Old patterns…and sheep

If there’s one hard lesson I have to keep relearning, it’s this:
my worth isn't measured by productivity hours or creative awards or career accomplishments or professional certificates.

Even as I type that, some part of me is still questioning, “but isn’t it, kinda?”

Questioning is my love language, so I’ll cut myself some slack. But this particular one runs very deep, and carries a whole lot of baggage with it.

It was prompted this morning, as I was listening to Martha Beck and Rowan Mangan’s Bewildered podcast episode on The Problem with Productivity. They were chatting openly and humorously about how much we all miss, and lose, when we’re tied to quantifiable definitions of success. When our worthiness is defined by things that can be measured. And as the conversation kept going, my mind started connecting the dots.

I spend so much of my working time being counted, and counting others.

How many hours did I log? How many clients did we win? How profitable are we? What’s our sentiment score? Did we hit our targets?

They’re all symptoms of a capitalistic society that I can’t even begin to unravel, but I have to wonder if they’re working in such opposition to our true nature that all of this measurement is actually making us less human, instead of more “whatever” it is we’re trying to measure in the first place.

—

My latest lesson in remembering that I don’t need to prove my worth, or get trapped by measurability, was a wolf in sheep’s clothing….as they all are, honestly. I’ve danced with this particular wolf many times before, but it’s quite talented at taking on new disguises so that I get tricked into believing that this time, it’s for real.

How does it get me? It knows that I strive to collect knowledge, and recognition, like other people collect stamps.

When I graduated from college, I was hard on myself for only achieving Summa Cum Laude instead of Magna Cum Laude. I needed the gold medal, not the silver one, to affirm my worth. I needed to hear from other people how amazing it was that I was “the best.”

When I wanted to get better at public speaking, I didn’t take the logical step, which would be to join a Toastmasters club and practice regularly with others working toward a common proficiency. Nope. Instead, I persuaded my employer to pay for me to go to a 3-day intensive training at Harvard, because Harvard is as praise-worthy as it gets, and I would also receive a certificate afterward that I could hang on my wall.

I did the same when I was questioning what to do with my career path about six years ago. Burned-out on consumer advertising, I was wondering if I should start my own business. And if so, what kind? How? Where? What kind of plan would I need? Before answering any of these questions, I decided it was necessary for me to enroll in MIT’s grueling Entrepreneurial Boot Camp. I rationalized it as a prudent decision because I’d learn from the masters—oh, and also get another certificate at the end. Everyone would be so impressed and congratulate me on my accomplishment, which they did, for a week or two. But then it was onto the next thing, because accomplishments like that are false horizons when they rely on others to validate your worth.

My latest wolf—the one that only revealed itself to me this morning—came in the disguise of pursuing a coaching certification. It’s something I’ve been genuinely interested in for a while now, having experienced an incredible shift in my life thanks to my own coach, Kimberly Napier. There’s something about the process and the philosophy that I’m intuitively drawn to. Maybe it’s the reflective questioning. Maybe it’s the way that mind, body, and heart aren’t framed as separate entities, but as interconnected elements that all deserve to be heard. Maybe it’s the acceptance of woo-woo right alongside behavioral science. I can’t precisely put my finger on it, but ever since experiencing my own personal transformation, I’ve been wanting to get my hands on it.

That is, to acquire it.

To collect it.

To achieve it.

To become a certified coach, so that I could help others in the way that Kimberly helped me.

But is that REALLY why? I’m not entirely sure.

Just as some people have a hard time keeping a hobby a hobby without turning it into a side-hustle, I have a problem with keeping learning a form of wonder without turning it into a collectible. Proof that I know things. Validation. Worth.

It's a scarcity mindset, I think. The fear of “not being enough.” If I don't do more, be more, learn more, I'll fall behind...whatever behind means. There won't be enough worthiness left for me, and I won’t have a place or a purpose. If I’m not constantly contributing in a measurable, quantifiable way, then why am I here? What value do I offer? How will I earn other people’s respect and praise?

Certificates are quantifiable. They’re visible. They’re like shouting “LOOK AT ME! I know things that make me worthy! I’ve spent a ridiculous amount of time (and money) learning these things so that I can say I’ve mastered them and you will have to respect me now! Please tell me I’m good enough, that I’m on a roll, that what I’m doing is amazing! That I should be proud of myself, because I can’t actually be proud until you tell me I deserve to be!”

(Some of this is probably connected my disordered eating, too. Getting noticed for how good my body looked, and how dedicated I was to my workout and “clean eating” routines, was fuel for continuing my unhealthy patterns. It was validation and recognition. Although I did not get any certificates for that.)

My coaching wolf did a damn good job at camouflaging itself for the last six months or so. I wasn’t suspicious in the least. It felt like a natural progression. Learn something, benefit from it, teach it to others. But as I was listening to Martha and Ro talk on the podcast about how productivity robs us of our experience, of our senses, of our being-ness, I felt a perceptible shift in my anxious energy. It started when I heard this:

"Look for ways to find worth in the uncountable."

The UNcountable.

I am constantly counting to find my worth. And it’s exhausting.

For the last few weeks, I’ve been counting the amount of money and hours it would take to earn a respected coaching certification. How much I could “do” with each certification afterwards. Which one would have more “value” in the market.

It’s been like having a stopwatch racing in my mind. “You better hurry up and pick a coaching program so that you can apply for scholarships and start learning, so that you can get a certificate so that people will trust that you know what you’re talking about, so that you’ll get the validation you need to justify your worth and your presence!”

The wolf successfully lured me into its trap again, using the same learning-in-the-name-of-worthiness flavored honey I always fall for.

But this time, I recognized it before it swallowed me whole.

Maybe that’s actual learning—realizing when you’re repeating destructive patterns and consciously choosing not to engage in them again. I won’t get a certificate for it, and no one’s going to congratulate me for NOT pursuing more certifications or esteem. But in just the last three hours, I have already reclaimed a whole lot of space to breathe.

It feels like self-love.

I still want to learn more about coaching, but only if I can do it in a way that’s nourishing for me, not performative for recognition. And I honestly don’t know what that is just yet.

So I will put the stopwatch down, and try to rest in who I am, and where I am, now.

I will keep my eyes open for ways “to find worth in the uncountable.”

But I am going to try not to look too hard, or hold them up like trophies when I find them.

They’re just for me to know. And I need to remember that that’s enough.