Working from hospital without been budget on savings start reasoning I used my laundry machine to alive my depression

She remembers that morning vividly—early sunlight slicing through the hospital’s tall windows, glinting off stainless steel instruments and tiled floors. She sat in the on-call room, coffee cooling beside her, trying to reconcile two truths. One: she was grateful to be earning 80,000 naira a month from her hospital work. Two: she had no savings to cushion unexpected costs. Working from the hospital didn’t afford her that safety net—and that weighed heavily.

Her salary covered rent and utilities, but any extra medical bills or emergency costs left her scrambling. The laundry machine at home, tucked into a corner of her modest flat, became more than just an appliance—it was a lifeline. As strange as it may sound, washing her clothes became therapy. Every cycle rinsed away tension. The hum, the rhythm—it grounded her.

Current Revenue and Profit
At the time, her salary from the hospital stood at 80,000 ₦ per month. But since she began offering laundry assistance informally to close friends—folded shirts, smoothed trousers, neatly pressed whites—she started to earn extra. On average, she now rakes in an additional 150,000 ₦ monthly revenue from her side hustle. After accounting for expenses like detergent, water, and electricity, her net profit stands at around 75,000 ₦ per month.

Combined, her income comes to about 230,000 ₦, with 155,000 ₦ in take-home earnings after living costs. That shift changed everything: suddenly, she wasn’t just surviving—she was planning, hoping, dreaming.

A typical Saturday paints the full picture. She wakes early, fresh from a 24-hour hospital shift, and heads home. She drops her bag and throws in a load of laundry. While the machine hums, she sips tea and opens online chats to coordinate laundry pickups from neighbours. Folding each shirt by hand, she reflects on her hospital rounds—the elderly woman who needed medication but couldn’t afford it, or the newborn whose arrival filled the ward with joy.

Each sock she pairs, each trouser she presses—it’s not about the money alone. It’s about connection. She remembers the first time a neighbour thanked her not just for clean clothes, but for making their week a little easier. That’s when she realized: she could care for others at work—and care for herself, too, from home.

What makes it beautiful is its simplicity. No branding. No storefront. No flyers or price list. Her customers are everyday people—hospital staff like herself, a single mother trying to juggle multiple jobs, or the young man next door whose generator broke down. They pay what they can, sometimes a little more when payday comes. She earns their trust, and in return, she finds dignity in the work.

At night, she sometimes sits in the quiet of her room, looking at the modest pile of savings she’s built. It's not much, but it's more than zero—and that, to her, is powerful. Months ago, a surprise bill could have undone her. Now she plots—maybe an extra drying rack, maybe a backup generator for blackouts, maybe one day even a laundry kiosk near the hospital. It’s a dream born of necessity, nurtured with compassion.

To be clear, she’s not preaching hustle culture or glorifying burnout. Her story isn’t about doing everything, everywhere, all at once. It’s a reflection of her reality—a woman who found a way to stay afloat in the middle of uncertainty. What started as an act of survival became a source of quiet pride. Her 80,000 ₦ salary was stable, but not enough. Her laundry service added 150,000 ₦ in revenue—and more importantly, it added belief.

She began to trust herself again.

Working at the hospital without savings felt like walking a tightrope. But through those laundry cycles—through the folds, the rinses, the customer chats and gentle ironing—she began to re-center. She found not just income and profit, but meaning. With that extra stream, she now has the power to think long-term, to say no when needed, to rest without guilt.

She is not defined by her salary or side hustle. She is defined by the quiet courage it took to take control of her situation. In the rhythm of a spinning machine, she found her strength.

And so, this is her story. A Nigerian woman, doing her best in a world that doesn’t always make space for softness or struggle. She turned her laundry machine into a small business—and a form of healing. From 80,000 ₦ in hospital pay to 150,000 ₦ in self-made revenue, she carved a path that’s hers alone. Not perfect. Not always easy. But real.

She may still have long days ahead, and many clothes to fold. But with every cycle, she remembers: she is resilient, she is resourceful, and her story matters.