Put your effing shoes on.

On productivity, self-trust and knowing what actually works for you.

Apparently, the shoes are essential.

I have discovered, after many years of working for myself, that there is one thing I absolutely must do if I want to get any actual work done from home.

I have to put shoes on.

Proper shoes.

Not slippers. Not slides. None of this slip-on, slip-off business.

Cons. Sneakers. Boots.

Shoes that are ON.

Because if I'm wandering around in socks or slippers, apparently my brain thinks we've decided to cruise through the day.

Maybe do a little work. Maybe put some washing on. Maybe stare into the fridge for a bit. Maybe suddenly decide the junk drawer needs sorting.

Who knows! We're home! Anything could happen!

But shoes?

Shoes mean BUSINESS.

I move differently. I move faster. I feel purposeful. Ready.

Without them, I feel weirdly... undone.

Like I'm not properly dressed. Like I'm not really working. And, if I'm being completely truthful, like I'm not taking myself or my business quite as seriously.

Put the shoes on and suddenly it's:

RIGHT. WE'RE AT WORK.

Apparently, my brain needs a commute

Working from home is weird.

I don't leave the house, drive somewhere, walk through a door and arrive at work.

My workplace is also the place where I eat breakfast, fold washing, parent small humans and discover rogue sultanas in increasingly confusing locations.

There isn't a clear line between HOME and WORK.

So apparently I made one.

It's shoes.

Over the years, I've actually collected quite a few of these little rules about myself.

Once I'm working, I need to be WORKING.

If I'm in flow and someone interrupts me, I find it incredibly hard. My work hours are precious and when I've got them, I want to absolutely smash things out. I don't want to casually dip in and out of work all day.

Although, hilariously, the opposite is also true. Once I'm properly in work mode, I find it really hard to switch it OFF again and return to regular human/mum/relaxing mode.

Another useful piece of evidence for the instruction manual, I suppose.

I need sound when I'm doing certain things.

Music is a must.

Podcasts are great.

Audiobooks while I'm painting? Elite. They give the wandering part of my brain somewhere to go while the rest of me gets on with the job.

But do NOT give me a podcast while I'm writing copy, preparing official documents or doing anything involving actual words.

Everybody shut up.

I've recently started listening to French radio, which is excellent because I get music, and when the ads come on they're in French, so rather than hijacking my brain I get to vaguely convince myself I'm learning another language through osmosis.

Productivity AND culture.

Look at me go.

I also keep my receipts in a pencil case

Here's another thing you're not going to find in a beautifully designed productivity guide.

I have a paper calendar.

A BIG one.

Digital calendars? No.

I've tried.

I don't want another notification. I don't want another app. I don't want to open a screen to find out what my family is doing next Thursday.

I need the calendar physically there where everyone can see it, add to it and point at it.

Is it on THE calendar?

No?

Then I'm afraid it does not exist.

I write lists by hand because I like crossing things off.

I have my daily Berocca Boost because ya girl doesn't drink coffee.

And my receipt filing system is a pencil case.

I put receipts in it.

Then approximately once a year I photograph and upload the bloody lot.

Is this the system a productivity expert would recommend?

Almost certainly not.

Does it work for me?

YES.

And that's the bit I've become much more interested in.

When did we stop listening to ourselves?

We are absolutely drowning in instructions for how to live.

The perfect morning routine.

The perfect productivity system.

Time blocking.

Habit stacking.

The app you NEED.

The five things successful people do before 6am.

How to organise your business.

How to organise your house.

How to exercise.

How to parent.

How to eat.

How to rest.

Someone, somewhere, is probably making a Reel right now explaining that you've been breathing incorrectly your entire life.

And look, advice can be brilliant.

Other people's systems can give us ideas. They can show us possibilities we hadn't considered. Sometimes someone else has already figured out the exact thing we've been struggling with.

But when did advice become more trustworthy than our own evidence?

When did somebody on the internet, who has never spent a single day inside our brain or body, become the expert on how we should function?

Because I've spent years collecting data on myself.

I know what happens when I wear slippers.

I know what happens when I put my Cons on.

I know I can happily listen to someone narrate an entire novel while I paint a wall, but if you try to tell me a story while I'm writing an invoice I will lose the ability to form a sentence.

I know I need uninterrupted stretches of work.

I know I'll forget something that exists exclusively in a digital calendar.

I know the pencil case works.

At some point, surely I get to stop arguing with the evidence.

Maybe the hack is believing yourself

I think that's what all of this is actually about.

Not productivity.

Self-trust.

And not self-trust in the enormous, dramatic, QUIT YOUR JOB AND FOLLOW YOUR DREAMS kind of way.

The tiny kind.

The incredibly ordinary kind.

The kind where you notice:

I feel better when I do this.

I concentrate better like this.

This environment makes things harder for me.

I need more time for that.

That system looks great, but I never actually use it.

This ridiculous little thing works.

And instead of immediately following those observations with...

Yeah, but I should...

...you believe yourself.

You stop trying to become the person who thrives under somebody else's system and get curious about the person who's actually standing in front of you.

What helps you begin?

What helps you focus?

What makes you feel purposeful?

What consistently throws you off?

What have you tried twelve times because everyone swears it's life-changing, even though you already know you hate it?

What tiny thing have you dismissed because it seems too silly, too simple or too specific to count?

Maybe that's the stuff worth paying attention to.

Because listening to yourself doesn't always arrive as some enormous gut feeling.

Sometimes intuition is quiet.

Sometimes it's a pattern you've noticed over and over again.

Sometimes it's a pencil case full of twelve months' worth of receipts.

And sometimes it's knowing that if you want to get shit done today, you need to put your effing shoes on.