“If you are continually judging and criticizing yourself while trying to be kind to others, you are drawing artificial boundaries and distinctions that only lead to feelings of separation and isolation.” ~Kristin Neff
There I was, sprawled on the couch, the soft glow of Netflix casting a warm light across the room. The familiar hum of the TV filled the air, a comforting background noise to my solitude. But as soon as I heard my husband’s footsteps on the stairs, a wave of panic washed over me. Without thinking, my hand instinctively reached for my phone, as if grasping for a lifeline. I needed to appear busy, productive—anything but idle and at rest.
For months, this had become my routine. My body was in a state of decline, battered by severe anemia caused by adenomyosis and fibroids. I was increasingly confined to the couch, my head spinning and my energy sapped. Yet, each time my husband entered the room, I’d put on a show, pretending to be engrossed in work on my phone. It wasn’t because he expected it of me; it was my own internalized pressure, a deep – seated fear of being seen as “lazy.”
But one day, three weeks after my hysterectomy, something shifted. When my husband walked in, I didn’t reach for my phone. I stayed put, my eyes fixed on the TV screen, but my heart heavy with guilt. And then, he smiled and said the simplest of things: “It’s good to see you resting.”
In that moment, it was as if a veil had been lifted. A profound realization dawned on me, one that would forever change how I perceived my own worth: I wasn’t a burden. I was in the process of healing, and I had every right to rest. My husband hadn’t married me for my ability to be constantly productive; he loved me for who I was. It seemed so obvious, yet it was a revelation that hit me like a ton of bricks.
The Vicious Cycle of Productivity
I had always been a whirlwind of activity. My life was a constant flurry of movement—walking, working, cleaning, planning, and doing. Even after my son was born in 2019, I was determined to give him the best. I prioritized outings and experiences, driven by the desire to make up for the limitations I’d faced in my own childhood due to financial constraints.
My husband and I had a well – defined division of family responsibilities. He worked long hours at his job, while I took on the bulk of household management, childcare, and various projects. We strived for balance, ensuring that we both contributed equally to our family’s needs. It was a system that worked—until my body started to rebel.
What began as heavy periods soon spiraled into daily bleeding so severe that standing up made me dizzy. But I refused to give in. I pushed through the fatigue, determined to maintain my “contribution.” I dragged myself through household chores, planned activities for my son, and put on a brave face, all the while growing weaker. The thought “If I’m not productive or contributing, then what good am I?” haunted me, a constant refrain as I sank deeper into the couch and further from the person I once was.
When the doctor looked at my iron levels, he was shocked. He said that if his levels were that low, he “wouldn’t have been able to get off the floor.” But I resisted treatment due to the high cost of iron infusions. It wasn’t until our insurance changed that I finally relented, but by then, it felt like too little, too late. The diagnosis of adenomyosis and large fibroids was a bitter pill to swallow. Surgery—a hysterectomy—was inevitable, and I mourned the loss of the possibility of having another child.
The six – month wait for surgery was excruciating. It tested the very limits of my identity. Who was I if I wasn’t the doer, the organizer, the capable one? What was my value when I couldn’t contribute in the way I was used to?
The Echoes of the Past
Looking back, I realized that my warped sense of worth had its roots in my childhood. My father was a man who seemed physically unable to sit still. “If you have time to lean, you have time to clean” was the mantra that echoed through our household. In that environment, rest was seen as a sign of weakness, laziness, and unworthiness.
I had spent a decade engaged in personal growth work, thinking I had overcome these beliefs. But physical vulnerability has a way of stripping away our defenses and exposing our deepest, most ingrained thoughts. In the throes of pain, exhaustion, and feeling useless, I found myself listening to that critical inner voice again: “You’re a burden. Everyone is suffering because of you. He’ll resent you for not doing your share. What value do you even have now?”
I named this voice “Task – Master Tina.” She had been with me for so long that I had mistaken her for my own authentic self. Her criticisms felt like absolute truth, when in reality, they were nothing more than outdated programming.
The surgery, which I had hoped would be a quick fix, instead brought new challenges. The pain was intense, and the recovery was much slower than I had anticipated. Every time I tried to rush back to “normal,” my body would force me back to the couch, a clear reminder that I needed to slow down. It was then that I knew I needed to find a way to navigate this crisis of self – worth, not just for my recovery, but for the rest of my life.
Three Pillars of Transformation
Through countless hours spent on the couch, watching Netflix documentaries and reflecting on my situation, I discovered three practices that would revolutionize my relationship with myself.
1. Personifying the Inner Critic
The first step was to give a name to my inner critic. By naming her “Task – Master Tina,” I created a sense of separation between my true self and those negative, automatic thoughts. When I found myself thinking, “I’m so lazy just lying here,” I would pause and remind myself, “That’s just Tina talking. She was programmed by my father’s workaholism. Her opinions aren’t facts.” This simple act of naming created a “magic gap,” a space between the thought and my response where I could choose how to react.
2. Challenging Limiting Beliefs
Behind every critical thought lay a core belief. Mine was that “My worth depends on what I contribute.” To challenge this, I wrote down evidence that contradicted it. I reminded myself that my husband loved me for who I was, not what I could do. I thought about how my friends valued my company for the connection we shared, not for my productivity. I also recognized that worth is an inherent part of being human, not something to be earned through action. This wasn’t just positive thinking; it was a rational examination of my beliefs, and I realized that they didn’t hold up.
3. Granting Myself Permission
I decided to write myself a permission slip, just like the ones we used to get in school. On a piece of paper, I wrote, “I, Sandy, give myself permission to rest without guilt while healing. I give myself permission to receive help without feeling like a burden.” I placed it on my nightstand, where I could see it every day. There was something powerful about the physical act of writing down this permission. When guilt threatened to overwhelm me, I would read it aloud, reinforcing the idea that I had the right to rest and heal.
The Profound Revelation
As my body gradually regained strength, I came to understand that this experience had been a gift in disguise. It had given me a new perspective on worth. Worth isn’t something we earn through our productivity or contributions. It’s an inherent part of who we are. We don’t question a baby’s right to exist just because it can’t produce anything. We don’t measure the value of our loved ones by what they can do for us. Yet, for some reason, we hold ourselves to a different standard.
I now know that worthiness is about authenticity, about being true to ourselves rather than trying to meet the expectations of others based on their values. Compassion was one of my core values, but for years, I had excluded myself from receiving it. I had created an exception clause, thinking that everyone deserved kindness except me.
My physical limitations had forced me to extend the same compassion to myself that I so readily offered to others. It wasn’t an easy journey, and old habits die hard. Task – Master Tina still makes the occasional appearance. But now, I have the tools to deal with her. I can recognize her voice as separate from my truth, challenge her beliefs with evidence, and remind myself that I have the right to prioritize my healing and rest.
This isn’t just about recovering from surgery; it’s about reclaiming my authentic self from beneath the layers of “shoulds” and external measures of value. When we base our worth on productivity, we live in constant fear of the times when illness, age, or circumstances might limit our output. But when we anchor our worth in authenticity, nothing can ever diminish our inherent value. It’s a lesson that we all need to learn—the lesson of giving ourselves permission to be worthy, just as we are, regardless of what we produce.
