Why You Always Feel Like You're Wasting Time as a Freelancer

And how it creeps into everyday life.

Photo by Grianghraf on Unsplash

It happens to me all the time.

Right after a flow session where I worked on an assignment or a personal project, I feel like I’m stepping into a battlefield of self-doubt. Harsh, painful questions assault me from every side: “Is this good enough? What else should I do? Did I miss anything?”

But the one that keeps coming back is: “Am I wasting my time?”

When “Am I wasting Time?” Won’t Leave You Alone

This obsession with wasting my time is relentless. No matter the situation, the time of year, or where I am, it comes back to haunt me like a poltergeist. My brain becomes the target of a fear with no fight to win. The villain is omnipotent, always on the move. Trying to catch it is like trying to hold dry sand in an open hand.

This time anxiety made me obsessed, early on, with scheduling every aspect of my life. From waking up to hobbies, no stone was left unturned. And yet, everything I do feels pointless. I rush to fill my schedule with numerous tasks, which ultimately results in burnout.

But where does this obsession come from? What’s the fear behind watching time slip away?

The Productivity Trap: When Time Becomes a Competition

Time is the essence of our lives. There’s an endless list of expressions related to time. When it’s not “a matter of time,” we tend to be on a “race against time,” “beat the clock,” and “stay ahead of time.” That is, of course, when you don’t have the luxury of “having all the time in the world.” Behind all those idioms, there’s a sense of urgency and scarcity, as if time were a competition to stay ahead of.

As a freelancer, I’m all too aware of this. The constant urge to be the first to apply for a gig consumes most of my focus each day. When a gig has been posted for more than 2 hours, I know there are already a hundred other candidates who beat me to the clock. 

But it’s when I’m in the final round of applicants, and the opportunity slips past me, that it feels like I’ve wasted a month of my life going through the process.

In that case, rest isn’t just unproductive; it becomes a threat to my stability. This sword of Damocles hanging over my head forces me to stay on alert all the time. No matter how much I plan for the day, I keep circling back to hunting for the next gig.

This obsession with finding the next opportunity fuels my anxiety when faced with unstructured time. My mind spirals into guilt trips over things as minor as cleaning or cooking. 

Instead, I dive into multitasking: answering emails while watching a film, or listening to podcasts while reading. It becomes a way to make unproductive time feel useful and gives a sense of worth. If I’m constantly busy, I can’t waste time.

Time Anxiety Is Really About Mortality (and Relevance)

Behind this fear also lies the fear of becoming obsolete. For most of our early years, we’re told we don’t have enough experience and wisdom, and after 50, those same experiences and wisdom we fought so hard to gain become a burden. That leaves us with only a 10-to 20-year window to accomplish everything we set out to do in life.

I’m finally in that window. I’ve had to bite my tongue for nearly a decade since graduating from college, waiting to finally be acknowledged. Am I any different from 10 years ago? Aside from the accumulated frustration of having to wait, not so much. 

I’m still as confused and nervous about the future as ever. The urge to stay alert for opportunities is coupled with the constant pressure to stay up to date with new technologies and search engine trends. What drew users 2 years ago might already be irrelevant. And with the rising use of AI tools for internet research, the need to keep up accelerates daily.

The constant self-doubt about my abilities compounds the uncertainty about the global economy, geopolitical tensions, and the use of new technologies that are eliminating millions of jobs in the name of the sacrosanct “cost-reduction.” But some days, it can be as simple as a wobbly internet connection or a buffering issue right before I hit “save.” 

Those everyday issues always circle back to a fear of not being able to control a future I can’t fit into.

One where I’m stuck on the side of the road while everyone is pushing full throttle, and by the time I finally manage to refuel, the race is almost over.

The Myth of the “Right Timeline”

But life is not a race. Despite what we’re force-fed by peer pressure and social expectations, there’s no such thing as a successful timeline. Yes, Mozart could play pieces at 4, but he died at 35. Julia Child, on the other hand, wrote her first cookbook at 50. And Stan Lee, the legendary comic-book writer, didn’t find success until he was 40.

Granted, those are extreme examples — not everyone can or wants to become a public figure — but they illustrate that time works differently for everyone. 

For me, even though I finally found purpose in freelancing, I know I wouldn’t have been able to start earlier. Those years of pumping breaks and frustration led me to understand more about myself than I would have if I had had stable success right out of college — although the latter would have been much appreciated as well.

The Real Fear: Regret, Not Time

Deep down, time anxiety is probably rooted in a fear of regret. As we move forward in our lives, looking back on what led us to this moment can make us wish we’d made different decisions. These include major life decisions, such as college majors and career paths, and seemingly significant choices on paper, like wishing we had fixed that leaking pipe instead of procrastinating the entire weekend.

We’re force-fed a mentality that every moment must be used to be productive or improve oneself. But what if staying inside the entire weekend was actually the best thing to do?

What Actually Makes Time Feel Meaningful

I don’t think this fear ever fully disappears.

Even as I write this, I can feel it in the background, waiting for me to close the document and ask myself what comes next. It doesn’t go away just because I understand it. If anything, it just becomes quieter, more familiar.

And maybe that’s the point.

Because the moments that don’t feel wasted are rarely the ones I planned for. They don’t come from a perfectly optimized schedule or a productive streak that checks every box. They happen in between — when I stop trying to justify how I spend my time.

An evening outside with friends.

An afternoon spent reading while it rains.

A slow morning that isn’t going anywhere.

Those moments don’t feel like progress. They don’t move anything forward. But they don’t feel wasted either.

Maybe the real question isn’t whether I’m wasting my time.

Maybe it’s why I feel the need to prove that I’m not.

And for now, I don’t have a better answer than that.