According to regular health features in women’s magazines, we are all slowly working ourselves to death. For a large proportion of professionals working a 10-12 hour day is classed as the norm. It’s a trend that seems to affect women more so than men. Who in turn are more likely to have additional responsibilities outside of the working environment. To be seen as a go-getter, to get that coveted job title, sold to us by a bombardment of aspirational media, to have it all, is not longer some distant milestone. It’s something that everyone is striving for. There are now twice as many rats in the race, and those rats now have bigger, degree-groomed teeth.

So what is driving this position? I myself have had it pointed out on several occasions that I am not good at maintaining a healthy work-life balance. I have an overdeveloped need to achieve. I’m not alone in this position either. The four women I am closest too, including my sister; In fact thinking about it more then half the women I know, are very ambitious and very high achievers. They push hard, they’re not afraid to break out of their comfort zone. What’s more they do it with relatively little fuss.

I my case, the extent that this had go to has only really hit me over the last few weeks. Prior to this I would always agree with people who gave me a concerned talk about chilling out, nodding in an introspective, you’re so right manner. And then promptly sneak off to fire up my laptop for an hour. I have been taking the longest break from full-on productivity that I’ve had in about 18 months, perhaps longer. I’m not doing this voluntarily, I’m moving to being a full time freelancer and to be honest, I haven’t secured a full weeks work as yet. I’m spilt between going mad with boredom and having the time of my life.

It’s only now that I realise just how stressed I actually was. I’m practically skipping out of bed in the morning, rather then dragging myself up and having a face of thunder for the first two hours of the day. I am not getting annoyed by little things that used to irritate me. I haven’t heard myself to that Marge Simpson-esq little noise I do when my house-mate hasn’t washed up in weeks. Just like the majority of my friends, I would never have thought my previous uber-efficient persona was anything but my normal disposition. I was simply getting things done. I feel healthier, although I never thought of myself as un-healthy before. Perhaps then it takes a break from being superwoman to realise your not actually infallible.

Therefore I am making a pact; I am going to have one of those stress free balanced lives that you read about in Marie Claire. Take time for yoga or Pilates or whatever soul-serving thing the A list are doing these days. I’ll finish work at 6 and then bake until 7. I’ll do crystal healing and take long walks. Truthfully; I give it three weeks until I’ve pulled a ‘can’t turn down’ project out of the air. There’s something about having crossed everything off that massive to do list that I can’t resist. Maybe that’s the curse of my generation of women. We’ll have our careers, our friends, our nice homes and less-hard working boyfriends and we’ll make do with our lot. And despite the odd moan, we’ll love every productive minute.