I am the daughter of a working-class housewife and a middle-class small business owner. I was born in the 70s and grew up to believe that hard work for fair pay was as much a woman’s right as it was a man’s. I worked hard at school and didn’t question progressing to university. My first job was, at age 11, delivering newspapers to half the village before school five days a week, for which I was paid £5. I progressed to waitressing at the village pub and revelled in spending my hard-earned cash at the Metro Centre twice a year.

I think I was one of the last cohorts who enjoyed a free higher education and graduated with a small overdraft that I bounced in and out of as I stepped into a career. I didn’t go home after I was 18, so I always had a job, or two, to pay the bills.

In fact, since I was a papergirl there has only been one year when I haven’t earned money. That was the year we last moved back to the UK from NZ, and I tried to get work but it was not forthcoming and after six months we were planning to go back to NZ so there seemed little point me trying to get a job. Looking back, it was a wonderful year of family time and friendship, but I remember being deeply unnerved by the whole ‘unemployed’ situation.

Now, a year on from moving back to the UK again, staring down the barrel of 50, I am attempting to go after a dream of being a writer and it’s all very uncomfortable. What ails me most is I am not earning anything.

For the first time in our married life, my husband is the only one with a salary and I can’t find any peace in my days. Who am I, if I am not putting money in the bank?

I can’t be sure, but I think it’s shame I am feeling.

In a desperate attempt to find peace about my jobless situation, I decided to reframe what I consider to be work. I am a wife and a mum so my work is in the home. I thought it might help if I made a list of all the things that I do in a day that constitute work so I could justify my existence with all the things that I do that other people get paid for. The list is like this:

60-90 minutes EVERY day – dog walking

90+ minutes EVERY day – food preparation and service

60 minutes EVERY day – maid

60-90 minutes EVERY day – tutoring

60 minutes EVERY day – taxi service

30-90 minutes EVERY day – personal assistant/administrator/household manager

90 minutes EVERY week – personal shopper

60 minutes EVERY day – therapist

In recent times, the functions historically disregarded as simply a woman’s natural response of becoming mum or wife have been quantified as a role that acknowledges the enormous contribution “a women’s work” gives to society, never mind continuing the human race and predominantly raising it which we carry out in our leisure time.

And yet, even with all this acknowledgement of my productivity, I am not at peace. I think, because not so long ago I did a lot of these things alongside earning money through a career.

My husband and I have discussed at length our budget so we know we can make ends meet without me earning anything. Although I have to say, it leaves little room for fun or the inevitable unexpected bill. Is that why I feel so unsettled? Probably, who doesn’t like to be financially comfortable?

I pray every day that God will give me peace. I believe His reply—through His words in the Bible, through His unchanging presence in my life so far and by the affirmation of other believers I trust—that He will provide and it’s time to write my own words.

It’s not like this faith step into the unknown doesn’t follow a respectable period of trying to get work. Sending out countless applications to jobs I am well qualified for and only receiving the unfortunate letters of uninterest. Realising that the hours of researching and personalising applications delivered the same monetary return as me writing a short story or reading a book, gave me reason to pause. I stopped frantically clicking on ‘apply’ and considered for a moment the reality of getting one of these jobs, based in London, full time hours, with a salary that barely covered the cost of getting there—the idea of going after my dreams to see if they might pay one day, didn’t seem any more crazy than having to find a cheap AirBnB for two nights a week in Farringdon for a job helping others pursue my dream.

There are other things I tell myself, like – you have already contributed significant amounts to the household, it’s OK to not bring in much now. Or a great one for people of my age – if you don’t pursue your dream now, when? Ten years time might be too late.

If I am justified, allowed, meant to, and supported to go after my dream, why can’t I feel peace about it? Why do I feel guilty? That I am an imposition and an imposter. I am a pretender. I am lazy.

Why can’t I get off my own back and let me enjoy this moment I have been working towards? Why can’t I fully immerse myself in this new era of unpaid pursuit of dreams?

Seriously, I am asking, why?