I’ve worked for myself for nearly a decade, and in all but one of those years I’ve earned more than the U.K. average salary. Some years it’s been a little more. I’m naturally frugal, and even during the rockiest stretches, there’s always been enough to cover the basics—plus a safety net if I ever truly needed it.
Yet I worry about money constantly, gnawed by the sense that I’m only one missed invoice from financial collapse. Although I’m generally wary of self-diagnosis, the term “money dysmorphia”—a disconnect between how we feel about our finances and the reality—fits me like a glove.
From the rise of HENRYs (“high earners, not rich yet”) to the boom in “income stacking,” today’s workplace trends illustrate just how messed up our relationship with finances has become. While money dysmorphia isn’t a clinical term, it’s a shorthand that many workers now recognize.
Credit Karma reports that 29% of Americans experience it, especially millennials and Gen Z, so I’m in good company. But could the nature of solopreneurship—the feast-or-famine cycles, the autonomy, the pressure to slay in your own lane—make us even more prone?
“It’s absolutely heightened for solopreneurs, freelancers, and anyone with an unstable income,” says Alex King, founder of financial education platform Generation Money. “Without a fixed monthly salary, they normalize volatility and uncertainty, which can create a sense of inadequacy or inflated confidence in their finances.”
The numbers paint an intriguing picture. Advice site Freelancing Support reported that 41% of freelancers struggled with poor financial well-being in 2024, and a 2025 study found that three in four U.S. solopreneurs have less than six months’ worth of savings—or no safety net at all. Plenty of people have good reasons to be anxious.
But a surprising portion are on solid ground: The number of six-figure solopreneurs has almost doubled since 2020, and research from the Minneapolis Fed shows that self-employed workers earn significantly more over their careers than those in traditional jobs.
“Everyone’s always thriving, innovating, scaling”
Kim Berndt, cofounder of the fashion tech collaboration lab We.art studio in Cologne, Germany, has been a solopreneur since 2017. After three years of not paying herself a salary, her numbers finally look stable. Emotionally, though, she feels anything but. Social media plays a significant role in warping her sense of financial reality.
“It’s the biggest scam, because it creates the illusion that everyone is always thriving, innovating, scaling,” she says. “The two industries I straddle—tech and fashion—glorify speed and visibility, yet they’re the Wild West when it comes to pay.”
Berndt has accepted that she may never feel stable, especially in an emerging field that many still don’t understand and that offers little clarity around value. “I chose self-employment, so I have to find ways to cope,” she says.
I identify with Berndt’s me-against-the-world mentality, so I was curious to hear what financial therapist Elana Feinsmith had to say about this predicament. I told her about the ripple effects of my own money dysmorphia: oscillating between avoiding my bank balance and obsessively checking it, hesitating to charge fairly, and feeling guilt and shame over basic spending.
“Finances are like an iceberg,” she says. “The numbers sit above the waterline, but below is where the dark, murky feelings live.” She encourages me to examine not just the volatility of my work but also the “money scripts” I learned earlier in life. It doesn’t take her long to extract that being the eldest daughter (surprise!) has something to do with it.
“Figure out the amount that would calm your nervous system, then project a few years down the line to see the real picture,” she tells me. A panic alarm sounds in my head—if only it were that simple. Feinsmith says that reaction is typical of money dysmorphia. It makes long-term planning seem impossible, and she sees clients grapple with it at every income level.
Addressing the iceberg
There are now 72.9 million independent workers in the U.S., and almost everyone wants to leave corporate jobs to start their own businesses, amid the fifth year of persistent inflation. King warns that these conditions are likely to breed more widespread money dysmorphia. But it doesn’t have to define the solopreneur experience. Small structural changes can help close the gap between perception and reality.
“Have separate accounts for personal and business finances,” King advises. “Combining them distorts whether you feel rich one month and poor the next. Avoid months of paying yourself nothing, and don’t overpay yourself when things go well.” Ideally, work toward a baseline salary or a fixed minimum to cover costs.
As the end of the year approaches, I’m particularly beguiled by other freelancers’ 2025 roundups, where they highlight their wins, earnings, and learnings. I’m all for championing the wins, but after ingesting a few, I fall into catastrophizing my own balance sheet. King points out that many of these “updates” confuse revenue with profit.
“They’re not saying ‘I made X amount, but then had to deduct what I spent on outreach, subscriptions, and training,’ because that’s not sexy,” he says.
This year, I’ll be approaching the freelance wrap-up posts with caution. And after consulting the experts, I’m more convinced that there’s no quick fix for financial dysmorphia. Yet just the idea of taking a pickax to my financial iceberg makes me feel calmer.
Perhaps that’s the best economic stability a solopreneur can ask for: not perfect peace of mind, but the confidence to keep moving anyway.