You know how to get things done, but ask you to play, create or rest, and your whole nervous system tenses. Why? Because you've been taught that only output makes you valuable, and that mess, and the mystery and the magic—that is a threat to your identity.
We recently finished a joy challenge here at the Balance Institute, and it revealed something really unexpected. The days where we had no tangible outcome—where we asked people to simply play or to make a mess—triggered huge amounts of resistance across the almost entire collective nervous system. What, you want me to play? I don't have time to play. Have you seen my to-do list? Have you seen the laundry pile? And make a mess? I feel like I spend my entire life cleaning up mess—why on earth would I make any more?
It highlighted a really interesting pattern—and that is, those types of activities actually don't have a purpose. Well, not a direct purpose. Let's say their purpose is to activate creativity, their purpose is to have fun. But when we do something that goes outside the lines or has no reason, all these parts of our identity that are deeply rooted come home to roost.
Let's talk about what is the identity that stops you stepping into these parts of yourself that you know are incredibly valuable. And if you're someone who has ever said, I'm happy for my kids to be bored, I want them to be bored, but aren't prepared to take your own medicine, then today is going to be a really interesting exercise for you. Because I know you say you don't have time to be bored. I know you say that you wish to be bored—and then an opportunity comes up and your nervous system literally will not let you engage.
You've heard me talk in the past about this good girl identity and our get-shit-done-ness.
What happens is, so much of our sense of worth gets tied to achievement, to accomplishment, and to output. When we then also overlay that with being the helpful one, being the contained one, we are very much taught that the worth we have is earned. You do X, you will get Y. You will get a hug if you do this, or you will get praise. If you get great marks, or if you keep your room clean, then this will happen. If you get your room dirty and you make a mess, then you're going to be punished—or there are going to be consequences.
And sometimes, as a child, those consequences weren't always overt, but they may have perhaps been the withdrawal of love—or the perception of the withdrawal of something. So even if your parents didn't say, You're a naughty girl for having a messy room, you may have interpreted some level of disapproval with mess, with things not being in order.
A very, very common trend we see in our community that stems from all of this is the desire for control—the desire to have everything ordered. When you live your life on such a knife's edge, it can feel impossible to let go of the reins a little bit, because if you don't have everything under control, then what does that mean about you? Then you're going to drop a ball, and some of those balls might be glass.
What we need to do is begin to unpack the identity frames that we have put around things like play, around creativity, and around mess, so that we can really step into our fullness as human beings—let loose, let the reins drop, and actually live fully as a human.
Stepping into the mess is a theme that has been emerging for many clients lately, and it's also something that I've been intentionally stepping into.
The reason we avoid the mess is also because you have to step into the mess to have the next step revealed to you. And when you would like a color-coded project plan of Okay, I will step into the mess, I will be creative, I will play—but tell me when, for how long, what's going to happen next, what's the cleanup look like?—and then I will make a return-on-investment decision as to whether or not I'm going to do that activity.
So everything is brain-based, everything is logical, and there's never this opportunity for us to just do something that feels good—because that, in itself, is not enough to our brains. We've trained our nervous system that if there's no return, if there's no output, if it's not efficient, then we shouldn't be doing it.
But that is denying an entire side of your flow, of your creativity, of your body, of your senses. And it constricts you, forcing you to live in your head so much more than you otherwise would.
There are a couple of contrasts at play here that I want to call out. When we are hyper-productive or hyper-focused on productivity and outcomes, we tend to suffocate our desires—anything that’s fun or pleasurable—because our brains and nervous systems say, “No, no, no. Productive at all costs.”
If you've ever had a child try to do something silly while you're saying, “Come on, we've got to get out the door, we’ve got to go!”—that’s a beautiful example of how we can end up squashing a moment of pleasure, of joy, of connection, because we’re so focused on time, or where we need to be, or what we need to do.
By the same token, when productivity tips over into obsession with output—how much we can get done, how many boxes we can tick—we end up suffocating our intuition. Because the thing we maybe need to do isn’t at the top of our list. Maybe it’s number seven. But your logical brain goes, “No, no, no. I spent so much time last night putting this list together. There’s no way.” Even though there’s a little voice inside you saying, “What about item number seven? That’s the thing you really want.” Your brain shuts it down—“No. That doesn’t know what it needs. I know what I need.”
When we disconnect from our intuition, I’ve seen again and again that it starts to whisper. Then it gets a little louder. And sometimes, when you keep ignoring it, it’s going to whack you on your butt. Whether that’s through illness, a relationship breakdown, or some other disruption—changes have to happen.
It’s pretty likely that you’ve received some nudges before you ever got the smack.
So this is an invitation to put down the obsession with output, lists, and ticking things off—and ask yourself: Hmm, if I actually listened to my intuition right now, what might it be telling me?
As someone who has spent a lot of time on this subject—on deepening my intuition, on making it more accessible and less ad hoc, more in my control—I can say: it’s never wrong. It’s never wrong. And that was the piece I used to be really afraid of.
If I’m not efficient, if I’m not productive, and I listen to my intuition—and that leads me down the garden path, and I do something I didn’t actually need to do—what’s going to happen?
Well, you always learn something. Or you meet someone. Or it turns out to be the thing you had to do, because it gives you the insight into the next thing.
The final contrast I want to bring to your attention, which often emerges when we spend a lot of our life afraid of mess, play, or creativity, is this fascinating contrast between control and curiosity.
I mentioned earlier our tendency—and deep desire—to have everything under control. We can call this hyper-control, where you want to manage absolutely everything. And we’re not just talking about the kitchen bench, the meal plans, or the schedules.
We're talking about everyone else’s moods. What everybody else is doing. What everybody else is feeling. Not to mention things—the shoes, the towels, the way everything lines up just right.
And the challenge becomes this: when nobody else aligns with the schedule you've got in your head for how the day's going to go—but you never communicate that schedule—you end up blowing up at someone. Why? Because now you're missing items six, seven, and eight on the schedule they didn’t even know existed.
What that suffocates is any room for curiosity—or even creativity—that could allow for, "Huh, this thing happened, it threw us off course... I wonder why?"
It's almost like control becomes white-knuckling—gripping really, really hard to force and shove everything your way. Not only is it exhausting, but when something unexpected comes up, you default to "No time for that. No time for that. No time for a hug. No time for connection."
And then you wonder, "Oh, I'm not spending as much time with the kids as I used to..." or "The kids aren't coming to me with these kinds of challenges anymore."
Yeah—that’s because you brushed them away.
I had one of these moments a couple of years ago, where my daughter wanted a hug before school. And I was like, “No time for a hug, get in the car.”
But then I literally stopped. I pulled over and said, “I'm really sorry. You want a hug—let's actually stop.”
I got out of the car, went over to her side, and gave her a hug.
Because—what the hell is it all for if I'm just, “Come on, come on, come on” all the time?
There’s a difference when they’re stalling and being kids—and I forgot this, I forgot that there’s a difference, right? There’s a request for genuine connection. And instead of being curious, when you’re so far down the rabbit hole of hyper control, you miss all those moments.
So, when you’re able to release your focus on productivity and start opening up to more pleasure, when you make the space to tap into your intuition, you can get curious about what that is that produces this beautiful environment of flow and nudges and synchronicities—coincidences, call them whatever you will—that actually speed up what you’re looking for in life.
It’s almost the ultimate productivity. It’s the ultimate way to collapse time and get what it is that you want. It’s always via different means than we are prepared to get.
When we peel back all of these layers, we have the identity piece. We have these crazy contrasts with these words I just described.
But what sits under all of this is one emotion that drives so much of us, and this is, once again, fear. It’s the fear of, if I’m not being useful, who am I? Will I actually be seen? Will I be valued? Will I be needed? Will I be wanted if I’m not useful? This usually comes from deep childhood conditioning and circumstances, so it’s not something you can just flick off and say, “Well, if I’m not useful, that’s okay.” Your nervous system has been wired to be useful.
But here’s a really interesting opportunity for you to ask yourself this question and truly sit with it: If I’m not being useful, who am I? Understanding how we attach as humans and how we’ve evolved over time through tribes and groups, what tends to happen is this fear — if I’m not useful, then I don’t belong in the tribe anymore. I don’t belong in my family. Nobody’s going to want me. I’m not going to be seen. And then, if I’m not useful, not seen, and not wanted, I’m going to be kicked out of the tribe because I’m not pulling my weight and I add no value.
And if I’m kicked out of the tribe, our deep survival roots and psychology say, well, I can’t survive — because then it’s me and the savannah and the saber-toothed tiger, and my chances of survival have dramatically reduced. I have to now find all my own food and shelter. Our brain literally says, “I’m going to die if I’m kicked out of the tribe.”
That’s why these fears are so, so deep-rooted and can be almost polluting and damaging if we don’t unwind them and aren’t able to see what sits beneath them.
This is my challenge to you today: Can you intentionally do something that’s not useful, just for the sake of it? Of course, there’s plenty of science on play and how it’s actually how we learn. Let’s put that down for now. Go and do something fun. Do something just for the sake of it. Make a mess just because it feels good. Go jump in muddy puddles—stuff the mess, stuff the cleanup.
As you begin to step into this space of doing something for no outcome, you will be amazed at what is going to unlock in your brain. Of course, your nervous system is going to resist. Your nervous system is going to go, “Don’t make me do it. That feels horrible. I can’t draw outside the lines. I can’t scribble on a page. I can’t just get some random colors and leave them there.”
Recognize that request for order, recognize that need for order, that need for control, and wonder what might happen if you can put it down — even for just a teeny tiny moment.
