Confessions of a Recovering Busy Girl

Anyone who spends an extended period of time talking to me knows I’m a “busy girl.” It’s built into my identity at this point, rushing from one thing to the next or even juggling multiple things at once. Ask my roommate, and they’ll tell you it’s not unusual to see me typing away on my laptop at 11 PM on a Tuesday. It’s just who I am. 

For the longest time, I took pride in being unreasonably, insanely, intensely busy. I had 5 categories on my Google calendar, colour-coded, and making a rainbow of my day from when I wake up well into the night. I used Notion like a prayer book, checking it religiously at the crossroads of any free time. If my day looked too empty, leaving me too much space for rumination (my Achilles heel), I rushed forward into a new to-do list or project to take up my time. It was a lot. 

It’s not like I was inventing useless tasks either, my life does lend itself to a certain calibre of “busy.” I worked throughout my undergraduate (and now graduate) degree, part-time during the school semesters and full-time in the summers. I was Co-President of a club. I submitted freelance writing to various publication groups. I took a full course load and always submitted my assignments on time. I had a blossoming group of friends I would see in any free time I managed to squeeze in. I hosted private tutoring sessions as a side gig. I went on dates occasionally, sponsored by a boyfriend who begged to have my full attention for just one hour. No two tasks demanded the same things of me either; I had to be a completely different person hour to hour, day to day. Time off felt like a death sentence. My LinkedIn had never looked so exciting. 

I wasn’t simply “busy,” I was running.

Sometimes I would break down, crying on the floor of my living room and proclaiming I was tired of being a self-identified “busy girl.” It’s exhausting feeling like you’re a hamster running on a wheel, especially when you never take breaks. Yet, at the end of every evening of tears, I would wipe my face, open my laptop, and get started on the next thing. In a particularly busy period of my life, I set a timer for 30 minutes when I needed to cry, the alarm signalling the end of my allotted “feelings” time.

Right now you’re probably thinking “holy shit.” Yeah, you and everyone else in my life. On one hand, it’s great to feel productive, you get to try so many new things and develop a robust skillset that looks great on your resume. On the other hand, it’s certainly not healthy to be so overtaken by productivity that you sacrifice your ability to relax. It caught up with me slowly, then all at once. My body started breaking down; I couldn’t sleep and barely ate (but that’s another story). I fell asleep in public, passing out from pure exhaustion at my desk.

What took me 22 years and many, many therapy sessions to realize was that I wasn’t simply “busy,” I was running. Running away from my own mind. Running towards the next challenge. Running on the spot just because I didn’t know how to stop. Distraction is the default coping mechanism for a lot of people, mostly because it actually works if you don’t care about anything except the distractions. Underneath it all, though, I wanted to care about other things. I saw people laughing in public and craved to be in on the joke. I browsed library shelves, dreaming of a day when I read a silly book and I learned nothing profound. I called my mom to tell her this was really, truly the week where I took a day off. Wanting to care was the catalyst for the biggest, most productive thing I’ve ever done: nothing. I did it for an hour, then three hours, then a day. It sucked, then it didn’t, until it was actually pretty nice. “Nothing” is now an option when I’m choosing what to do in my free time. 

I’m still busy, probably too much so. My ‘Extra Type A’ personality simply couldn’t let me be anything else. I still find myself opening my laptop to squeeze in 30 minutes of work on Tuesdays at 11 PM. I still have a (very) in-depth Notion to keep track of my life. Except now I’m trying to make my busyness more purposeful. Before, my anxiety was the driving force behind all my work. Now, that anxiety is still present, but I’m not gonna let it keep me on the hamster wheel full-time. I am learning that there is a balance inherent to productivity. I schedule in more time with friends, more time to write, more time to read, and even some time where I have no expectations at all. I take breaks while I’m working; I remember to get up and walk around, I remember to eat, to drink water, to smile. 

I’ve been running for so long I have since forgotten where I set my first goal post.

It’s scary, I won’t lie. I’ve never had this much free time before, and most of the time I don’t even know what to do with it. Still, I think it’s important to recognize how important relaxation is. My body, my mind both deserve rest. When you spend years straight on the go, you enter a perpetual fight or flight that interferes with your ability to enjoy life. How are you supposed to appreciate the feeling of fresh, warm bread or notice the first buds of spring if your ongoing monologue is “I just have to get this next thing done”?

I also know I’m not the only “busy girl” out there. If you’ve ever caught yourself restarting your Pomodoro without taking that 5-minute break, you might be a busy girl too. It’s hard not to be in a world that seems to be perpetually demanding more, with numerous bids for your attention at every turn, but just because the world is going fast doesn’t mean you need to. There is a benefit in slowing down. Take the time to appreciate doing nothing, and maybe it’ll turn into something. I’m writing this much for myself as for someone else— this is just one big bid for accountability. Maybe if I transform my thoughts into writing and send them out into the ether, I’ll feel a responsibility towards what I’ve noted down. I’ve been running for so long, I have since forgotten where I set my first goal post, so does it matter if I reach the next one? As much as I find relaxation a chore, I can hope it’ll get easier with time and I’ll be able to reap the benefits of all this discomfort. 

I don’t want to run anymore, I want to live.