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You might relate. So many of us find
ourselves in the grip of compulsive
activity, shunning the idea of
downtime and cramming our days
with altogether more exciting,
impressive experiences. The entire
concept of ‘me time’ has fallen firmly
off the agendas of young women in
Australia, but why? And what does
it mean for our overall wellbeing?✱ The cost of
perfection
Psychologist Sandi Mann, who
addresses the issue in her latest
book The Upside Of Downtime,
explains that having nothing to do
is a pastime we’ve come to actively
avoid. “By embracing downtime, we
perceive ourselves to be wasting
that most precious of commodities- time,” she says. “As humans,
we’re conditioned to be physically
and mentally active, so choosing
to undertake a passive activity,
like watching TV, reading or
simply looking out of the window,
is seen to be of no intrinsic value
and we judge ourselves for not
dedicating this time towards a
better purpose.” It’s not so much
that our opportunities for downtime
have disappeared, but more that
we’re snubbing the very idea of it.
The concept of busyness as a
badge of honour is so widespread
it’s earned its own moniker:
Superwoman Syndrome. First
coined in the ’80s to describe
women who want it all (a successful
career and fulfilling home life), the
term is now used by psychologists
to refer to those who choose to be
perpetually busy, often to the
detriment of health and relationships.
And – here’s the controversial
bit – it is a choice, albeit at times
a subconscious one.
Research by Sanctuary Spa
Covent Garden confirmed that while
the average woman achieves 26
tasks a day, 80 per cent of us don’t
feel good enough – and 72 per cent
of the participants admitted this
pressure to ‘achieve’ comes from
the unreasonable expectations we
put on ourselves, not from others.
“It’s rarely the case that a partner,
a friend or even a boss will tell us
we’re lazy or don’t match up
because we switch off our phones
and watch an extra episode of our
favourite show,” Mann says.
In terms of the bigger picture,
sociologist Dr Megan Todd argues
our internal struggle is linked toa larger cultural trend: “Living in
this capitalist society, we’ve learnt
to associate busyness with high
productivity and disposable wealth,
and to equate wealth with self-
worth,” she says. “The outcome is
that being busy becomes a marker
of importance, responsibility and
goodness – all qualities that are
encouraged and valued.” An
ideology that it seems we’ve all –
myself included – taken to heart.✱ Are we
martyrs?
As a freelance journalist, there is
no start and end to my working day:
my success depends on how many
hours I’m willing to put in. So while
the freelance life of flexible hours
sounds appealing, the reality is that
if I’m not working all the time, I feel
like I’m not doing enough. Of course,
technology has blurred those
boundaries for my 9-5 friends, too- a smartphone means office life
is no longer confined to working
hours. But there is a difference
between receiving an email at 9pm
and responding to it right then and
there. Of course, there are work
emergencies and demanding
bosses, but are we propping up
those with the narcissistic belief
the world will fall apart if we’re not
on email to save it?
“I never take a lunch break; even
the thought of walking out of the
office when everyone is at their
desks is enough to make me feel
guilty,” says financial PR Amanda
Buckingham, 34. “It’s mainly because
I worry what other people will think,
but there is a part of me that wants
to stay later than everyone else –
it’s satisfying being the one person
my boss can always rely on.”
Not only are we all working longer
hours than ever – research by The
Australia Institute found the typical
Aussie full-time employee works
I could really do with a night off. My iCal tells
me I haven’t had an evening ‘free’ in five
weeks. Yet, here I am, posting a shot of my
#clean, #healthy, made-from-scratch dinner
at 11pm, after a barre session and a full day’s
work. I’m a freelance health editor – not to
mention a homeowner, girlfriend and charity
volunteer – and, despite feeling like there just
aren’t enough hours in the day, I continue
to pack it all in, convincing myself it pays to
be visible to the right people, at the right
places (my Instagram feed is a showreel of
evidence). The idea of clearing my schedule to
do, well nothing, sparks feelings I don’t quite
know how to categorise. Shame? Guilt? All
I know is that being still feels like failing at life.