You can still have bad days when you work for yourself.

Bad day work from homeBack when I used to work for a company, I always wanted to work for myself. I wanted to get away from other people’s stress, to not be told what to do, and to do more creative work than I had been doing. I wanted to work from a home office, make my own hours, fix my own lunch in my own kitchen, write with my cat on my lap and take regular yoga breaks right behind my desk whenever I feel like it. (That last one would have been very distracting in a working newsroom.)

These days I do all of the above. I’m an adjunct professor, freelance writer, author and artisan. I manage all these projects from my home office, which is, in fact, equipped with both a cat and a yoga mat. It’s exactly what I wanted when I was employed by a larger company. But here’s the thing I didn’t expect:

I still have bad days.

I know. This sounds incredibly naïve.

But here’s the thing. Back in the day, I blamed my bad days on my job, on my work, on my deadlines, on the office itself, on the time it took to commute to work, on the paycheck, on my schedule… you name it. Me having a bad day wasn’t my fault. It was the fault of something around me.

Now when I have a bad day, I’m forced to admit that the problem isn’t my office, or my work or my commute. The problem is me.

Last week, for example, was a terrible work week. I sat and stared at the computer screen and was unable to summon a single thought. I tried to write my book. I tried to create a lesson plan. I tried to post here. I did force some work, but it wasn’t that great, and all I wanted to really do was click over to Facebook and just watch the status updates scroll on by. At the end of each day, when I’d come downstairs, I’d feel guilty about the crappy work I’d produced and the hours I’d wasted.

Back in the day, I would have blamed those bad days on my job. But now I see that my job was unjustly blamed for some of the problems that I create on my own.

This is not to say that jobs don’t create stress. Of course they do. Conflicts with other people, difficult assignments,  tough deadlines, long hours, those weird industrial lights that are part of so many offices and stores… working in an office or a shop or a school carries all kinds of stress with it. For the most part, my life is a lot less stressful now. **

But all the previously-stated  stresses were never my biggest problem. My biggest stressor always was an internal voice that told me I wasn’t working hard enough or well enough. That’s still my biggest stress, whether I’m in the classroom or writing at home. It just took me getting my dream job to understand that I’ve been my worst taskmaster.

Or, to be a nerd about it, working from home is like visiting Lothlórien. One carries one’s own bad days in with them.

But I digress.

So what to do about it?

Well, to be honest, there are always days when I could work harder. I could shut off the Internet, close my door, and work like the devil himself was behind me, screaming obscenities.

(I mean that the devil would be screaming obscenities, not me. Sorry if that was confusing. Although screaming obscenities would totally be cathartic and it would give the neighbors something to talk about. Everybody wins.)

Or maybe I should use those days to complete different kinds of tasks. If I can’t write, I can find a home for one of my short stories, or an essay, or an article.

I can use the time to book an appearance.

In extreme cases, I can do what I did last Thursday, when I despaired of ever writing another word: I bleached the life out of the bathroom.

working from home bad days

I only advise this in extreme cases.

Generally, though? I think I’m going to have to start being easy on myself in the guilt department. I think it’s fine to expect a lot of myself and to apply pressure in the beginning of the day. It’s fine to make myself work hard during the hours I’ve set aside for work. It’s even fine to give myself hell for being on Facebook during working hours because hey, unless I’m building my platform, I have no business writing a status update.  I think any boss would agree with that.

But guilting myself when a workday didn’t go as planned serves no purpose whatsoever. And that’s what I have to give up.  And for some reason**, I know that will be the hardest thing for me to do.

Workers from home, do you have the same problems? How do you deal with it?

*Example: In my previous life, I might have to take a break from typing something because someone who was deeply unhappy with something I wrote was waiting for me at the front desk. Today, I had to take a break from typing because the neighbor’s mastiff, in a fit of friendliness, stuck his head through our fence.

**Growing up Irish Catholic, maybe?

The bad cat owner.

She's hell on vets.

Today I broke a promise to the cat.

The promise, which I made about three and a half years ago, went like this: “I vow that unless you get really, really, horribly sick I will never bring you to the vet ever again. You may live out the rest of your life in peace, without a person in a white coat ever approaching you. That is my gift to you.”

That might sounds like irresponsible pet ownership, but give me a second to explain before the finger-wagging begins.

My cat is terrified of the vet. Not scared in the way most animals get when they go to the vet, because I’ve taken other animals to the doctor. My cat is a 12-pound ball of screaming, fighting, clawing, squirming rage. When we were going regularly, they used falconer’s gloves to hold her down. They asked me to drug her before I brought her in.

For a while, because my cat likes to maul her own tail, we were at the vet’s office all the time. The cat spent something like four to six months with her head in and out of a plastic cone. Four months of appointments hadn’t gotten her any more comfortable at the vet’s office, and I hated drugging her. So when we got the tail under control, I decided that I’d give her a break from the vet’s office, a permanent one.

Well. It lasted three years. The cat really needs a check-up and I can’t put it off any longer. This morning I called the vet and made an appointment. I took the guilt trip laid on me by the receptionist and then I looked over at the cat.

I’m out of tranquilizers. I won’t be able to sedate her for them this time. I hope they’re up to it.