Human Being Versus Human Doing

A Relational Dance Inside Us All 

There is a quiet tug that lives inside many of us. It is the internal pull between the part that longs to pause, to breathe, to simply be, and the part that insists we keep going, keep proving, and keep holding everything together. This tension does not always scream. Often, it whispers in the early morning hours or in the hollow feeling after a long day of achievement. It is not unique to one kind of person. I have lived it in my own body, and I have witnessed it in the lives of the women I sit beside in therapy. It is a collective ache that speaks of a deeper question. Who are we when we stop doing?

From a very young age, we are taught that our value comes from what we produce. We are praised when we perform, acknowledged when we achieve, and often only truly noticed when we are useful. The psychologist Susan Harter describes this as conditional self-worth, where our sense of value becomes tied to approval rather than authenticity. In these early moments of shaping our identity, we learn that doing earns love and being might be too risky.

The human doing is the part of us that shows up, takes charge, meets deadlines, and handles responsibility. This part is often viewed by the outside world as successful, driven, and competent. But underneath, it is usually motivated by a deep need to stay safe. For many of us, being productive was never just about ambition. It was how we coped with chaos, how we avoided conflict, or how we learned to prevent abandonment. Trauma researcher Bessel van der Kolk speaks of this as survival through adaptation. The nervous system learns to use action to override feelings. We move to avoid sinking. We perform to avoid being overlooked.

I know this pattern intimately. I have met the part of me that whispers that I cannot stop, that I need to be more, that I have not done enough. I have watched women in my practice push through exhaustion with a quiet desperation, not because they want to be superhuman, but because stopping feels unfamiliar. For many, stillness was never modelled. Slowing down was not safe. Rest was something you earned, never something you deserved.

Then there is the human being. This part of us is soft, steady, reflective, and present. It does not seek applause. It seeks meaning. It wants to feel sunlight on the skin, to sit with a warm cup of tea, to hear the laughter of loved ones without thinking of the next task. It is not lazy or passive. It is wise. It remembers what the body needs and what the soul longs for.

But in a culture that glorifies busyness, this part often gets buried. It only surfaces when burnout forces us to pay attention. Research by the neuroscientist Marcus Raichle has shown that during states of rest, the brain’s default mode network becomes active. This is the part of the brain that processes memory, self-awareness, and meaning. In other words, we need stillness to integrate experience. We need slowness to remember who we are. Yet many of us have internalised the belief that being unproductive is unsafe. When rest is not something we were taught to value, it becomes something we avoid.

This internal split becomes a daily conflict. We long to rest, but feel guilty. We crave spaciousness, but are pulled to keep achieving. We try to slow down, only to be met with the chatter of an inner voice that questions our worth. What I have come to understand through my own healing and in the therapy room is that both parts are trying to protect something tender. The part that does is protecting you from judgement, shame, or being forgotten. The part that wants to simply be is protecting your soul. It is reminding you that you are more than your output.

The healing does not happen by silencing one in favour of the other. It happens when we turn toward both parts with curiosity. We can begin by asking the doing part what it is afraid will happen if we stop. We can ask the being part what it needs in order to feel safe. When we do this, we stop living in polarity and begin to create a relationship with ourselves that is collaborative rather than conflicting.

Research by Kristin Neff shows that self-compassion has a direct impact on emotional regulation and resilience. When we approach our inner world with kindness instead of criticism, we create the conditions for balance. We no longer have to prove our worth through exhaustion. We no longer have to earn rest through burnout.

You are allowed to do with presence. You are allowed to be with intention. You are allowed to work with clarity and also rest without shame. There is space for both inside you.

You were never meant to prove your worth by burning yourself out. You were not born to perform your value. There is a rhythm within you that knows when to move and when to be still. And when you begin to trust that rhythm, you come home to yourself. Not as a human doing or a human being, but as a whole, integrated human. Fully enough, just as you are.

In abundant love and kindness for all gentle souls,

Angela xox 

References
Harter, S. (1999). The Construction of the Self: A Developmental Perspective
van der Kolk, B. A. (2014). The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma
Neff, K. D. (2011). Self-Compassion: The Proven Power of Being Kind to Yourself
Raichle, M. E., et al. (2001). A Default Mode of Brain Function. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences