Two days before I folded the digital business I’d spent two years slogging my guts out to build, I hosted an event on women and work. A sparkling panel of guests spoke passionately about jobs, start-ups, and the highs and lows of growing a meaningful career at a time when security is a thing of the past and salaries are at a standstill.

The event was part of a series we’d announced in the national press, and we had big brands clamouring to be part of it. With offers flooding in for collaborations and sponsorships, you could say business was booming. So when I announced the closure of my online magazine, Motherland, via social media on the Monday, the response was one of horrified bemusement. Was this a joke? Was I OK? Was I really quitting? What in God’s name had gone wrong? But the truth was, I had never felt so relieved. Quitting felt good.

As with all stories, there are two versions: one long, one short. The short version of mine is that after a near miss with a potential investor who tried to drastically change the terms of our partnership at the eleventh hour, I was forced, without warning, to let go of the staff I’d recently appointed on the basis of the investment. Even now, this still makes me feel physically sick. But on reflection, it also feels like a narrow escape. Because while there is sadness and a stinging loss of face in admitting defeat, the truth is my life just wasn’t sustainable. In a bid to forge a career while earning enough to keep a roof over my family’s head, I – like so many of us – had found myself on a treadmill of long days and sleepless nights.