There’s something undeniably attractive about being busy. Not just busy, but visibly busy. The kind that translates into aesthetics: packed schedules, early mornings, late nights, the subtle performance of exhaustion that somehow reads as ambition.
Scrolling through social media or listening to songs like “Busy Woman” by Sabrina Carpenter, or even singing “I Can Do It With a Broken Heart” by Taylor Swift, we are faced with a somewhat romanticized idea of productivity. Always having a full schedule became something sexy, which makes it clear that productivity has been rebranded. It’s no longer just a necessity, it’s an identity, a lifestyle that girls all over the world seek.
Nowadays, being busy is (literally) admired. More than that, it’s becoming a form of social currency.To be “always busy” often implies access: to opportunities, to ambition-driven spaces, to environments where time is scarce because demand is high. In that sense, busyness starts to resemble something close to luxury, a subtle, however powerful indicator that you are needed.
But if being busy has become a way to “prove our worth,” what happens when we stop being productive?
The Guilt of Doing Nothing
For many people, the answer is immediate: guilt. That sudden thought that “I should be reading that article for my English class or exercising because I gotta stay healthy, or I could call my friends to maybe hang out, but I also need to find a boyfriend so I can finally quit being single…” can be quite overwhelming.
The sharp, uncomfortable feeling that our precious, limited time on earth is being wasted, and that something should be done instead. Even in moments designed for rest (weekends, vacations, free afternoons) there’s often an undercurrent of unease. A need to justify the pause. To explain it, even if only to ourselves. Confirmed by the psychologist Sonia Bessa, this reaction is not accidental, nor purely individual: “Since the beginning of the earliest civilizations, those who produce have always been valued. Rest has never been well regarded”.
The association between productivity and worth is deeply historical. From early social structures to modern systems, those who produce are recognized, rewarded, and validated. Those who aren’t are, at best, judged. Over time, this belief has become more than an external expectation. Internally, we begin to believe that when we’re not producing, or “being busy”, we are less valuable to a society.
We grow up hearing that effort defines character, that discipline leads to success, that being constantly active is not just desirable, but morally right. Cultural sayings and religious values reinforce this idea, turning productivity into something ethical, and rest into something that must be earned. Sonia also highlights how this dynamic still shapes the way we see ourselves today: “We are validated and recognized through suffering. If it’s not like that, we are seen as ‘lazy’”.
Recognition, in many ways, is still tied to visible effort and exhaustion. Being tired becomes proof that you’re trying, that you’re doing enough — and that you deserve your place. And that’s where the guilt begins. Because when you’re not producing, you’re not generating that proof. And, consequently, it feels like you don’t deserve that desired social position.
But there’s another layer to this: even when we “rest,” we rarely disconnect. We step away from work, but not from the stimulation. We close our laptops, just to open our phones. We pause our tasks, but continue consuming, scrolling, responding. As Bessa points out, this constant mental activation prevents true rest: “The body rests, but the mind keeps working… in other words, there is no real rest.”
In other words, we have learned how to stop physically, but not mentally. Resting has been replaced by distraction (all the time, inside our heads). And this distraction, while comforting in the moment, doesn’t restore what constant productivity depletes.
When Productivity Becomes Identity
At some point, productivity stopped being something we do, and became who we are. You’re not just a student anymore. You’re a busy student. Not just involved in a project, you are expected to be overcommitted to it. And in certain spaces, especially within elite academic ones, this is expected.
Think about the U.S. college application process, Ivy League universities like Harvard, Yale, Princeton, Columbia, Dartmouth. You’re expected to be the best student, with top grades, several volunteering hours, countless passion projects, essays that make the admission officers shiver, top leadership positions, perfect recommendation letters, and a near-perfect SAT score.
This becomes a way of signaling ambition, discipline, and a sense of belonging to a group. It is crazy how the fuller your schedule, the more seriously you’re taken. It’s not just about what you accomplish. It’s about how much you can handle. Literally, as Taylor Swift says: “I can do it with a broken heart”.
At the same time, there’s another gigantic contradiction. While we are expected to be “always busy,” we are also expected to be constantly available – to others, to opportunities, to interruptions. As Sabrina sings: “I’m a busy woman for the rest of my life unless you call tonight”. She would drop everything for someone, but never for her own needed rest?
Structural “Busy Mentality”
Another topic that the psychologist says is that this productive mentality is a structural system in our society: “Sayings like ‘The early bird catches the worm’ or ‘Hard work is virtuous’ are deeply rooted concepts passed down through generations.”
These Brazilian Portuguese sayings aren’t harmless. They serve as cultural scripts, shaping how we interpret effort, rest, and worth from an early age. They teach us that discipline is virtue, that exhaustion is evidence of commitment, and that slowing down is suspicious. Over time, these ideas stop being external pressures and become internal standards. And once productivity becomes identity, resting doesn’t just feel uncomfortable. It feels like losing a part of yourself.
The gradual loss of pleasure in life
Additionally, there is a quieter consequence to all of this — one we might not even realize at first. Sonia Bessa points out that excess, even when socially valued, has real psychological costs: “Everything that is out of balance… can bring negative consequences… to physical and mental health, as well as overall well-being.”.
“If an individual is extremely stressed due to excessive productivity, anxiety may set in, and as a consequence, they won’t be able to enjoy the small pleasures in life, like going to their grandmother’s house and eating that delicious desert they used to appreciate, but now they’re exhausted, stressed, tired, and have no time…” And that’s where the loss becomes real.
Because most of the time, it’s not about missing big milestones. It’s about losing sensitivity to small moments we used to appreciate in our routines. You sit at the dinner table of your favorite restaurant. The food is there, comforting, something you used to crave. Maybe a homemade dessert, something warm, something tied to your memory. You take a bite. And it tastes… fine.
Not bad. Not good. Just fine.
Your body is present, but your mind is elsewhere, running through tasks, deadlines, expectations. What you have to do next. What you didn’t finish. What you should already be doing. The moment is there, but you don’t quite feel it. This is what constant productivity takes from you. It steals your taste for life, your presence. You become too tired to enjoy life the way you used to.
And over time, this disconnection becomes normalized. You get used to rushing through moments, multitasking during conversations, treating rest as something inconvenient. When everything is too fast, efficient, and goal-oriented, slowness starts to feel unnecessary. And maybe that’s the most dangerous illusion of all. Because the quiet moments, the slow ones, the ones without a clear purpose, were never the problem. They were, in fact, the sweetest part of life.
Conclusion
Which leads this text to one final thought: If productivity has become identity, then exhaustion has become proof. Proof that we are trying hard enough. Proof that we are doing enough, and that we deserve to belong somewhere. And maybe that’s exactly why it feels so hard to stop.
Because stopping is about questioning everything we were taught to believe about worth, effort, and success. As Sonia Bessa reminds us, this constant reinforcement of exhaustion is not harmless. It normalizes suffering, validates overwork, and pushes more and more people toward emotional and physical limits. And yet, there is an alternative. While researching for this article, I remembered my favorite movie, “Eat Pray Love” and the beautiful concept that feels comforting: dolce far niente, the sweetness of doing nothing.
Not as laziness. Not as failure. Not as something to be earned after exhaustion, but as something inherently human. To sit without urging to perform, exist without actually doing something, and experience a moment with the literal sweetness of doing absolutely nothing.
In a world that constantly asks “What’s next?”, that every time needs a reason for anything, choosing to live with “dolce far niente” in mind is an act of resistance. Maybe we don’t need to stop being super ambitious. But we do need to stop measuring our worth by how exhausted we get by the end of the day, because a life defined only by productivity will eventually disconnect you from everything that cannot be measured, and that includes joy, presence, meaning. So maybe the real challenge isn’t learning how to do more, it’s learning how to stop, without guilt. And to finally allow ourselves to truly enjoy life again.
The article above was edited by Larissa Buzon.
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