Why I Stopped Being Useful

“Be useful.”

It was something my mother would say when I was growing up.

My father taught me to work hard.

Neither lesson seemed particularly unusual at the time. But somewhere along the way, usefulness and hard work became connected to being accepted, staying out of trouble, and belonging.

So I became useful.

I became the one who got stuff done.

I carried that identity into adulthood and eventually into my work. I could handle things, fix things, figure things out and make things happen.

Until I couldn't anymore.

I worked hard and made myself useful until I completely burned myself out at work.

And strangely, that burnout became the last suffering that ended all suffering for me.

Something stopped.

The person who always needed to do, accomplish, solve and become simply couldn't keep going.

And underneath her was what I think I had wanted all along.

To be.

Now my life has long periods of inactivity and rest. When doing happens, it arises from that state of being. And when it is finished, I return to rest.

I don't measure my days by what I accomplish anymore.

I don't need to be “the one who gets stuff done.”

I don't need to earn my place here by being useful.