In 2020, I cried in a supermarket toilet. Not a single dignified tear, either. A full snot-bubble, ugly-sob situation, in a cubicle that smelled of bleach, while a queue of furious customers waited for me to come back and scan their crumpets.

I’d like to say I pulled myself together and went back out there with my head held high. I did not. I stood there, did the maths on how many more years of this I could take, and got a very unwelcome answer.

(Hi, I’m Wendy, and yes, this About page opens with crying in a toilet.)

That night I did what any sensible 36-year-old-adult would do: I escaped reality through my Nintendo Switch, then spent my life savings on a PC.

Not a rainy day fund. Not a holiday. A gaming PC, because I’d decided I was going to play video games for a living.

(I had never streamed anything in my life, but details.)

The logic was flawless. Make money from playing games, never scan another crumpet. Easy.

So I streamed every single night for a week to get Twitch Affiliate. After a 40-hour week at the shop. For 3 or 4 hours a night.

I got it. I was SO proud.

Then my first £500 landed from subs and donations, and I thought I’d cracked the code. I streamed Destiny 2, Animal Crossing and Kingdom Hearts, and strangers were paying me to play them. Quit retail? Obvs. Any day now.

Reader, I did not quit retail.

The Flawless Plan

Instead, I doubled down. Every night, then every spare hour, then every hour full stop.

Here’s what nobody tells you about streaming at 36: you’re up against teenagers with the energy of a puppy on Red Bull and the free time of someone whose biggest commitment is remembering to reply to the group chat. I had a bad back and a 40-hour work week. For the first time in my life, I felt my age. Every other streamer spoke fluent Gen Z and I didn’t have any kids I could ask (my uterus abandoned me in 2017, thanks Adenomyosis).

I definitely wasn’t Googling what “rizz” meant.

So I did what I do best: I over-prepared. I watched every how-to video on the internet. I think I’m owed a certificate.

My bedroom became my office, and I barely left it. Every minute of my day went on how to make more money from streaming, and the answer was always more time and more energy. I had neither.

My fiancé (now my husband, who has forgiven me) got the worst version of me: tired, grumpy and somewhere else entirely. Being “on” for strangers online meant being switched off for everyone who actually loved me.

No surprise here, I burnt out.

Then my hours at work got cut. Obviously. The universe has a funny fucking sense of humor.

The savings were gone, every penny I’d made streaming was spent, and the credit card bills piled up faster than I could look at them. I told nobody, not even him. I was ashamed to be nearly 40 and unable to pay my bills.

Exhausted, depressed, broke and still scanning crumpets for a living. What a life I’d built for myself.

Streamer Burnout Is Not Cute

I felt like a failure. So I called it quits on Twitch.

What followed was a six-month pity party with a guest list of one and everything in the cupboard for catering. I was trying to eat myself happy. Turns out you can’t, but I did give it a thorough go.

I went on holiday with my fiancé and his parents (who I genuinely adore) but spent most of it staring at the Welsh sea like a Victorian widow. Then I came home and binged Selling Sunset, because nothing says “I’m fine” like watching strangers in heels shout at each other in houses with more bathrooms than I have friends.

Eventually I got so sick of myself that I wondered if I could turn back the clock.

Way back, to when X was still Twitter and #bbloggers was my Saturday night girls’ hangout. Yes, really, I had a lifestyle blog (me, who never wears more than mascara). I wrote about my life, my short-lived makeup artist phase and the books I loved. Those were the days.

Then I got to wondering if anyone even reads blogs now. I could write about games. I’m no journalist, but I could absolutely share what it’s like to play them. Sure, there are hundreds of sites already doing that, but I don’t read any of them, because none were written by a middle-aged woman who mostly plays on her Switch with a cup of tea.

And just like that, hercozygaming.com was born.

Finally, Something That Worked

For the first month, nobody read it. Nobody.

I’d made myself a deal: I’d stick it out for a year. I’d already paid the hosting fee anyway. If I couldn’t start making money from it after that then I’d quit. I’d had plenty of practice at that.

But then, something strange happened. People started reading, and commenting, and (even more surprising) encouraging me to keep going. And by the end of 2022 my blog had over 100k views!

In January 2023, an ad network accepted me into their program. A real one, with the paper stuff landing in my bank account every month. Srsly.

Since then, Sega has worked with me. Feedspot put me on their list of the best women in gaming blogs. Screen Rant named me a TikTok creator to watch. Me. The middle-aged woman who used to stream to two people (and one of them was my phone, let’s be real).

No camera. No “smash that subscribe button”. Just me being a bit too honest about video games.

Turns out that’s all the internet wanted.

Plot Twist: I Quit (Again)

Remember how I’d had plenty of practice at quitting? It paid off.

I quit Twitch in 2021. I quit the supermarket for a marketing job in 2024. And this year I handed in my notice again, because my blog FINALLY pays my bills.

The day I did it, a weight lifted off my shoulders. My husband was the first person I told (after I’d talked it through with him first, obvs. I’m not a monster).

I’m a full-time blogger now. I can cry in my own bathroom when I have a bad day. Yay, I’m winning at life.

If I could give you one piece of advice, it would be this: quit.

Yes, you. Yes, that thing. The one you just thought of.

The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result, and I have personally tested that theory on Twitch for a year. It does not work. Whether it’s your stream, your job, your cooking, or the £50 game you hate but keep playing out of pure stubbornness (return it, for flip sake), if it’s making you miserable and nothing is changing, you are allowed to stop.

Not “stop after one more week.” Not “stop once I’ve hit the next milestone.” STOP. NOW.

Starting over is not the same as failing. It’s research. Expensive, humbling research, but research.

And if you need a six-month pity party first, throw one. I did. I came out the other side realizing I’d known exactly what I needed to do the whole time. I just needed enough quiet in my head to put the puzzle together.

Burnt out on Twitch? Start here
Ready to start a gaming blog? Get the guide