Toxic Productivity, Eating Dirt and how I learned to Garden.
What happens when something breaks and you suddenly can’t hustle with the same erect bravado? What happens when your grind-core, girl-boss, side-gig, hyper-speed brain decides to take a long fucking walk? What happens when you can’t move because you can’t feel your legs? One guess.
You have a complete meltdown.
Like most people, I measured my self-worth by how much I could accomplish. I thought being a "good" person meant always achieving, pushing myself to the edge, and proving my value through constant productivity. Rest felt like failure, and slowing down meant I was falling behind. If I wasn’t a sexy and super-lubricated canal of content and commitments and deadlines I wasn’t worth ANYTHING. So, of course, when a spinal injury forced me to stop, I found myself feeling a bit strange. A little unsettled. A tad unhinged. I was wrestling with guilt, questioning my worth simply because I wasn’t doing. I felt as though I was failing, not just physically but morally, for allowing myself the time to heal.
This meant that I had a grade-A, snot addled, chest-heaving, gut-wrenching, super-dooper, nuclear freak out.
And it was messy.
But when I wiped my face and took a deep breath I had sneaking suspicion this “bad” feeling was a fantastic lie. That down in my deepest-deep I knew this mindset wasn't natural; it was learned. This moralistic-meltdown was, in fact, a symptom of toxic productivity, coughed up from culture that equates overwork with virtue. Capitalism, conditioning and culture had trained me to put all my needs aside because “if you’re not working hard, if you’re not winning, you’re worthless and tacky and we hate you”. But who benefits from this? I certainly didn’t. I was sad and miserable, in pain, and unable to function in this system. This belief system was destroying my health. It had created an internal narrative where my self-worth was tied to how much I could give, produce, and achieve. And so, naturally, I had broken my body in an effort to win the un-winnable race. For what? And who was I trying to prove myself to?
Where was my trophy? My sash? My tiara? My 6-nights in Vegas and a kiss from The Pope?
I began to question what "productivity" really meant and, more importantly, how I wanted to redefine it in my life.
What if, instead of measuring my worth by how much I did, I reframed productivity as *fecundity*—the capacity for growth and creation in its own time? What if I treated my brain and my body as a garden with seasons of fullness and fallow? Gardens don’t bloom year-round. They need care, cultivation and delicious dirt that’s full of worms and good stuff. You have to dig and lay down decaying matter for tiny micro-critters to eat, shit and spew up nutrients. You need to start down in the dark to work towards the light. It takes time to sew seeds, to germinate, the photosynthesise. and wriggle up towards the sun. Gardens rest, regenerate, and bloom when it’s their time. You can’t force things to grow when the conditions are fucked-up. And my body, in this moment, needed to rest. I had to manage the pain, the rehabilitation, and the slower rhythms of winter so that I could eventually enter a spring and summer of plenty.
It took time but eventually I taught myself that slowing down was not a moral failure but a necessary part of the cycle. It wasn’t a matter of pushing myself beyond my limits to be seen as "hardworking" or "helpful"—I could still be both while honouring my body’s need for care and recovery. By giving myself permission to rest, I was able to begin healing, not just physically but mentally and emotionally as well. Do I still have a gross, ugly cry when my body doesn’t work the way I want? Yes, but I don’t beat myself up about it.
The fallow seasons are not empty; they’re the periods where life gestates and prepares to bloom again. I’m learning that true productivity isn’t about constant action or output; it’s about knowing when to cultivate and when to allow the soil to rest. Toxic productivity teaches us to destroy ourselves in the name of output, but real growth comes when we recognise our own seasons—when we recognise that rest is just as important as the work we do.
So, what if we all started to view ourselves as gardens? What if we honoured the winter as much as we celebrated the summer? In doing so, we might find that we can bloom more fully, more authentically, and with a deeper appreciation for the cycles that make us who we are. I’m not saying you should quit your job. I’m saying you should take a day off and just…lie down in the grass. It’ll be ok, I promise.
