Then & Now

Reflecting on 4 Years of Being Self-Employed (Full Time)

Friday, Nov 12, 2021 was my last day being employed full time — a traditional job with a pension, paid sick time, stat holidays, and vacation.

I understand why so many people stay working within health and mental health organizations. That kind of assurance — a consistent paycheque every two weeks + benefits — is no small thing.

And honestly, when I hear about others taking the leap into self-employment, so many have a financial safety net in the form of a partner or savings to help cover bills if income dips or is inconsistent. I’ve never had that luxury.

At the time I took the leap, I still had a LOT of "being single and a student again from 28-30 in Toronto" debt. And yet, I knew that for my health, my mental health, and my desire to do the evidence-based work that aligned with my values, I had to go out on my own.

Getting to the Point of Quitting

Back in May 2020, I paused debt repayment so I could cover the business start-up costs. All of that work happened after hours and on weekends because I was still employed full time as a therapist with the South Island Eating Disorders Program. Most weekends I was also doing hospital shifts to even afford the start-up fees.

I remember the terrified feeling of navigating my first few consult calls — the sting of rejection, the worry when someone wasn’t the right fit, or didn’t stick with therapy at all. And amazingly, I’m still working with two of my very first private practice clients (I adore them both so much). Several clients from the South Island ED Program (2017–2021) have also found me online and reconnected over the last 4 years... but I digress...

I love longer-term work. I feel so privileged and grateful that clients allow me into the hardest, most painful parts of their lives — and I love cheering them on for the tiny and massive wins, and the massive seemingly small wins. Clinically, we know the relationship accounts for 50% of therapeutic outcomes (!!!), and outside of public-health limitations I can now stay with folks through recovery, life changes, setbacks, everything — without them starting over with a new therapist every time.

Advocacy, Burnout, and Deck Chairs on the Titanic

I also know now that it’s healthier for me to do advocacy alongside clients as they navigate public systems, rather than trying to create change within those systems — which felt like banging my head against a wall (and a lot of crying).

A coworker who left public health in May 2021 told me,“I’m done trying to re-arrange deck chairs on the Titanic.” Back then I replied, “Well, I’m going to keep trying for now.” Friends lovingly told me the system wasn’t good for my health, and still I couldn’t make the leap. Primarily, it was financially too hard and too risky.

Then came August 2021, and two weeks off to thru-hike the Sunshine Coast Trail (SCT). The planned hiking group of three dwindled to two, and after night one… I was totally alone. It was the end of a heat dome, water sources were dried up, and the air was unbearably hot. It was... miserable: mentally, physically and emotionally. But the heat dome passed. I adjusted to the new (solo) reality of this thru hike.

On nights 3 & 4, I camped totally alone — me, wildlife and a lake. I was a smidge bored but also reflective: thinking about work, life, money. Mid-hike was also my birthday. The day before ("birthday eve"), my phone slowly slide off a picnic table while I was eating lunch and landed screenside on a rock. I could thankfully still take photos on my hike, but no more selfies. That night I camped alone in an abandoned apple orchard, convinced bears were imminent. I barely slept.

But in the morning, I started up Tin Hat Mountain with a folded “Happy 35th!” birthday note from a friend. I reached the summit by noon — clear skies, cell service, a blurry FaceTime from my niece, nephew, sister-in-law, and parents, and a phone call to my Oma. Funny enough, my youngest and oldest family members - my nephew (3yo) and Oma (96yo) were less interested in my birthday and most interested in whether or not I saw any bears. Spoiler: I did not see a single one. My birthday was also (in terms of days) the halfway point of the trail, and I wasn’t sure I’d want to keep going or finish it. The next day was the longest and most miserable — logging detours, cold, thunderous downpour.

But in the end, I completed all 180 km in 14 days and after that horrendous weather day, it was clear skies. When I finished the trail, I was so disoriented I couldn’t find my car or remember where I’d parked.

I wish I could say the hike gave me a sudden epiphany to quit. It didn’t.But it did give me breathing room, nature, and a renewed resolve not to let the system turn me into the Titanic.

The Leap (…Kind Of)

In September 2021, I started renting office space and seeing clients after working 8:30–5 in my government job (where I also saw clients all day). The nudge for office space actually came from my first client — who later admitted after our first in-person session, “I think I like online better.” It still makes me laugh.

Four office spaces later, he’s now seeing me in person again — a full-circle moment.

I kept going. I reduced my government hours by 30%. (Over) filled my private practice. I kept picking up hospital shifts. And one random day, after the program I was working for again refused to support staff training in attending the regional eating disorders conference — and after receiving confirmation that I’d get a scholarship to the conference regardless of whether I worked for government — something snapped.

I opened a new browser tab, googled “how to write a resignation letter,”and messaged my boss asking if she had time to meet.

I had no idea I would resign that day. Or that week. Or that month. But “enough is enough” has a way of making decisions for you.

I gave six weeks’ notice to finish onboarding a new staff member to facilitate a new group I’d created, and to give clients time to process and transition. Leaving my clients was, without question, the hardest part.

Four Years Later

And here I am — four years self-employed, full time.

I’ve always paid my rent and bills on time. I also paid off my student loans and my car loan, thanks to many weekends (or partial weekends) of hospital shifts.

Inflation has been hard. Business costs keep going up. I’ve raised session rates to keep things afloat. Some days it’s a lot to be the therapist and the business owner/operator/admin — especially with zero formal training in running a business.

The capitalism part often feels at odds with the therapist/social-justice-advocate part of me that believes in free, high-quality mental health care at whatever frequency someone needs.

And also… I end so many sessions in awe of clients’ bravery. Bravery for trusting me in the storms. Bravery for allowing me to witness their hardest thoughts, feelings and truths.

I feel so lucky to do what I do — and lucky to do it primarily outside the endless systemic issues plaguing our public health system.

If You’re Still Reading…

Thank you for being here, for supporting me, and for following along my zig-zaggy path.

To my clients, friends, and family: I love you, and I am rooting for you — always. And I always want the long version of how you’re doing, what’s happening in your life, and yes… the photos and screenshots. 😉