Life Between Load-ins

A personal essay by E. Lane

I’ve lived most of my adult life somewhere between a hotel lobby and a loading dock. I’m a touring professional — a production manager, a sound engineer, a fixer, a friend, a last-minute miracle worker. From the outside, my job can look like one big adventure: jet-setting around, working alongside incredible artists, run big shows, sleeping in hotels that cost more per night than my mortgage. From the inside, it’s a little messier.

Behind that calm exterior, there’s often a storm. I battle a brain that rarely wants to cooperate.

I live with ADHD and anxiety — neither diagnosed until I was well into adulthood. For years, I just thought I wasn’t trying hard enough. That I wasn’t tough enough, focused enough, stable enough. The truth is, I was trying so hard that I didn’t notice I was coming undone.

An Industry That Attracts the Wounded

Funny thing is — this industry seems to attract people like me. Sensitive. Creative. Driven. But also battling demons quietly.The industry wasn’t built with mental health in mind, yet it’s full of people who need that support the most.

We live, work, and travel with our crew. We go from strangers to best friends in under a week.  We laugh, we cry, we drink too much, we fight, we hug it out, and then we pack it all into trucks and roll on to the next city. And when the tour ends, that whole universe disappears overnight. You lose your family.

I love this life — fiercely. But it’s not built for people like me.

The Breaking Point

I hit one of my lowest points not long ago. I’d barely finished one tour before diving straight into the next. Settlements weren’t done, emails kept piling up, and I was already running on fumes when the anxiety hit—It was relentless. Getting out of bed wasn’t just hard — it was a fight. I would give up my days off with my tour family and force myself to work… normally from the pub — partly because the noise made me feel less alone, partly because I needed a drink to soften the edges.

I wasn’t being irresponsible. I was overwhelmed and drowning.

Touring doesn’t leave much room to fall apart. There’s always a crisis to solve, a person needing answers, a deadline looming. No one warns you about the crash that comes when the adrenaline runs out, or the silence that amplifies everything you’ve been trying to outrun. You miss your family,but it’s deeper than that—you miss yourself. And still, the show must go on… even when you’re barely holding it together.

The Fallout No One Sees

When a tour wraps, most people think we go home to rest. But rest doesn’t come easy —especially when your brain’s been stuck in overdrive for months.

For me, rest can feel like a trap. An overactive mind doesn’t slow down just because the calendar does. It loops through every mistake, every awkward moment, every worry about what’s next.

Then comes the financial stress, contractor life doesn’t come with a safety net.. The sudden realisation that the paychecks have stopped, and there’s nothing else lined up. No sick leave. No safety net. You go from per diems and packed schedules to wondering if you’ll make your bills next month.

And emotionally?  It’s brutal. One day you’re waking up in a new city, running on purpose and caffeine. From waking up in new cities to forgetting how to function at home. You try to rejoin family life, but you feel alien in your own living room.

What’s Helped Me Stay Afloat

It took a long time to admit I needed help. I’ve slowly built a support crew — the kind who show up when the wheels fall off. I lean on my friends. wellbeing services. I exercise. I talk to people who understand the chaos.

Behind every confident-looking touring professional is someone quietly trying not to fall apart.

We all feel the same pressures. The same exhaustion. The same invisible weight of holding the whole machine up while no one holds us.

Why I’m Sharing This

Honestly? This is for me. As a kind of release — a rebellion against the silence that still surrounds mental health in this industry.

But it’s also for you — the one reading this who knows exactly what I mean. Maybe you’re between tours, staring at the wall. Maybe you’re between tours, wondering how something you love so much can leave you feeling so empty.

It’s okay to be ambitious and overwhelmed. To love your job and resent it sometimes. To be living your dream but still battling darkness.

Just keep talking. Keep moving. Keep showing up for yourself.

“You don’t have to be on fire to prove you can handle the heat.”
— Unknown

— E. Lane