I don’t really believe in laziness. At least, not when the term is used around me, or when I use it myself. It’s not really even used to mean laziness, but rather a plethora of other, very different things, often in the form of unseen barriers.
I know that when I call myself lazy, usually it means I am too tired to do something I feel obligated to do and feel guilty about. So I call myself lazy for not doing it, as a way to make myself feel more guilty and force myself to do it: negatively motivating myself to overdo things, I suppose.
A prime example is the last few weeks. I didn’t post a blog post for about three weeks, which shouldn’t be and isn’t an issue to anyone but myself. But every Monday that came and went, I berated myself for being lazy for not posting something. The reality is, I was really sick and did not have spare energy to write anything, nor did I have the brain capacity to think of anything to write about. All my energy and brain space was focused on being sick…. yet I called myself lazy to reinforce the guilt that I felt and make myself feel bad.
I have a friend who lived with undiagnosed autism throughout his school years. People often considered him lazy because, when he got home from school, he acted “lazily”. In reality, he was exhausted from masking all day at school and trying to fit in and do what was expected of him. If someone had looked into the so-called “laziness” earlier on, they might have seen that instead of being naughty and lazy, he was in fact struggling. The label of laziness meant that he was written off, rather than being identified as needing support.
Another friend, who went through high school with undiagnosed ADHD was always in trouble for being lazy at school. She was clearly intelligent but did not get the grades that she “should” be getting – except in the subjects she really enjoyed. Once more, she was written off as lazy and badly behaved, instead of having her learning disorder recognised and diagnosed. Once more, the label of lazy covered up her very real need for targeted assistance and a diagnosis.
But it’s not just disabled people who cover up or have their needs covered up by the concept of laziness. Some of my friends and family who are constantly busy, and running around working, creating, and looking after others, call themselves lazy for the silliest of reasons. I was with one such person recently who, having finally sat down for the first time all day, immediately jumped back up again saying, “Oh I am so lazy! I forgot the washing up!” It was the evening and her first cup of tea of the day, and she was already berating herself for resting. I’ve noticed that so many people call themselves lazy when in fact they are exhausted from over-exertion.
I feel this points to a much bigger issue, prevalent in our modern-day, hustle culture, with its constant drive to be productive. People have been made to feel we are not allowed to be tired, and that we have to manage to do everything (and preferably make money from it), otherwise we are lazy. Resting is seen as lazy, unproductive and wasteful, and yet resting is so important for everyone. The non-stop drive to be busy and achieve is not sustainable, enjoyable or particularly healthy for anyone involved yet, although many people understand this, we still drive ourselves onwards and beat ourselves up when we don’t meet our own, or society’s unrealistic targets.
There is definitely a lot more to be said on this topic, but I wanted to keep this short and sweet. My main questions to you is when you scold yourself as lazy, are you really being lazy? Are you actually tired, stressed, unwell, or simply in need of a break? Is there something deeper going on here that you need to explore? Or do you just need to embrace a few lazy moments?
At a most basic level, rest and recuperation are vital for everyone; we shouldn’t feel the need to talk ourselves down every time we are tired. And if you are feeling lazy… is that always such a bad thing? Maybe we should learn to take a leaf out of Sebastian’s book now and then.
‘Hereditary sloth instructs me.’
Sebastian, Shakespeare’s Tempest (2.1.241)
