Over the winter months, I found myself facing more than just the usual seasonal slowdown. Alongside osteoarthritis and chronic back pain, I was also dealing with something less visible but equally challenging—what I’ve come to think of as “pressure anxiety.”
Pressure anxiety isn’t about the task itself; it’s about the feeling that surrounds it. It’s the weight of expectation, the sense that you should be doing something—even when your body is telling you otherwise. And for me, that pressure has largely come from an unexpected place: the expectation to produce content for others.
I’ve always been open about my degenerative health issues. There are long stretches where I simply can’t get outdoors, can’t pursue the activities I love, and can’t create the kind of content I enjoy sharing. That alone is frustrating enough. The outdoors has always been a huge part of my life, and being unable to engage with it brings its own emotional toll. But when that’s combined with external pressure to “perform,” it becomes something much heavier.
The truth is, I’ve never treated YouTube as a business or a source of income. For me, it’s always been about sharing—sharing moments, hobbies, and interests with like-minded people. It’s a passion, not a profession. But somewhere along the way, a small number of voices began to expect more: more uploads, more consistency, more output—regardless of circumstance.
And that’s where the pressure creeps in.
In many ways, I feel for those who rely on content creation as a livelihood. There’s a large number of YouTubers out there trying to make a living, and they face this pressure daily. Viewers, often unintentionally, can be insensitive. They expect regular content, tailored to their preferences, and when it doesn’t appear, they question it. That expectation can quietly turn something enjoyable into something stressful.
For me, at 68 years old and living with multiple degenerative conditions, life doesn’t work like that. My ability to get outdoors—to kayak, to hike, to explore—is dictated entirely by my health at any given moment. Add to that the realities of winter weather—torrential rain, flooding, strong winds, and freezing temperatures—and it becomes clear that spending full days outside simply isn’t always possible.
I have to adapt. I have to listen to my body. And most importantly, I have to prioritise my well-being over anyone else’s expectations.
That doesn’t mean I’ve lost my passion—far from it. I still love the outdoors, and I still enjoy creating and sharing content when I can. But I’ve come to realise that it has to be on my terms, within my limits, and at a pace that respects my health.
Because at the end of the day, this isn’t about keeping up—it’s about carrying on.
And sometimes, carrying on means slowing down.
