Remote UX writing #3: Staying sane

To most of us, the idea of remote work spells FREEDOM. You work when you want, break when you want, and no one’s watching when you come and go. What matters is the work, not the hours.

Freelancing brings a similar feeling: you choose your clients and projects, and control how you produce outputs. Freedom. As someone who does “creative” work, I find that both freelancing and remote work let me practice my own “creative process” exactly as I like — another kind of freedom — and that matters enormously.

But freedom comes at a price, and that price is isolation.

Often when I speak with people who don’t work remotely, they say it’s because they’re not disciplined enough; they’d procrastinate and never get anything done. But I think one great unspoken reason why more people don’t do it, even in full-time permanent positions (aside from unsupportive company cultures) is that fear of not leaving the house, of getting up each morning and sitting down in front of the computer and standing up again at 5 having spoken to no one but the dog. Assuming they have a dog…

I’ve read articles where remote workers, a few months after going remote, joined gyms or social groups near home specifically for the interaction. I don’t know why people don’t talk about this more, so let me say it, loud and clear:

Remote work is lonely.

For me, what’s important in remote working is to find a balance. I need video calls with clients or colleagues. I need Slack chats. And with or without those, I need to build meaningful face-to-face communication into the week, every week.

I learned this while living alone in a forest and remote working from there full-time for the best part of five years. One thing remote work does is let you get to know yourself — parts you never knew existed — in a really, shall we say, character-building kind of way. It takes time to understand your moods, and your needs, and how you can meet them remotely with only yourself for daily company.

Once you do, though, you’re laughing. You know yourself in your remote-work and broader-life context, and you know how to maintain a good psychic balance.

I had this balance where I lived. But the prospect of moving to a large city in a different country half-way around the world did make me fear for that balance.

If you’ve never gone to live in a different country before, you tend to think it’s a thrill a minute. But friends who had been there and done that gently illuminated for me the fact that, well, it’s hard. It’s isolating enough if you have a nice, paid day-job waiting to keep your mind focused and your calendar busy. But, they said, the sudden absence of real-world social networks, places and faces that you know and love, can be a great loss.

“Don’t rely entirely on your partner,” they said: “work to find new friends. Give yourself space, stay positive, and be kind to yourself.”

Good advice. Recently, a Dutch expat I met here explained the flip-side of this wisdom: remember that it takes a lot of time to build friendships. You don’t think about it at home, because you’re in your comfort zone, and friendships happen naturally. But overseas, you can focus on it too much, and that can leave you feeling even more lonely, or like a failure.

Check and check! I felt these things freelancing remotely in nice, comfortable Australia! So be assured I’ve felt them here in glorious Ghana.

For a lot of people, though — myself included — acute loneliness can lead to bigger challenges, depression and anxiety among them. If you’ve ever experienced those kinds of challenges before, you’ll know that they really can take an enormous amount of work to live with.

Again, I don’t really know why people don’t talk about this more. Living a balanced life with depression or anxiety takes an incredible amount of work, every single minute of every livelong day. Sometimes it can feel like all your “natural inclinations” for managing everyday situations are unhelpful, damaging, or just plain wrong. I imagine the same is true for other conditions, though I can’t speak to them.

Bottom line: it’s exhausting. And if you’re feeling those kinds of feelings at a time when everyone’s asking how much fun you’re having and telling you they’re jealous of your remote-work adventure, that can compound the whole deal.

This is the point where I’m meant to bust out an H2 that reads something like “How to stay sane working remotely!” But mental health is an entirely personal matter; there is no “one simple trick”. Yes, you can eat well, sleep well, exercise, meditate and try to spend time in green spaces if you can find some. If it helps you to practice mindfulness or gratitude, by all means go right ahead. If you think it might help to find a counsellor, psychologist or other professional for support, start sussing out those possibilities and their costs before you go remote.

But listen, there’s a corollary here that it’s worth keeping in mind: by working differently, you’re stepping outside your comfort zone. That’s the whole point, right? The benefit of that is growth: personal, and in this case professional. I mentioned earlier that these kinds of challenges have taught me about myself; they’ve taught me even more about the world we live in and the other people in it. Yes, it’s hard. Growth is hard; life is hard. But we’re here for exactly that, aren’t we? Because if not that, then what?

Mental health, like physical health and life in general, is, for want of a better term, a personal journey. The journey is the point — after all, that’s why you’d consider becoming a remote UX writer in the first place, isn’t it? Nothing good comes easily.

If there’s one thing I’ve wanted to impress though this little series of articles, it’s that remote work takes work — of many kinds. As remote writers, we must be prepared not just to do the professional or career-related work, but to do the work that lets us do that work.

Can you pursue a career in remote UX writing? Of course you can! Provided you’re willing to do all the work it entails.