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This is Your Permission to Take Your Dreams by the Neck

• Joonie Mae

The Lie We Tell Ourselves About "Real Work"

The 4 AM Panic Application

I applied to a fast-food job at 4 in the morning.

Not because I wanted to work there. Not because it aligned with anything I cared about. But because I was terrified.

Two weeks earlier, I'd started something that actually felt right for the first time in years—a creative project I was building from scratch. It was working. I was learning fast. The momentum was real.

But it wasn't making money yet.

So when reality hit—when I remembered the ticking clock on my living situation, when I calculated how many months I had before I'd need to be financially independent—I panicked. I did what we're all conditioned to do: I looked for the conventional solution. The "responsible" choice. The thing that would give me immediate results, even if it drained everything I had left.

I applied to jobs I didn't want. I prepared for interviews that made my stomach turn. I told myself this was what adults do. This is how you survive.

But here's what no one tells you about survival mode: sometimes the thing that feels like safety is actually the thing that will destroy you.

The Problem With "Just Get Another Job"

We're taught a simple equation: Need money? Get a job. Need more money? Get another job.

It sounds logical. It sounds responsible. It's what everyone expects you to do.

But for some of us—especially those of us who are neurodivergent, chronically ill, or just wired differently—this equation is a trap.

Because jobs don't just cost you time. They cost you energy. They cost you focus. They cost you the mental and emotional bandwidth you need to build anything that actually matters.

When you're neurodivergent and can't mask anymore, when you're running on fumes, when you've already burned out once and know exactly what it feels like—adding another conventional job isn't a bridge to stability. It's a countdown to collapse.

I know this because I've lived it. I've worked in toxic environments where I survived by masking until I couldn't anymore. I've taken jobs that looked fine on paper but drained me so completely that I had nothing left for the things that actually gave my life meaning.

And here I was, about to do it again. About to trade 12 hours a week of my life for $800 a month—not enough to move out, not enough to change my situation, just enough to keep me stuck in the same cycle while I slowly burned out.

The math didn't even make sense. But I was going to do it anyway, because it was the "right" thing to do.

The Question No One Asks

Here's what changed everything for me:

I realized I was already working a second job.

Not officially. Not for pay. But the creative work I'd started—the content I was creating, the skills I was building, the systems I was putting in place—that was work. Real work. The kind that compounds over time instead of just trading hours for dollars.

I was building a blog. Creating videos. Planning a podcast. Learning video editing, SEO, audience building. Experimenting with what worked and what didn't. Showing up consistently even when I was anxious and doubting myself.

That's not a hobby. That's not "just messing around." That's infrastructure. That's a foundation for something that could eventually replace both jobs and give me financial independence on my own terms.

But I wasn't counting it as work because it wasn't making money yet.

And that's when I asked myself the question that changed everything:

If I'm willing to spend 12 hours a week working a job I don't want for $800 a month, why can't I spend those same 12 hours building something I actually care about?

What if I treated my creative work with the same seriousness I'd give to a "real" job? What if I showed up for it the way I'd show up for shifts at a restaurant?

What if the unconventional path wasn't the risky choice—what if sticking with the conventional one was?

The Math That Actually Matters

Let's be honest about what that fast-food job would have given me:

In exchange for barely scraping by, I'd be sacrificing the thing that could actually change my situation long-term.

p>Now let's look at the alternative:

What if I took those same 48 hours a month and invested them in my creative work?

The second option doesn't pay immediately. But it's the only one with a path to freedom.

The first option pays now, but keeps you stuck forever.

The Permission You're Waiting For

I think a lot of us are waiting for permission to take the unconventional path.

We're waiting for someone to tell us it's okay to invest in work that doesn't pay yet. That it's okay to turn down the "safe" option if it doesn't actually serve us. That it's okay to trust ourselves even when the path isn't clear.

So here it is:

You're allowed to treat your creative work—your side project, your business idea, your unconventional path—as your second job, even if it's not making money yet.

You're allowed to decline opportunities that would drain you, even if they seem "responsible."

You're allowed to invest your limited energy into the thing that has the best chance of actually changing your situation long-term.

You're not being naive. You're not being irresponsible. You're being strategic.

Because here's the truth: the conventional path only works for people who have conventional energy, conventional brains, and conventional life circumstances.

If that's not you—if you burn out easily, if you can't mask anymore, if the "normal" way of doing things has already failed you—then you need a different strategy.

You need to build something that works with who you are, not against it.

How to Actually Do This

If you're in a similar situation—if you're trying to build something unconventional while everyone around you is pushing you toward the "safe" choice—here's what I'd suggest:

1. Get brutally honest about the real math

Don't just look at the dollar amount. Calculate the full cost: time, energy, opportunity cost, impact on your creative work. Is the conventional job actually getting you closer to your goal, or is it just keeping you busy?

2. Treat your unconventional work like a real job

Show up consistently. Set boundaries around your time. Track your progress. Don't wait until it's making money to take it seriously.

3. Protect your energy like it's your most valuable resource

Because it is. If you're neurodivergent, chronically ill, or just running on limited bandwidth, you can't afford to waste energy on things that don't serve your long-term goals.

4. Give yourself permission to experiment and adjust

You don't have to know if this is "the thing" forever. You just have to know if it's the right thing right now. Try it. Learn from it. Adjust if needed.

5. Stop apologizing for choosing differently

You don't owe anyone an explanation for why you're not taking the conventional path. You don't have to justify your choices to people who don't understand your situation.

The Real Risk

I almost took that job. I almost walked into an interview for something I knew would drain me, something that wouldn't even solve the problem I was trying to solve.

The scariest part? I almost convinced myself it was the right choice.

But here's what I realized: The real risk isn't choosing the unconventional path. The real risk is sacrificing the thing that could actually set you free for the illusion of immediate security.

Because that $800/month wouldn't have saved me. It would have just kept me stuck a little longer while I burned out completely.

The unconventional path—the creative work, the thing I'm building from scratch—might not pay off for months or even years. But it's the only option that gives me a real chance at financial independence on my own terms.

So I'm choosing it. Not because I'm fearless. Not because I have it all figured out. But because I'd rather bet on myself than settle for a path I know will break me.

If you're facing a similar choice, I hope you give yourself permission to do the same.

The conventional path isn't safer just because it's conventional.

Sometimes the most responsible thing you can do is trust yourself enough to choose differently.