We're starting Mildly Independent with something potentially deflating. But it's also the thing I come back to most when people ask how to freelance without losing the plot.

The first time I caught myself doing it, I was checking into another boutique hotel with soft lighting, exposed brickwork, and a breakfast menu that mentioned the provenance of the eggs.

The staff at The Hoxton were starting to recognise me. That's when you know it's time for a bit of a lifestyle check-in.

At the same time, my Rightmove property alerts had started drifting closer to the seafront in Brighton.

Nothing wild. Just curious searches. Bigger windows. A bit more light. A house with an office or a spare room. The kind of place that quietly suggests you've made it.

I've seen other freelancers take that leap - the bigger house with a garage, the prestige badge car - and I've looked at it with admiration and sometimes with envy. It's natural. They seem settled and content, and I hope they are.

But I also know that with the slightly tricky market we're in now and the need I've had to pare back my work a bit, those same commitments would have left me feeling tight and under pressure.

For others, it might be sustainable. But I know myself well enough to say I'd be stretched.

I've stayed in the same modest home for nearly ten years. It's the one I bought when I was still in a permanent role, and while it isn't flashy, I've come to appreciate the calm that comes with not having to stretch for it.

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My mum has a phrase: "Cut your cloth accordingly." It’s the polite, British way of saying live within your means, but with a sewing metaphor and a raised eyebrow.

She'd be horrified if she knew what I was spending on work lunches some days.

The full version, I think, is cut your coat according to your cloth.

I like that better. You picture someone reviewing suit fabric with quiet optimism, a tailor with scissors in hand, debating how much life they can afford to step into.

There's another phrase she uses too, this one borrowed from my late Geordie grandmother: "Jam today."

A reminder to enjoy things while you can.

We didn't grow up with much, and splurging wasn't part of the picture. But now she'll sometimes encourage me to make the most of what I've earned in ways she couldn't.

A flight I wouldn't have taken before.

A restaurant with waitlists.

A nicer winter jacket with the fancy technical zips.

And I do. I don't regret those things. But I do try to enjoy them with a bit more intention now.

A loose yearly budget. A sense of proportion. That sort of thing.

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Because the problem isn't the occasional splurge. It's when those splurges quietly become the standard, and then something shifts.

A project disappears. A client pauses. You have to adjust.

There's something very Alan Partridge about it all. You start with big intentions and a branded fleece. But before long, you're forced back to living the Travelodge version of your lifestyle, bringing your big plate down to the buffet breakfast and wondering how it all drifted so suddenly.

And freelancers tend to feel economic changes more acutely than most.

We're not buffered by layers of structure. We feel the pause when budgets tighten. We feel the silence when inboxes slow. Sometimes, we're the early warning sign of a design industry slowdown.

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When you first go freelance, the maths looks beautiful.

You multiply your day rate by five, then by fifty, and you arrive at a number that makes you feel like you've hacked the system.

And at first, you're happy to work hard. You stay up late. You say yes to everything. You build momentum. You chase the invoices. You do the things full-timers forget exist.

But eventually, you realise you've built a lifestyle that only works if you keep operating at full tilt. You didn't mean to... but here you are.

And when things slow, it becomes clear just how tightly everything was strung.

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Over the last couple of years, I've had to rein things in a bit.

Not because of some collapse, just life doing its thing. Shifting priorities. Family health issues. Needing more flexibility.

I've had to be more modest. A bit slower. A bit more thoughtful about what I take on. And I've had to learn to separate what I can afford from what I actually want to maintain.

The freelancers I now admire most aren't always the ones pulling six figures. They're the ones with breathing room. The ones who can say no to a project that doesn't feel right. The ones who still enjoy what they do.

That doesn't mean you shouldn't earn more. One of the best things about going freelance is that your income ceiling lifts, and you get to (mostly) decide how high.

And for some people the plan is to make hay. Sprint for five or ten years. Stack savings. Buy the house outright. Join the FIRE movement and clock out early. If that's your path and it energises you, more strength to you.

However, if you entered freelancing for calm, balance, or independence, then the shape of your spending matters. What you say yes to. What you stretch for. What you quietly commit to sustaining.

There's more to say here. The boring but important stuff like pensions and medical cover often gets left out when the money's good. We'll revisit that in a future issue.

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More money can be a gift, but only if you don't spend it all trying to keep up with the version of yourself who upgraded everything at once and now has to sprint just to stand still.

So take a breath. Look at the cloth. And maybe, just maybe, cut a little smaller than you think you need.

You might find it fits better in the long run.

— Tom