Wake up, coffee, work, sleep, repeat. Like a well-oiled machine, I chugged away through my twenties with a few moments of pause to drink, eat, and binge on brain-rot.

If I wasn’t in the office, I was thinking about the office, and if I wasn’t quietly thinking about the office, I was loudly talking about the office. Until, one day, when I was 29, I was fired.

For over eight years, my job was my life. I had a boyfriend, and sometimes we went on holiday, but his presence and my time off were just sidenotes in the world I’d created with my real partner in life – my career.

I worked in fashion in New York, and was astutely aware that “a million girls would kill for your job” . Everyone around me lived in the same warped version of reality, on hamster wheels running as fast as they coul

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