Here’s What I Learnt From Working Full-Time In London Again

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Legit it’s embarrassing how many takes this blog post has taken me.

I *think* this might be draft seven. HI!

I wrote a version on the train to London on Saturday morning whilst a couple of pre-teens applied contouring powder like make up artists and made me feel about as ancient as a survivor of the Titanic.

I wrote a couple more versions this afternoon after waking up from a post-pie and mash nap but alas the grogginess made me do that thing where I freak out and am like OMG HOW DO I WRITE SENTENCES WHO AM I AND CAN I GO BACK TO BED NOW TA.

And here I am with a belly full of duck, cabbage and apple mouse with a cup of tea and a blanket and a crackling fire and I think (and I hope and I pray) that this might be it.

The words and the thoughts and the emotions might actually come together and make a post that doesn’t make me read like a complete and utter dick.


Shall we get cracking then, gal pals?

As most of you know, this weekend marks the end of a two-week long stint of commuting into London every day for shift work covering the digital editor of a showbiz magazine.

It’s something that I took on as a way to make extra money for the festive season, and because, if I’m being entirely transparent wit you boos, was something I was offered during a lull in commercial opportunities on this blog.

There, I said it. Sometimes there are lulls. Sometimes every other blogger appears to be drowning in lolz hashtag spons over on Instagram and YouTube and I’m like, is it too late to open another student overdraft or nah?

I was a little bit apprehensive about the whole thing because OMG WHO IS RINGING ME IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT AND OH HI IT’S YOU, ALARM.

And because, well, I haven’t worked full-time as a journalist since September last year and what if everything’s changed and omg what if people hate me because I’m a blogger and fuck, do I really wanna spend four hours a day travelling?

(Spoiler: Nah. Nah, I do not).

But there was also this little crack of excitement in me. This little thrill rippling through my body because OMG I get to work in an office again and be included in tea rounds and free cake and chats about boys and have big life decisions like Pret or Leon for lunch?

I guess I was excited to have a little taster of my old London life again. I felt like it would help me gain perspective and insight into how I could continue to adapt my life to make myself feel even happier and more content, and y’know what? OH BOY DID IT.

And here’s the biggie: I really fucking flippin’ LOVED working as part of a team again.

I loved working on a website that I could detach myself from at the end of the day, a website that didn’t feel like an extension of my soul, something that didn’t feel like people were slating me and personally attacking me everytime they left a negative comment.

I felt like I had my sparkle and shine back. And I felt good at the job. I felt full of ideas and experience and felt in my element, in my comfortable place, y’know?

Admittedly, I struggled with the 5.30am starts. I’d shower the night before and lay my clothes out before I fell asleep, and then jump out of bed, throw my comfy train outfit on, brush my teeth and feed the cats and whizz out the door for the 6.12am train to Liverpool Street.

That first Monday night, I basically did a fake weep as I walked through the door and crumpled on the sofa. Y’know that sort of cry when you’re really tired and sulky but like, there’s no actual tears so you’re just making weird fake sob noises. LOL, I is well cute sometimes.

It got easier after that and I kind of got used to it. I got used to train naps and sleeping with my mouth open. I got used to having constantly shit eyeliner from applying it as the train whirred past Westfield Stratford, and I got used to 9am bedtimes and waking up hourly from that fear that you might miss your alarm and then omfg the world might end and fuck.

But I’ve come away from the whole experience feeling so clued up about myself and what makes me feel mentally stable and happy, and what makes me crumple.

I feel like giving myself a flashback to my old life – back to the days when I spent every day commuting into London for two years – made me realise how far I’d come and made me realise how lucky I am to be in the position I’m in now.

It’s ridiculously easy to take your life for granted and forget how far you’ve come and how much has changed for the better through hard work and constantly stopping to work out how you change your quality of life for the better.

It’s given me this fresh sense of love for my current life situation. Yes, it can be lonely and sometimes it’s all too easy to get caught up emotionally in your own blog or business because it’s yours, something you’ve raised and nurtured from nothing, but that sense of freedom, it is EVERYTHING.

Being able to work to your own schedule, being able to be flexible both with content ideas and working hours and location, is such an unbeatable working feeling.

I feel like us full-time bloggers sometimes dwell too much on the negatives of our career paths, and forget to do cute little happy jigs about how lucky we are to have contructed ourselves a career that means we can make our work fit around us.

So yeah, commuting may have been a teeny tiny bit soul-destroying because ANYONE KNOW WHAT NATURAL DAYLIGHT LOOKS LIKE, ANYONE, ANYONE? But working as a journalist again reminded me that I AM good at what I do, and that I so bloody have this. I got this.

It stood to remind me that I COULD go back to that career if things don’t work out financially over here on ze blog, but it also reminded me how good I have it, and for that reason, it made me feel completely buzzy and warm in my belly.

Thank you for having me London, you sweet piece of ass.

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