Productivity is a Four Letter Word

Productivity. I hate that word. It has been my enemy since the day I brought my new baby home.

We haven’t always had a tortured relationship. In my pre-child life, to do lists were my favorite. Every morning, I would list all of the things I wanted to get done that day, complete with sub-lists within each project.

Menial tasks like “shower,” “eat,” etc. were not worthy of the list. Each item I crossed off felt like a victory; each list I completed made me feel like my day had been a success. “Almost done” or “I tried” didn’t count.

I think every woman I know has adopted a method for measuring herself as she has moved from childhood into adulthood. The most well adjusted among us use their measure as a type of growth chart – am I growing?

Some use it to measure themselves against “the competition” (whoever that is). Still others use it as a “must be this tall to ride” – if you don’t measure up, you are deficient somehow. I fell somewhere between the latter two categories. My to do lists made me feel safe in the knowledge that I was enough, or at least that I was nearly enough. I was certainly “busy.”

Unknowingly, I reinforced to myself daily that my worthiness of love and admiration was tied to the strikethroughs on my list. I was only as good as my accomplishments.

Then suddenly, I had a baby, no job placing demands on my time, and my to do lists were reduced to essentials. More often than not, they were not even half done. Some days, I didn’t cross anything off the list. I felt like a failure. How could showering (which takes, what, like 15 min?) be an insurmountable task on my to do list? I can’t tell you how many times I googled “getting things done with a baby.” How had I never heard that getting things done with a baby was this hard?  I questioned my worth as a person and as a partner to my husband.

I tried making “have done” lists at the end of each day, but that didn’t quiet the voice in my head that said I was falling short of the mark. Each time my husband asked me how my day was and to tell him about it, I felt ashamed by all I hadn’t done. Busy, it seemed, had become my comfort object, shielding me from nagging questions of self worth. Now I was “busy” with only one task: nurturing my baby.

It was this thought that made me reassess: if my time was spent in accordance with my priorities during this season of my life, how could that be inadequate?

If “all” I did each day was try to nurture my baby well, tend to his comfort and happiness, and engage his little body and mind, how could that not be enough to be proud of?

Now, when I am feeling down about how the day has gotten away from me, I try to remind myself of the three things on my to do list that matter most to me these days:

1) care for the people who matter most to me to the best of my ability;

2) try to find joy in even the most frustrating day, knowing the days are long but the years are short; and

3) show myself the forgiveness and grace I show my toddler.