Edited by : Aashi Galriya
You’re never doing enough. That’s what my brain sounds like day in and day out.
There’s always one more task left to do on my list, one more thing I should have already done, one more skill I should be learning. No matter how much I do, it never feels enough. It’s exhausting, this never-ending race where the finish line keeps moving further away. The worst part — all these tasks are daily activities — chores and assignments that you already should’ve figured your way around. Choosing one for me means missing out on the other.
When I look around, everyone else seems to be fine, juggling work, assignments, gym routines—like it’s effortless. Like they don’t panic about not being able to do it all. Like they don’t feel the crushing weight of falling behind.
But, am I at fault, or is it just this constant pressure to maintain a high level of productivity? It’s everywhere. Productivity culture, I mean. The idea that if you’re not constantly improving, you’re losing. Work harder. Sleep less. Act now, rest later. But when is this later? When do we get to stop feeling like we’re playing catch-up?
Social media makes it worse. Everyone curates their best moments—their workout progress, side businesses, and perfectly balanced lives. It makes you feel like you’re behind before you even start. It’s like a video game where everyone else has the cheat codes, and you’re stuck figuring things out from scratch. It feels like you’ve lost even before you’ve started.
But no one talks about the burnout. No one talks about the nights they break down because they’re stretched too thin. No one posts about the days they spend lying in bed, too exhausted to function.
I’ve been trying to be less harsh on myself. Trying to accept that doing my best doesn’t have to mean burning myself into the ground. That rest isn’t the enemy. That life isn’t a race where you have to have every experience under the sun.
It’s hard, though. Slowing down feels like giving up. Taking a break feels like admitting defeat. But I’m realizing that maybe the real problem isn’t falling behind—it’s believing that I was ever supposed to keep up with an impossible pace in the first place.
And maybe, just maybe, the idea of “falling behind” is a lie. I mean why should we keep moving, working, consuming, and producing at a rate where we no longer have time for ourselves? A cycle we never question because we’re too busy running inside it.
But what if we choose to do things at our own pace? What if I choose to decide not to peep into the lives of others? What if I acknowledge that some days, just getting out of bed is enough? What if learning one new thing instead of ten is just okay? What if rest is equally important as progress?
I want to believe that life is not just a series of checkboxes meant to be checked out daily. That the value of one’s existence isn’t measured by how much they accomplish in a day. That slowing down isn’t a failure, but a much-needed break to prevent someone from tiring out.
Maybe the trick isn’t catching up. Maybe the trick is to realize there was never a race to begin with.