Handling the Pressure to Always Be Productive

A discussion on why ‘always working’ isn’t realistic and how to take healthy breaks.

**Handling the Pressure to Always Be Productive**

It starts as a small whisper, an insistent voice in the back of my mind, reminding me of all the things I haven’t done yet. "You need to write more. You need to market better. You need to finish that book outline.” That whisper quickly becomes a roar, making me feel like every moment of my day should be accounted for, every action purposeful and productive. There’s a pressure, an invisible weight, that follows me around, demanding constant creation and accomplishment. And some days, it’s simply too much.

I used to think rest was for the lazy, that if I wasn’t actively working toward my goals, I was somehow failing myself. I’d push through exhaustion, convinced that productivity was the only measure of my worth. But the truth is, my brain doesn’t work that way. None of ours do, really. Eventually, the gears grind to a halt, and no matter how much coffee or determination I throw at the problem, the words don’t come, the ideas feel stale, and everything I touch seems incomplete.

That’s when I know I need to stop. To step away and regroup.

For me, reading has always been a lifeline, a way to recharge and reconnect with inspiration. But lately, I’ve realized that reading isn’t always the restful escape I hope it will be. As a writer, I can’t help but analyze every book I pick up—studying the sentence structure, picking apart the pacing, wondering why this character choice works while another doesn’t. Instead of sinking into the story, I’m dissecting it, and before I know it, my "rest" has turned into another form of work.

So, I’ve had to find something different, something that lets my mind truly relax. That’s where embroidery comes in.

It’s a hobby I’ve had for a while, though I don’t always talk about it. There’s something meditative about the rhythmic motion of the needle, the slow transformation of fabric into something beautiful. Unlike writing or reading, embroidery doesn’t demand analysis or problem-solving. It doesn’t require me to have an agenda or a plan. It simply asks me to show up, thread the needle, and begin.

When I embroider, my mind quiets. The endless loop of to-do lists and self-criticism fades into the background, and for a little while, I can just be. I often work in silence, though occasionally I’ll listen to music or a podcast. I don’t feel the need to multitask or achieve anything beyond the next stitch. There’s a sense of accomplishment in seeing the pattern emerge, but it’s not tied to anyone else’s expectations. It’s just for me.

I think we all need something like that—a space where we can step outside the relentless pressure to produce and simply exist in the moment. For some people, it’s gardening or baking or running. For me, it’s the gentle pull of thread through fabric, the quiet satisfaction of creating something tangible without a deadline or critique waiting at the end.

What I’ve come to understand is that rest isn’t a luxury; it’s a necessity. Our minds need space to wander, to breathe, to recover from the constant demands of modern life. And sometimes, the most productive thing we can do is to stop trying to be productive at all. Rest doesn’t just restore us—it makes room for new ideas, fresh perspectives, and the energy we need to keep going.

Embroidery has taught me to slow down, to appreciate the beauty of small, deliberate actions, and to trust that stepping away from the hustle doesn’t mean I’m giving up. It means I’m taking care of myself so that when I return to the page, I can give it my all.

And in those quiet moments, as the thread moves through the cloth and my mind settles, I’ve learned something else: I don’t have to prove my worth by how much I accomplish. I am enough, even when I’m at rest.