YOUR BRAIN IS THE BUSINESS

How to price, plan, and protect your energy like the asset it is.

How to price, plan, and protect your energy like the asset it is.

It started out simple: a part-time engagement, a few days a week, tight scope, interesting work, fun team. The kind of gig that fits beautifully into a portfolio career—and I was all too eager to jump in. I’d just moved to France and was still adjusting to a new culture, a new language, a new life. I was pivoting out of running my own apparel company (which had failed spectacularly) and giving this fractional/consulting thing a real shot—for the first time, full-time.

Let’s just say: my confidence was in the gutter.

And because I didn’t think I had any power, I gave it all away.

I took what I could get. I said yes to the first opportunity that landed in front of me. I discounted my rates. I ignored my own boundaries. I told myself to be grateful—grateful someone wanted to hire me, grateful to be needed, grateful to be on the team.

And at first? It worked. Two days a week became three. Then four. Then five. Before I knew it, I was functioning as a full-time COO—but without the full-time pay, the benefits, or any of the protection or stability that usually come with a salaried role.

And I kept saying yes.

I believed in the product. I was deeply invested in the work. I built a phenomenal team—one I’m still proud of. I was doing work I genuinely cared about. But energetically? I was in the toilet.

And I ignored the signs: the scope creep, the mounting drain, the way my own business—the one I was supposedly building—had completely disappeared from view. I felt guilty just thinking about it. Guilt for working on my own business. Guilt that somehow, by even thinking about my own content, my own visibility, my own goals—I was being disloyal to my client.

Even though I wasn’t salaried.
Even though I was self-employed.

By the time I realized how far off course things had gotten, it was too late. I had no pipeline. I had no energy. I had nothing left to give—not to myself, not to new clients, not to the long-term vision I said I wanted.

It was the worst of both worlds. A full-time role that looked like salaried employment, but was technically freelance. And no time, no energy, and no margin to grow my own business. No safety net. No fallback. Just a slow leak that turned into a flood.

It was a monster of my own making.

And walking away, while necessary, meant starting from scratch.

That experience changed everything.

The way I think about pricing.
The way I think about capacity.
The way I protect my time, my energy, and my sense of self as a business owner.
The way I listen to my gut.
The way I call red flags early—way earlier.

Because this work isn’t just about finding clients and billing hours. It’s about managing your mind. Guarding your creative bandwidth. Honouring your limits. These things aren’t a luxury or a nice-to-have.

They are the business.

THE MATH DOESN’T MATH

You probably think you work 40—maybe even 45—hours a week. But in reality? Most people don’t. At least, not in the way they think.

When you’re salaried, there’s a lot more “white space” baked into the day. The spaces between your intellectual output. Long lunches. Coffee machine chatter. The meeting after the meeting where you debrief in hushed tones about what really went down. Slack ping-ponging. That mid-morning scroll to “get your brain going.” You’re technically at work, yes. Your time is being occupied. But you’re not actually working.

Add in a commute, maybe a half-baked 1:1, and some poorly run meetings, and yes—it feels like work has consumed your entire day. But actual, focused output? It’s lower than anyone wants to admit.

And if you’re neurodivergent, introverted, or living with a chronic illness, forget it. Just being at work—managing sensory input, masking, translating your brain into a system not built for it—can leave you absolutely wiped. So wiped, in fact, that any suggestion you aren’t “working enough” feels laughable. Why else would you feel this depleted?

But when you’re self-employed and working remotely, all that white space disappears.

You’re not billing for hallway conversations. You’re not charging for the 10 minutes it takes to stare out the window and regroup. You only get paid when you’re fully on—focused, producing, and delivering.

And that kind of work is draining.

Deep, strategic, intellectually demanding work takes something from you. It pulls on your decision-making capacity, your creativity, your clarity—and doing it for eight hours a day, five days a week, is simply not sustainable.

Ask any high-performing athlete how they integrate rest and recovery into their routine. (And before you ask—yes, I was one. Division 1 athlete, training four hours a day, six days a week.) They’ll tell you: recovery isn’t optional, it’s essential. Push too hard without rest, and you’re injured in days. And yet, we treat our brains and our energetic capacity as if the limit does not exist and wonder why we burn out.

Even the research backs this up.

Dan Buettner, who’s studied more than 20 million people globally through the Gallup-Sharecare Well-Being Index, says the sweet spot is 30–35 hours per week. He also recommends six weeks of vacation annually to avoid burnout and increase long-term productivity. (The French side of me takes more like 8, but I digress.)

Other studies have found that for cognitively demanding work, humans top out at 3–4 productive hours per day. That’s it. That’s the biological limit. After that, your output flatlines—or worse, declines.

But we keep holding ourselves to the fantasy of the 40-hour productivity week. Especially if you were raised in hustle culture—particularly in the U.S.—you’ve been taught that your output equals your value.

If I’m producing, I’m worthy. If I’m resting, I’m lazy. If I don’t hit 40 hours this week, I must be falling behind.

That belief system will bury you.

THE ENERGETIC COST OF MISALIGNMENT

Here’s something else I track—not just hours, but impact. How I feel before a client call. How I feel after. Do I leave that conversation with clarity and momentum… or do I need a nap?

Because here’s the truth: not all billable hours are created equal.

You could spend the same 60 minutes with two different clients and walk away feeling entirely different. One sparks something in you. The other saps every ounce of energy you have. One leaves you buzzing with new ideas. The other sends you spiraling into doubt, questioning your value.

And if you’re honest with yourself? You usually know which one it’s going to be before you even log on.

That’s not woo. That’s your intuition. That’s your body talking to you, so sit up and listen. And if you’ve spent years—maybe a whole career—learning to ignore those signals because “a gig is a gig,” or “you should just be grateful for the work,” this might feel foreign.

But your lived experience? Your hard-won wisdom? It’s begging for your attention. Listen to it. Honor it. Let it guide you.

Because one misaligned client—one that consistently pushes past boundaries, resists your guidance, or drains your energy—can quietly sabotage your entire business.

And that’s not sustainable either.

Your pricing, your scope, your boundaries—they aren’t just operational tools. They’re energetic safeguards. They help you protect the clarity, creativity, and confidence your business runs on.

When you feel resentment creeping in, that’s a clue. When your calendar is so full that your own business doesn’t get an inch of attention, that’s a clue. When you stop showing up—online, in calls, in your own damn brain—that’s a big, blinking, all-caps clue.

If a client is costing you more than they’re paying you—not just in euros, but in energy?

That’s not a client you can afford.

SO WHAT CAN YOU ACTUALLY DO?

None of this is meant to be doom and gloom. Yes, your brain is your most valuable asset—and yes, it needs protecting. But there are real, tangible ways to buy back time, preserve your energy, and run your business like someone who plans to do this for the long haul.

Here’s where to start:

Audit your systems.
Take a few days away from client work and look—really look—at what you need to run your business. Not just what your clients need from you. Where are you reinventing the wheel every week? What could be templatized? Where are you manually doing things that could be automated with a few tools or AI prompts?

Hire help—even a few hours a week.
I guarantee there are parts of your business that drain you unnecessarily. Formatting LinkedIn posts. Responding to DMs. Scheduling meetings. Uploading newsletter content into Beehiiv. That one invoice you keep forgetting to send. You don’t need a full-time VA. You need 3–5 hours of someone else’s brain on the annoying stuff. Let them handle it.

Track your time. All of it.
Not just client-facing hours—everything. How long does it take you to write a proposal? Post a job listing? Do your books? If you don’t know where your hours go, you can’t adjust your pricing, shift your boundaries, or plan for actual growth. (Yes, your newsletter counts.)

Revisit your rates.
If the math isn’t mathing, fix it. Don’t just survive this career. Build something that pays you well, supports your life, and gives you plenty of breathing room. I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again–what is the point of self-employment if you don’t actually enjoy it!

Pay attention to your signals.
If something feels off, it probably is. That little whisper in your gut? That spike of dread when a client’s name pops up on Slack? That urge to cancel every meeting on your calendar? It’s not just stress. It’s data. Your lived experience is begging for your attention. Listen to it.

THE TAKEAWAY

Your time is precious. But your energy? That’s the real currency.

The smartest thing you can do as a fractional operator is get radically honest about how much you can give—and at what cost. Track it. Protect it. Build systems around it.

Because if you don’t protect your energy, your business will consume it.

You’ll say yes to too much. Charge too little. And end up building the exact job you tried to leave in the first place.

But when you protect it? When you price accordingly, scope intentionally, and trust yourself to walk away from the wrong fits?

That’s when this work gets fun again.

That’s when it becomes yours.

I HAVE AN UNDERPERFORMING TEAM MEMBER—WTF DO I DO?!

Got a Q? Message me on LinkedIn.

Dear MA,

I have an underperforming team member—WTF do I do?!

Signed,
A frustrated manager who is at a loss

Dear Frustrated,

Ohhh, I’ve been there. Many times, in fact.
When this happens, I like to start with a come-to-Jesus moment. First with myself. Then—if it turns out the issue isn’t me—with the team member in question.

STEP 1: GUT CHECK
Ask yourself: Does this person have a clear job description? Were they properly onboarded? Do they know exactly what’s expected of them? Have I given them actionable feedback—both positive and constructive—when the issue happens? Or… have I been unclear, conflict-avoidant, and letting things fester?

If the answer is “uhhh, maybe I dropped the ball,” that’s your signal to fix it.

And don’t be weird about it—just own it. Say: “Hey, I realized I never actually got you a proper job description, which means I’ve probably been unclear about what success looks like in this role. That’s on me. Let’s revisit.”

Or: “I noticed I didn’t onboard you in a way that set you up to win. That’s my bad. I want to walk it back and make sure you’ve got what you need.”

That kind of honesty builds trust. It clears the air. It resets the relationship.
And sometimes, that’s all you need to turn things around.

STEP 2: THE HARD TALK
Now let’s say you did set them up properly. The job description is solid. The feedback is clear. The expectations are reasonable. And they’re still not delivering.

Time for the tough conversation.

Sit down and say: “Hey, I’ve noticed X, Y, and Z aren’t getting done—or aren’t meeting the standard we’ve set. Can you tell me what’s going on?”

And then: shut up and listen.
Is it overwhelm?
Is it interpersonal conflict?
Is it a systems failure?
Are they simply not a fit for the role?

This isn’t about micromanaging. It’s about identifying roadblocks—and removing them. If there’s friction, your job is to figure out where it’s coming from. And if the answer is: they’ve got everything they need, and they’re still not showing up?

Then yeah. It might be time to part ways.

But please, for the love of healthy team dynamics, do the work first. Don’t make assumptions. Don’t let it fester. Don’t jump to conclusions before you’ve actually had the conversation.

Clear is kind. And leadership means going first.

💛 MA