy weight I gained after I got married (10 pounds).
Stress eating and all those nasty stress hormones are causing me to hold on for dear life to all of those extra carbs I crammed in my face.
Thanks, side hustle. ‘prishiate ya!
My cholesterol, woah.
So my numbers last year (mandatory visit, remember?) were average, and this year — holy cow.
I’m just glad they are not medication-worthy because I’m only 41, and people my age need not be on meds advertised to those in our parents’ generation.
There is a well-researched link between stress and cholesterol. If you buy the diet-heart hypothesis, I need to cut fat and red meat.
Hold on — that’s the only thing I’m craving.
Well, that and Fruity Pebbles. That’s my stress food.
Don’t judge me if I have to fight my 13 yo stepson off of the Fruity Pebbles so I can eat the whole box. That part is easy, by the way — I just have to get up before he does.
Sitting. Down. All. Day.
Let’s be real, when you’re a teen working on the farm, you fantasize about having an air conditioned job sitting down all day. It’s what keeps you going through day after day of 105 degree manual labor.
But enough already with the rolling chair, the air conditioning, the dual monitors and the carpet under my feet.
I would trade my tight hips, low back pain, the crick in my neck and my carpal tunnel syndrome for a job I needed to shower off each day when I got home.
And I’d love to have 15 minutes to do some lunchtime yoga to stretch my calves and prevent my plantar fasciitis from returning, but that cuts into my go to work and go home so I can work schedule, you know?
And I don’t have time to get to the chiropractor, so down some more Advil and keep typing!
I know I had another point…what am I doing?
I am a Ph.D. I’m very well spoken. I can organize like a boss. I can have 15 plates spinning at one time and not miss a beat. I can move from discussing deep theological works to teaching square roots and how to write topic sentences and how to edit video all in the span of 3 minutes. I’ve got a lot going on.
Lately. I feel like I’ve lost 50 IQ points.
I’m constantly asking myself, “What am I doing?” And it’s taking me longer to recover my energy between tasks. And simple things really look more complex than they should be.
And I’m starting sentences with and.
Good grief.
Something has to give.
And I’m not good at saying no.
If I had six clones of myself, I could probably get everything done that I needed to at the level I needed it and wanted it done.
It seems like the closer we get to the dream becoming reality, it simultaneously gets further away.
Or that my health will not allow me to enjoy it when we do begin to achieve it.
So it comes down to this — do I keep pushing or do I stop the presses and take care of myself?
