The power of a reset in your thirties
It all started with the mother of all burnouts. And I don’t say that lightly. We’re talking bone-deep exhaustion, the kind where your body drags like lead and your brain feels like it might actually fall out of your head if you have to open one more furniture schedule. For years, I’d been forcing myself to keep going by running on caffeine, ambition and fear but the cracks were showing. The work I once loved didn’t light me up anymore. If anything, it drained me. And if I had to sip another glass of champagne at yet another networking event, smiling on the outside while silently crumbling with anxiety on the inside, I’m pretty sure I would have combusted right there on the spot.
That was the breaking point. But here’s the thing about breaking points: they also hold the seeds of a breakthrough.
To really understand why, let’s rewind. Picture me at around ten years old: a little girl with untamed ringlet curls and two big dreams that lit up her whole world. One was interior design, the other was radio. On one hand, I loved creating spaces that felt beautiful and alive. On the other, I loved sound and the magic of voices in my ears, the companionship when the world felt too loud.
When it came to choosing a path, design felt safer. My family worked in construction, so I’d at least have a couple of people to turn to for advice. Radio, on the other hand, felt like a faraway dream, something “other people” did. So I played it safe. I went to college, then university, then landed a career in design. And before I knew it, I’d spent a decade climbing the ladder.
The problem? I was climbing fast but without a solid foundation. My degree hadn’t equipped me with the basics and instead of slowing down to learn, my natural drive just pushed me harder and faster. On the outside, it looked impressive like the promotions, the projects and the six-figure business. But on the inside, I was winging it. I was the girl who looked like she had it all together, but secretly carried a constant hum of self-doubt.
And here’s what no one tells you about chasing success at that pace: the stars you’re reaching for don’t always feel the way they look. From a distance, they sparkle. Up close, they can burn you. My soul had gone quiet, and that silence scared me more than the burnout itself.
Then came the lowest point and the one that cracked everything open. At the time, I didn’t know I was living with ovarian cancer. I just knew I was exhausted, anxious and completely disconnected from the person I thought I was meant to be. And in the middle of all of that, something extraordinary happened.
One night, I had a dream. Not the metaphorical kind, an actual dream while I was asleep. In it, I was a radio presenter. I can still feel it now: the microphone in front of me, the buzz of energy in the room, the joy that flooded through me. It was like my ten-year-old self had reached across time to whisper, “Hey, remember me? Remember what you really wanted?”
When I woke up the next morning, something shifted. I didn’t overthink it for once, I just acted. I messaged a friend who worked in radio and asked for advice. I emailed community stations and even hospital radio, throwing my name into the ring for anything. Within weeks, I was on air at a hospital station with my very own show. A few months later, I was presenting on an Ibiza DAB station. For the first time in years, I felt alive again.
And then, the opportunity of a lifetime landed in front of me: the BBC opened applications for its production apprenticeship. 45,000 people applied. Somehow, I made it through every stage, and I got the call. I got it. Next week, I start as a Production Assistant in BBC Radio.
This time, though, things are different. I’m not steamrolling my way to the top. I’m not chasing stars that look shiny from the outside but hollow on the inside. Even in my thirties, when part of me wondered if I might be “too old” to start over, I’ve never felt more excited to begin again. To learn from the ground up. To soak up every single millimetre of this industry my soul has always adored.
Burnout broke me open, but it also gave me clarity. Cancer shook me to my core, but it also reconnected me to that little girl with ringlets who loved radio. And choosing to listen to her, to act on that dream even when it felt wild and unrealistic, has completely reshaped my life.
Here’s the truth: it’s never too late to start over. It’s never too late to change direction. And it’s never too late to listen to the part of you that’s been whispering all along.
