What Did I Even Do Today? | On Invisible Labor

Productivity, Slowness, and the Balance of Self-Compassion

Lately, I’ve been feeling a little slower than usual. There are many reasons for that. Summer has its own gentle rhythm—the warmth in the air, quieter streets, fewer sessions and workshops as people head off on holiday. On top of all that, I’ve also been dealing with some health challenges. Together, they have naturally led me into a slower pace of life.

From the outside, that probably sounds pleasant. Someone might say, “Well, that’s nice. You’re finally getting some rest.” But there’s another voice inside me. At the end of the day, it keeps asking the same judgmental questions: “What did you do today?” Was I productive? Did I actually accomplish anything? Did I waste the whole day?

It made me wonder: what does it really mean for a day to be “productive”? Are only the days when we create something meaningful? Maybe the problem isn’t that I’m not producing enough. Maybe the real issue is what I’ve chosen to count as productivity.

I think many of us measure our days by visible outcomes. A finished article, a completed project, a proposal sent... If there’s something tangible to point to, we call it a productive day. If there isn’t, we often feel as though the day somehow didn’t count.

And yet, life is made of much more than visible results.

So much of what we do every day leaves behind no achievement we can proudly display. Doing the laundry. Preparing meals, tidying the house, replying to messages, checking in with family members, taking your medication… None of these things earn applause. Yet when I stop and think about it, these invisible acts are exactly what make my life sustainable.

I’ve become much more aware of this recently. Since I live alone, the entire responsibility of running a home rests with me. I sort the laundry, I prepare meals, I clean the kitchen after eating, I notice what’s running low and place grocery orders. I try to understand what my body needs each day and adjust my nutrition and supplements accordingly.

And yet, by the evening, I sometimes find myself saying, “I didn’t do anything today.” When in reality… I’ve spent the whole day sustaining my life.

In my work with Systemic Constellations and personal well-being, I often draw inspiration from Virginia Satir’s perspective. What her work consistently reminds me is that healthy family systems are not sustained only through major crises or important conversations. They are built through small, repeated moments of connection, care, and everyday rituals.

Perhaps the same is true for our relationship with ourselves.

Preparing a nourishing meal, going for a short walk, keeping our home in order, allowing ourselves to rest... These seemingly ordinary acts may actually be the quiet rituals that keep our own inner system healthy.

Making time for physical activity two or three times a week, putting a meal on the table every evening, or taking just five minutes each morning to practice mindful breathing... At first glance, these may seem almost insignificant. Yet creating and sustaining those routines is, in itself, a remarkable form of labor.

But the invisible work that fills our days isn’t only physical. There is another kind—far more difficult to see, understand, or acknowledge: emotional labor.

Many of my clients tell me that after a painful breakup, a significant loss, or an emotionally overwhelming conflict, they simply don’t feel like doing anything for days. Almost immediately, they begin judging themselves. To be honest, I’ve caught myself doing exactly the same thing lately.

"Someone else would have bounced back by now and gotten on with their life."

"No one would take this much time away from work. They'd probably fill their calendar with trips or plans just to keep themselves busy."

"Who spends the whole day lying in bed? At the very least, you could read a book or visit a museum."

Instead, I often invite them to consider another possibility: Yes, perhaps other people do move on more quickly. But maybe that’s simply their way of coping with difficult emotions. Maybe they distance themselves from those feelings before fully experiencing them. You, however, are choosing something much harder: you’re staying with the feeling, you’re not suppressing it, you’re not denying it, you’re not rushing to cover it with distractions.

To me, that is also work. Deep, invisible work.

Our nervous system needs time for this as well. After profound disappointment, grief, or emotional conflict, our bodies don’t simply return to normal overnight. Sometimes we slow down. We need more rest. We don’t feel like going out. This isn’t always weakness or laziness. Sometimes it’s simply our nervous system processing what we’ve experienced.

I’ve been living through this myself lately. My slowness isn’t only about summer or health issues. There are friendships, disappointments, and important decisions I’ve been carrying. Instead of rushing into action, I’ve needed to let them settle. To notice how they live inside my body. To understand what my emotions are actually trying to tell me.

From the outside, it probably looks as though I’m doing nothing. Inside, however, an enormous amount is happening. Grieving... Making decisions... Regulating emotions... Trying to forgive... Resting... Healing.

None of these belong on a résumé. Nobody includes them on a productivity checklist. Yet every one of them requires attention, energy, courage, and patience.

This is one of the reasons I appreciate Brené Brown’s understanding of self-compassion so much. Self-compassion isn’t about letting yourself off the hook. It’s about honestly recognizing what you truly need in a given moment.

Sometimes what we need isn’t to produce more, sometimes we need to pause, to rest, to make space for our own experience.

Perhaps well-being isn’t simply about being productive. Perhaps well-being begins when we learn to recognize the visible and invisible forms of labor that quietly sustain our lives.

So maybe, before going to bed tonight, instead of asking ourselves, “Was I productive enough today?” we could simply say… “I lived today.” And perhaps… that is enough.