For a long time, work felt like the safest place I knew.
It gave me structure.
It gave me purpose.
It gave me a version of myself that felt capable, respected, and needed.
In a season where so much of my personal world felt uncertain and painful, work became the one place where I knew exactly who I was and what was expected of me. And I was good at it. I bloomed there. I learned. I grew. I performed.
What I didn’t realise at the time was that productivity had slowly become my refuge.
Work as Safety
At work, I felt in control.
At home, I felt exhausted.
My job gave me clear goals, measurable outcomes, and constant movement. There was always something to do, something to fix, something to improve. And in that busyness, I didn’t have to sit with what I was feeling – or not feeling.
Work didn’t just occupy my time.
It regulated my nervous system.
When I was productive, I felt calm.
When I was useful, I felt worthy.
When I was needed, I felt safe.
When Identity and Output Become One
Somewhere along the way, my identity merged with my output.
I wasn’t just someone who worked hard – I was the one who always showed up, who carried responsibility, who could be relied on no matter what. Being capable became part of how I saw myself, and how others saw me too.
So, the idea of slowing down didn’t feel like rest.
It felt like risk. Like I would lose myself.
If I stopped producing… who would I be?
If I wasn’t needed… would I still matter?
Those weren’t questions I could answer then. So I kept going.
The Quiet Cost
From the outside, everything still looked fine.
From the inside, I was slowly disappearing.
I had no energy for my personal life.
No space for creativity.
No capacity for rest.
Simple things felt overwhelming. I stopped cooking. I stopped cleaning. I stopped caring for my body. I drank more, moved less, and lived in a constant state of exhaustion that sleep never seemed to fix. Not that I had much success in sleeping any way.
Productivity kept me functioning – but it was quietly disconnecting me from myself.
When the Refuge Became a Cage
There came a point where work stopped feeling supportive and started feeling suffocating.
The same place that once gave me safety now demanded everything I had left. My body was tired. My mind was heavy. My spirit was empty.
Still, I pushed through – because that’s what I had always done.
Until I couldn’t anymore.
What I Know Now
I don’t see that season as a failure.
Work helped me survive when I didn’t yet have the tools to slow down, to grieve, or to feel safe in my own body. It served a purpose – just not forever.
I didn’t need more discipline.
I didn’t need to try harder.
I needed permission to stop running.
Productivity can be a gift.
But it cannot replace safety.
And it cannot heal what it’s helping us avoid.
If you’ve ever found yourself afraid of rest, uncomfortable in stillness, or unsure of who you are without your to-do list – you’re not broken.
You may simply be using work the way I once did: as a refuge.
And sometimes, the bravest thing we can do is step out of it.
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