Productivity Isn’t My Worth—But I Still Crave It
By Trinity Barnette
I know, logically, that my worth isn’t measured by how much I get done. I know that rest is productive. I know that burnout isn’t a badge of honor. And yet… I still chase productivity like it’s oxygen.
There’s something about checking a box, finishing a blog, hitting a goal—that momentary high of “I did it”—that gives me a sense of control in a world that constantly feels out of mine. It’s not just about accomplishment. It’s about survival. About feeling useful when my brain tries to tell me I’m not enough. About proving to myself that I’m not lazy, even when my body is begging me to slow down.
This is the internal tug-of-war I’m learning to live with: the one between ambition and exhaustion, between rest and guilt, between who I am and what I do.
Let’s talk about it.
Where the Pressure Comes From
For me, it started in school. I didn’t just want good grades—I needed them. Academic validation wasn’t just encouragement. It was identity. When I was excelling, I felt like I mattered. Like I was worthy of love, respect, peace. Productivity became a passport to being treated well—by others, and honestly, by myself.
Somewhere along the line, being “smart” turned into being valuable. Getting things done became proof that I deserved to exist. If I wasn’t achieving, I felt invisible. Like a burden. Like a waste of time and space.
Even now, that wiring still lives in me. When I’m not doing something, I feel guilty. Useless. Like I’m failing—at life, at adulthood, at being the version of myself I promised I’d become. And it’s wild because I know I’m more than my output. But knowing and believing are two very different things.
This isn’t about laziness or lack of drive. It’s survival mode. It’s perfectionism. It’s fear. Fear of not being enough unless I’m constantly proving my worth through work, writing, effort, motion. Fear that if I stop—just for a second—everything I’ve built will fall apart. Or worse: that I’ll realize I’ve tied my identity to something fragile.
What I’m Learning
I’m learning that rest isn’t failure.
I’m learning that stillness doesn’t mean I’m falling behind.
I’m learning that I can be valuable even on the days when I do nothing but breathe, exist, and get through.
Unlearning the connection between productivity and self-worth feels like pulling bricks out of a wall I built to protect myself. That wall made me feel strong for a while—but now, it’s just keeping me trapped.
So I’ve been asking myself different questions lately.
Not “Did I do enough today?”
But “Was I kind to myself today?”
Not “What did I accomplish?”
But “Did I take care of the version of me that’s tired, overwhelmed, and trying so hard to be perfect?”
Some days I still crave the rush of checking things off a list. I probably always will. But I’m slowly learning to find pride in other things too—in listening to my body, in feeding myself when I’m starving, in being patient when I want results right now.
This version of me still works hard. But she’s also allowed to rest hard. To lay in bed and do nothing. To eat pancakes. To cry. To just be.
And that? That’s growth.
If You’ve Ever Felt This Too…
You’re not lazy. You’re not broken. You’re not behind.
You’ve just been taught to survive by proving your worth through output—and now, you’re unlearning that.
If you’re someone who feels guilty when you rest…
If you panic when you’re not being “productive”…
If your self-worth feels tied to how much you get done…
You’re not alone. I feel it too.
But here’s what I’m learning to tell myself (and maybe it’ll help you too):
I am not a machine.
I do not need to earn my right to exist.
Rest is not laziness.
My value does not depend on how much I produce.
Slow days are still sacred.
I am enough—even when I’m still.
This healing isn’t easy. But every time I choose softness over shame, presence over panic, I feel a little freer. And that’s the version of me I’m trying to grow into—one who knows she’s worthy whether she’s hustling or healing.
