The More I Do | Self-Care | Susan Grainger Therapy

Sometimes it feels like the more I do, the more I have to do. It’s a never-ending cycle.

That feeling is very real—and you’re definitely not alone in it. It’s like progress just reveals more work, instead of reducing it. Sometimes it’s a sign that you’re levelling up, expanding your responsibilities or impact. Other times, it might mean your plate is overloaded or priorities aren’t clear.

Let’s listen in on this typical conversation between two friends.

Emma: Ugh… do you ever feel like the more you do, the more there is to do?

Jade: Oh my god, yes. It’s exhausting. Like, I finish one thing and instantly three more pop up. It never stops.

Emma: Right? And it’s not even the work itself really, it’s this heavy feeling that I’m never caught up. Like I’m failing even when I’m doing everything I can.

Jade: Same here. I go to bed thinking I’ll finally breathe tomorrow, but then something else hits. It’s like… I’m always behind. And that feeling just sits in my chest.

Emma: Exactly. And the worst part? The more capable I am, the more people expect from me. Like competence is a trap.

Jade: That’s it. It’s like, “Oh, you handled that well? Great, here’s more.” And saying no feels impossible because I don’t want to let anyone down.

Emma: Or seem like I can’t handle it. But inside, I feel like I’m one ask away from falling apart.

Jade: Same. And I’m starting to lose joy in the things I used to love because they just feel like… more tasks on a list.

Emma: I hate that. That’s when I know it’s too much—when even good things feel like chores.

Jade: You know what? Maybe we need to stop chasing “done” and start protecting our peace a little more.

Emma: I don’t even know what peace feels like anymore. But yeah. I think you’re right.

Jade: Let’s figure it out together. Maybe baby steps. Maybe we start with one guilt-free night off.

Emma: Deal. And maybe some wine. Definitely some wine.

Life can be very full on, can’t it?! And I can certainly resonate with some of the points Jade and Emma raised in this short conversation.

As a therapist, there are many avenues to explore with this. For example, what do they need?

Peace is mentioned, what would that be like and how would that happen?

The loss of joy is also mentioned. How did that come about? What were the things that gave joy that are know not happening?

How can the trap of being so competent be avoided without feeling like you have to just become incompetent?

These, and many more are possible questions to help begin exploring the current problems and how they became so. Knowledge and understanding are powerful tools in the search for the answers and solutions. This starts a very tailored process of gently moving forward and experiencing emotional growth.

Another, perhaps more practical way is the art of therapeutic writing. This can come in may forms but one you may be familiar with is journal writing.

Let’s start a journal entry with why is it always me that does the work, plans the stuff, gets things done?

Journal Entry

Why is it always me that does the work, plans the stuff, gets things done?

I don’t even mean it in some dramatic, martyr-y way (though, maybe a little). It’s just… exhausting. Every time there’s something that needs handling, I’m the one who notices. I’m the one who cares enough to follow through. If there’s a deadline, I track it. If something needs planning—groceries, trips, birthdays, bills—I’m the one who makes sure it doesn’t fall apart.

It’s like I’ve become the default responsible person in every room I walk into. And no one asked me. It just happened—or maybe I let it happen. Because it’s easier than the fallout if I don’t.

But the weight of it is catching up to me. I feel like I’m spinning ten plates while everyone else is watching and maybe clapping a little when one doesn’t fall but no one’s jumping in to help spin them. And I’m tired. Not the kind of tired sleep fixes. The kind that lives in your bones, that whispers “you’re behind” even when you’ve done everything you possibly can.

I don’t know if it’s about control, or fear, or something deeper. Maybe it’s just this belief that if I don’t do it, no one will. And maybe… that belief is starting to trap me more than it protects me.

I want to trust that others can carry things too. I want to let go even just a little and not feel like the world will implode.

But how do you stop being the glue when you’ve been holding everything together for so long?

Now, let’s explore what keeps you involved so much?

Journal Entry – Next Day

I’ve been thinking about why I keep doing so much. Why I always step in, take on the burden, fill in the gaps no one else seems to notice.

Part of it is fear, I think. Fear that if I don’t do it, something important will fall apart. Or worse still that someone will be disappointed. And I hate that feeling. I hate letting people down, even when no one’s explicitly said, “Hey, this is your job.”

It’s also pride, honestly. I like being the one who gets it done. I like being dependable. There’s something reassuring, maybe even addictive about being seen as the one who can handle it all. It makes me feel valuable. Needed. Necessary.

But… that’s also the trap, isn’t it?

Because if your value is tied to being the one who always shows up, always fixes, always knows then you start believing that you’re only as good as what you produce. What you manage. What you carry.

And even when you’re drowning, part of you says, “Keep going. If you stop, who even are you?”

I think part of me worries that stepping back will make me invisible. That if I’m not the one keeping the wheels turning, no one will really notice me at all.

But maybe that’s the scariest realization of all: that I’ve attached my worth to being useful, not just being me. I don’t want to keep living like that. I want to be able to rest and still believe I matter.

I want to be allowed to take up space—even when I’m not carrying everyone else’s weight.

Journal Entry – What If I Let It Go?

What would happen if I just… let go?

Didn’t plan the thing. Didn’t send the reminder. Didn’t jump in when the silence got awkward, or smooth over the tension, or organize what no one else seems to see.

What would happen if I stopped being the glue?

At first? Chaos, maybe. Deadlines missed. Texts unanswered. A birthday forgotten. That uncomfortable silence that I always seem to fill? It might stretch out longer than anyone’s used to.

People might notice. People might be annoyed. They might assume I’m slipping, that I’m being selfish or unreliable.

Or… maybe they’d surprise me.

Maybe someone else would step up. Maybe they were just used to me always doing it first. Maybe they’d finally see how much I’ve been holding, and realize, “Oh. We’ve been standing on her shoulders this whole time.”

But more importantly—what would I feel?

I might feel anxious. Restless. Like I’ve failed. Like I’m waiting for some unseen punishment to come down, some cosmic “I told you so.”

But maybe—after that wave—I’d feel something softer. Lighter. I’d breathe differently. Move slower. Notice how much space I’ve been denying myself.

Maybe I’d feel what freedom actually feels like.

Not laziness. Not neglect.

Just freedom. The kind that says, “You don’t have to earn your rest. You already deserve it.”

Letting go doesn’t mean I don’t care. It just means I’m done letting caring consume me.

Maybe it’s time to see who I am when I’m not trying to hold everything together.

Maybe that’s where I start to really come alive.

Journal Entry – Where Do I Begin?

So how do I actually start to change this?

It’s not like I can just drop everything and walk away (though the fantasy of that is very tempting some days). Life still needs attention. People still need things. But I need something too—and I can’t keep putting that last.

So maybe it doesn’t begin with a grand exit.

Maybe it begins with a pause.

A breath between the impulse to say yes and the actual yes. A second where I ask: Do I want to do this? Or do I feel like I have to?

Maybe it’s one small no.

One birthday I don’t plan. One dinner I don’t take full responsibility for. One group text where I just… let it play out without chiming in to manage it.

Maybe it’s asking for help, even if my voice shakes. Letting someone else take the lead, even if it’s not the way I’d do it. Even if it’s slower, messier, imperfect.

And maybe it’s choosing rest on purpose. Not as a reward for collapsing at the end of the day, but as a declaration: “I matter, even when I’m still.”

I think I also need to notice the voices in my head, the ones that whisper guilt, or fear, or shame when I stop performing. I need to ask them where they came from. Whose expectations am I really carrying?

Because if I can name that… maybe I can begin to put it down.

I won’t transform overnight. But I can begin with one tiny shift: honouring my limits without apology.

That’s where I’ll start.

Journal Entry – The First Boundary

Today I set a boundary. Not a huge one, not some dramatic, movie-scene moment. Just… a quiet, steady “I can’t do that right now.”

And oh, my heart was racing.

It was just a simple thing: someone asked if I could organise something for the family. Normally I’d say yes without thinking, even if I was drowning. But today, I paused. I felt that tightness in my chest, that old reflex to immediately jump in, and I said, “I’m actually not available for that this week.”

There was a silence after. The kind that makes you doubt yourself. The kind that used to make me backtrack and offer a compromise. But I stayed still. Let the silence be uncomfortable. And the world didn’t end.

They said okay. Just like that. Okay.

It felt small, but also massive. Like the first brick being pulled out from a wall I’ve built around myself. I’m proud… but also unsettled. It’s funny how saying no can feel like you’ve broken a rule you didn’t even know was there.

But I think I broke the right one.

Journal Entry – Resting Without Guilt

I did something radical today: I rested.

Not crash-on-the-sofa-from-burnout rest. Not a nap I squeezed between tasks. Real, intentional rest.

I lit a candle. I read a book just because. I didn’t check my email. I didn’t clean while “relaxing.” I didn’t try to earn the stillness. I just let myself have it.

At first, the guilt came in like static: Shouldn’t you be doing something? Don’t you have a list to finish? Aren’t you wasting time? But I noticed it, took a deep breath, and let it pass like a wave. I reminded myself that rest isn’t failure. It’s fuel.

And then something beautiful happened.

I felt present. Spacious. Almost like I remembered who I am beneath the hustle, someone soft and creative and whole. Someone who deserves to exist even when she’s not “achieving” anything.

Today, I didn’t perform for the world. I just was.

And that felt like coming home.