Part 3: #1 Employee

In 2015, I went all in. Not a 9-5 job, not a hobby; I never thought about nor was put off setting up a business on my own, I wanted to, happy to! There was no one better suited, as employee of the month, not to sound arrogant, nobody but me could have done it. NB was born out of my curiosity, an encounter so random and organic; the flavours, the recipes, the eventual success they would bring… In hindsight, if not to bring me back down to Earth, I wish I had a cofounder. However much I pretend, there is no ‘we’; I use this pronoun to appear more serious and professional than ‘I’. I particularly like it when someone gets in touch, ‘Dear NB Team’, or, ‘Can I be put in touch with the relevant marketing department?’. There I am, sitting at home, probably in my dressing gown with no make-up on; ‘sure, just one moment please whilst I CC in G’. It is all fun and games until someone loses their mind.

In 2018, after The (dreaded) NB Crash, NB became too demanding in a way that I could not be happy and do the job well simultaneously. I wanted to smash sales, social media, supply chain, customer service, PR, photography, networking, lead generation, create new reels - be the ultimate girl boss I see online - but I was so tired. Burnout is not my favourite word, but I never foresaw the challenges of working alone, how isolating it can be. In myself I noticed the shift, less a feeling of excitement, more the reality of overwhelm. What to do next, or how to move forward - and do I want to? If all that has been done has to be done again, if it has barely scratched the surface; if I wake up one morning and feel worn out, what is the go to then because NB and I - we still have (so much) further to go? I am not sure if I have it in me. There is only more ground to cover - and not being productive is not productive. NB requires all of me, and I did not want to go all in anymore. Although I have incredible support around me, I needed people. I needed help! I needed looking after, too.

In 2019, as well as hiring someone to help me grow NB’s online presence (and be at the end of my rants and tantrums and stream of consciousness thoughts to clear my head), I also joined my first co-working space. Space being the main pull, I never took advantage of their perks (free prosecco? No thanks). At this stage, four years into business, I was used to working by myself. I would go as far as saying I enjoyed it as much as it made me feel a certain level of disconnect from everyone else; I could go hours at a time without speaking, rather easily; in an unconventional way, self-employment suits me and my eating disorder. Being in control of my own schedule, being able to forge new habits - the freedom of self-employment is what lured me back in. Once the eating disorder had its grips on me, there was no going back. Admittedly, I came to love my routine, or lack of, for all the wrong reasons; I can chase buyers and attend events just as much as I can skip lunch to eat dinner at 5pm. For the two years I worked with my colleague, as transparent as our relationship became, I never told them about my eating disorder or seeing a therapist (or why I left the office at 16:30 everyday). Not explicitly anyway. I came close on more than one occasion but held my tongue; out of embarrassment, shame - call it what you will - there is no discreet way of explaining my logic, and once I say it - I did not want their opinion of me to change. 18 months of Tuesday “lunch dates” that I never had. (Thanks for having my back, sis, and sorry I never told you).

In 2022, post-Covid, I joined my second co-working office. This time I had different intentions. WFH was not only monotonous and - you guessed it - lonely, but also I wanted to be in an environment that expanded my perspective. To break away from the same routine, same eating pattern (or not), and same overarching voice that stopped me in my tracks if I was tempted by something different, better, like picking up a pastry for breakfast. I knew that if I never saw behaviour beyond my own - behaviour I had trained myself to do - nothing would ever challenge it; I would never change. I imagine the other co-working members have no idea how much they inspired me, normalising what in my head is a Big F**king Deal. Like enjoying the free breakfast buffet provided every Monday, or buying a Pret sandwich for lunch, being offered a snack bar and actually taking one. Woah. That is normal to them - whereas I have leftover sprouts in my bag for lunch.

Until February 2023, for the year I had a co-working membership, I never actually expected it to make as much of a difference to my days as it did. I definitely did not expect to get a date out of it - ignoring the fact I was subsequently ghosted - nor befriend (fancy the pants off) another member who (I slid into the LinkedIn DMs of to initiate conversation) encouraged me in more ways than they will ever know; I became a version of myself I aspire to be like. (And yet my disappointment of finding out they had a girlfriend was more painful than they will ever know - at least I hope). Being in the office on my own, I never had the confidence to stay for the weekly ‘Pizza and Beer’ night - or any event for that matter - that and absolutely no chance I wanted to waste my alcohol and ‘unhealthy’ food allowance here. Socialising freaks me out, often I am nervous even before I have said yes - nothing has happened and I am worried about ruining my perfectly ‘healthy’ habits and body image. However contradictory this is, as there is nothing ‘healthy’ about it. Recovery is all about small moves. When I do go big over going home, at first I flit between feeling scared and then proud, excited and then guilty, more often than not I end the night with alcohol-anxiety. Typically, when I am back at home on my own and away from the distraction of people - that is when the eating disorder pops in to check up on me: I ‘should’ have ordered the fish instead - and did I ‘need’ that extra potato or Negroni? Overthinking leads to panic-body-checking, feeling my cellulite for improved dimples and thus reduced attraction. Analysing folds and rolls (neither in the table cloth nor amuse bouche), paradoxically, is the only thing that calms me down and makes me feel better. I feel ok because in my head I look ok. Until I succumb to the inevitable doom-strolling on Instagram to justify why I made the wrong dinner choice.

The only exception I made was for the office Christmas party. Force is an understatement - powering through the anxiety and nausea I felt in the run up to the afternoon is more appropriate. Glugging a mug of mulled wine whilst assessing the crowds, pretending to work, really I was plotting my moves. As with any good plan, it never went to plan. From the moment I Passed Go I immediately stalked the manager to declare my nerves and need of help, to which she (took pity) handled very pragmatically and introduced me to two other members - one of which I had parred off moments before in the queue for mulled wine. I was so distracted by my realisation of where I was and what the hell I was doing, plus said member I fancied was within touching distance, I could just reach out and…