I was equating productivity with my worth as a disabled person and am still trying to let it go

Do we really have to produce in order for our lives to matter? We have to sing and dance for you in order to be deemed worthy? In order to receive our rightful benefits so we can live our lives?

My debut album will drop on September 5 (I had to push it a week, because of fatigue)! You can presave it here • My new single is out! It’s called I Can’t Run When I’m Dreaming and is a song about medical trauma. Listen and read more here, or listen while you read:

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Photo by Content Pixie on Unsplash

A few years ago, one of the neo-liberal Danish politicians ran a campaign with the slogan “You can do it!” The life coach-ey rhetoric was a nudge to people living on welfare benefits to ‘just get a job’ and the underlying message was to cut welfare benefits.

I decided to comment on one of the campaign’s Twitter posts. I said: “But I can’t do it. I can’t wash my own hair, I can’t walk more than ten metres, I can’t cook my own food, I can’t leave the house.”

Then some follower, who had looked at my profile, said: “But you CAN! You have had essays published and you write songs!”

His reply pissed me off.

Do we really have to produce in order for our lives to matter? We have to sing and dance for you in order to be deemed worthy? In order to receive our rightful benefits so we can live our lives? And do we really need cliché pep-talks from abled people?

The ‘worthy disabled person’ — according to Western capitalist social norms — is someone who is productive despite their limitations. Someone who rises above it all and contributes materially to society.

For many years I bought into this ideal. I worked my butt off trying to stay afloat in my online coaching business while my body slowly deteriorated. While a large part of my determination to stay in business stemmed from a deep desire to continue working, another part of me kept working in order to maintain a sense of worth as a human being — and to avoid the paternalistic nightmare our welfare system has turned into.

Striving for worthiness and value was like an invisible force within me. It made sure I overheard my body’s limitations too, because that force hates limitations. It hates anything that gets in its way.

I had to do a lot of inner work on finding and accepting my innate value as a human being. I remembered my human rights training at university and how the foundation of said rights is based on the philosophy (I want to call it fact) that every single human being has intrinsic value regardless of their status, sexuality, gender, capabilities and so forth.

Every. Single. Life. Matters.

It was difficult at first. I have always identified myself through my work and how well I performed. But somehow, the more I accepted my disability and the state of my body, I slowly began to understand and feel my intrinsic value:

I am valuable to the air we breathe. I am valuable to the field of love, empathy and compassion in our universe. I am valuable to this world by the mere existence of my being.

I don’t feel this innate value all the time. I have days when I fall into the old trap of feeling worthless and with no value, and then there are days where I am more connected and I feel a sense of worth and value.

This doesn’t mean I won’t produce — or try my best to. But my inner work involves separating my worth from my productivity.

While producing and recording my album, the old worthiness trap resurfaced in major ways: If it wasn’t good enough, it meant I was not valuable — especially as a disabled person.

I had to separate my sense of worth and value from the work I was doing. I was putting too much pressure on myself and it only made me depressed and anxious. I am still working on creating this separation between my worth and productivity.

I’ve said this before and will reiterate: Disabled people’s lives matter whether we can or can’t. We are worthy members of society whether we produce or don’t. Our lives are meaningful whether we do stuff or don’t.

Tell me…

Have you managed to separate your worth from your productivity?

Do you wish you could be more productive — just for the fun of it?

I’d love to know your thoughts!

Thank you so much for reading this post. If you know someone who could benefit from this, then please share this page with them. You are also more than welcome to share it in your Facebook or other patient support groups.

Did you miss?

I wasn’t suicial, I just wanted peace

A conversation with Madelleine Müller on making music from bed, grief as practice and reclaiming enoughness

Why chronic illness pacing is political

Meditation: A self-compassion pause

Are you looking for all the meditations? Click here

Are you looking for all music? Click here

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My new single is out! It’s called I Can’t Run When I’m Dreaming and is a song about medical trauma

Ever since I got severe ME/CFS I lost the ability to run in my dreams (and in real life). I would maybe start the run inside my dream, but immediately remember that I’m sick and that it’s not something my body can do. I would then fall down, unable to move.

I can’t run when I’m dreaming is a song about the trauma of losing your body and about being hidden from life by a debilitating neuroimmune illness (ME/CFS) and contemplating life and childhood memories when pain feels like an eternity.

All proceeds will go to Open Medicine Foundation for vital ME/CFS and Long Covid research. Please consider purchasing on Bandcamp to support the cause.