“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
I was lying on my couch again, Netflix playing in the background, when I heard my husband’s footsteps on the stairs. Instinctively, I reached for my phone, desperate to appear busy—productive—anything but resting.
For months, that had been my routine. As the severe anemia from my adenomyosis and fibroids worsened, I found myself increasingly couch-bound, dizzy, and exhausted. Yet each time my husband entered the room, I’d grab my phone and pretend to be working. Not because he expected it, but because I couldn’t bear to seem “lazy.”
But this particular day, three weeks after my hysterectomy, something shifted. When he walked in, I didn’t reach for my phone. I just stayed still, watching my show, drowning in guilt.
He smiled and said something so simple: “It’s good to see you resting.”
That’s when it hit me—a realization that would transform how I understood my own worth: I’m not a burden. I’m healing. I’m allowed to rest. He didn’t marry me for my productivity.
It shouldn’t have been a revelation, but it was.
The Productivity Trap
I’d always been in motion. Walking, working, cleaning, planning, doing. Even after having my son in 2019, I prioritized outings and experiences, determined to give him what financial limitations had prevented in my own childhood.
My husband and I had carefully divided our family responsibilities—he worked longer hours at his job, and I took on more household management, childcare, and projects. We focused on each contributing equal time to our family’s needs. It was balanced and fair, and it worked.
Until my body stopped cooperating.
What began as increasingly heavy periods evolved into daily bleeding so severe I couldn’t stand without dizziness. I fought against it at first, pushing through fatigue to maintain my “contribution.” I’d drag myself through household tasks, schedule outdoor activities for my son, and maintain appearances—all while growing weaker.
“If I’m not productive or contributing, then what good am I?” This thought haunted me as I sank deeper into the couch and further from the capable person I identified as.
When the doctor reviewed my iron levels, he said if his were that low, he “wouldn’t have been able to get off the floor,” yet I still resisted treatment (the iron infusions cost over $1,000). Only when our insurance changed did I relent, but by then, it was like adding drops to an empty bucket.
The diagnosis was clear: adenomyosis and large fibroids, a family legacy I’d inherited. Surgery—a hysterectomy—was inevitable, though I mourned the loss of having another child.
The six-month wait for surgery stretched my identity to its breaking point. Who was I if not the doer, the organizer, the capable one? What was my value when I couldn’t contribute?
The Hidden Voice
Growing up, I’d absorbed messages about worth from my father, who seemed physically incapable of sitting still. “If you have time to lean, you have time to clean” was the household mantra. Rest was for the weak, the lazy, the unworthy.
I’d spent a decade in personal growth work, deliberately unwinding these beliefs. Or so I thought.
But physical vulnerability has a way of stripping us back to our core programming. In pain, exhausted, and feeling useless, I reverted to that critical inner voice:
“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?”
This voice—let’s call her Task-Master Tina—had been with me so long I didn’t recognize her as separate from my authentic self. Her criticisms felt like objective truth, not the outdated programming they actually were.
The surgery I thought would fix everything instead brought new lessons in surrender. The pain was excruciating. The recovery, slower than I’d imagined. And each time I attempted to rush back to “normal,” my body forced me back to the couch with unmistakable clarity.
That’s when I realized I needed tools to navigate this self-worth crisis—not just for recovery, but for the rest of my life.
Three Practices That Changed Everything
Through trial, error, and many Netflix documentaries watched from my couch, I discovered three practices that transformed my relationship with myself:
1. Name your inner critic.
That voice telling you you’re worthless without productivity isn’t actually you—it’s a critic you’ve internalized from past experiences. By naming this voice (mine was “Task-Master Tina”), you create distance between your authentic self and these automatic thoughts.
When I caught myself thinking, “I’m so lazy just lying here,” I’d pause and think, “That’s just Tina talking. She was programmed by my father’s workaholism. Her opinions aren’t facts.”
This simple act of naming created space between the thought and my response—what I later learned to call the “magic gap” where choice lives.
2. Challenge your limiting core belief.
Behind every critical thought is a core belief. Mine was: “My worth depends on what I contribute.”
To challenge this, I wrote down concrete evidence contradicting this belief:
- My husband married me for who I am, not what I do.
- Friends seek my company for connection, not productivity.
- I would never measure a loved one’s worth by their output.
- Worth is inherent in being human, not earned through action.
This wasn’t just positive thinking—it was deliberately examining whether my belief stood up to rational scrutiny. It didn’t.
3. Write yourself a permission slip.
Remember those permission slips from school? It turns out adults need them too.
I literally wrote on a piece of paper, “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’d see it daily. Something about the physical act of writing and seeing this permission made it real in a way that thinking alone couldn’t accomplish.
When guilt surfaced, I’d read it aloud, reminding myself that I had authorized this behavior. It sounds simple, but this tangible permission slip became a powerful anchor during recovery.
The Deeper Lesson
As my physical strength gradually returned, I realized this experience had given me something invaluable: a new understanding of worth.
Worth isn’t something we earn through productivity or contribution. Worth is inherent. We don’t question a baby’s right to exist without producing anything. We don’t measure a loved one’s value by their output. Yet somehow, we apply different standards to ourselves.
I understand now that worthiness isn’t about productivity—it’s about authenticity. About aligning with your unique true nature rather than living your life to meet others’ expectations based on their personal values.
Compassion ranks high among my personal values, yet for years, I’d excluded myself from receiving this compassion. I’d created an exception clause where everyone deserved kindness except me.
Physical limitation forced me to extend to myself the same compassion I readily offered others. It wasn’t easy. It still isn’t. Old programming runs deep, and “Task-Master Tina” still visits occasionally.
But now, when she arrives, I have tools. I recognize her voice as separate from my truth. I challenge her outdated beliefs with evidence. And I have standing permission to prioritize healing and rest without apology.
This isn’t just about recovery from surgery. It’s about recovering the authentic self beneath layers of “shoulds” and external measures of value.
When we define worth through productivity, we live in constant fear of the inevitable moments when illness, age, or circumstance limit our output. When we anchor worth in authenticity instead, nothing can diminish our inherent value.
That’s the permission slip we all need but rarely give ourselves: permission to be worthy, just as we are, no matter what we produce.
About Sandy Woznicki
Sandy Woznicki is a stress coach helping parents find their inner calm and get to know, like, and trust themselves (so they can be the person, parent, and partner they are meant to be). Learn how to speak to yourself like someone you love with this free inner voice makeover workbook.
