How do we measure our own worth? This is arguably the most important question that underpins everyone’s mental health journey. Most people today are preoccupied by how much they are worth, how much others value them, and how to increase their self-worth not only in their own eyes but also in the eyes of others. This isn’t an essay on subjectivity and political economy, but it does often seem like we’re walking stock portfolios, where every human interaction and everything we do can increase or decrease our worth.

In the Black Mirror episode called ‘Nosedive’, the main character, Lacie, must achieve a minimum popularity score on a social media app used by everyone in order to attain access to a better life, and her single-minded pursuit of increasing her value to reach her goal causes her score to instead spiral down out of control. Lacie’s mental health goes along for the ride. It’s funny and tragic, and totally relatable for anyone on social media.

The premise of that episode and, for most of us, the premise of our lives, is the unquestioning embrace of a lie. It is a basic, foundational lie—a simple falsehood upon which one’s perception of reality and one’s place in the world rests:

Who we are is measured by what we do.

Is this really not true? How can this not be true?? Well, it is a lie. We are each a human being, not human doing. Who we are is what we feel, what we think, what we perceive, what we value, what we believe, and only then what we do. Our behaviour has the most impact on others and on the world, but it’s not who we are. It is not even our most important part.

The very first time I found being and doing to be untethered and separate was in the fellowship of my recovery group. Here, we love each other for who we are, however we are on any given day; we love each other not in spite of the shitty things we’ve done in the past, but because of those things. For each of us, healing is a journey of owning up to the stuff we’ve done, sharing it with those who can relate, identifying our most cherished values, changing our behaviour to align with those values, and then onward to forgiveness, love, and being there as examples for others like us. It’s not complicated.

In this healing journey of recovery, what we’ve done is not a measure of our worth: it helps us to determine what we value about who we are. Active addicts experience cognitive dissonance—acting in ways contrary to our innermost values. Although we know we’re hurting others, and hurting ourselves, we remain in active addiction until the problems pile-up so high that the pain we suffer outweighs the pain we imagine we’ll go through in stopping and recovering. Our human doing cuts against our human being.

Cognitive dissonance is not limited to alcohol and drug addicts. Any person who strives in a way that betrays their most cherished values will experience it. I was feeling this long before I took my first drink at the age of fifteen. As a child, I felt like the world was only round holes, and I was a square peg. I was obsessed with rounding my corners to fit in. I was not focused on how to be my most authentic self—I was headed in the opposite direction. When I finally got sober over twenty years later I had no idea who I was anymore.

Early in my life, I was taught that our actions make us who we are. I was instilled with the belief that the purpose of my life was to do great things. I was special not because of who I am but for what I would accomplish in my life. From as soon as I entered the school system, educators deemed me to be a gifted child. I had unique skills, talents and abilities. Skills. Talents. Abilities. All nouns to describe qualities that can only be demonstrated through action. I was not unique. Every child is faced with the question of “What to you want to be when you grow up?” Notice that the question asks what rather than who. The what refers to an occupation. As adults, the most common question asked between strangers who meet is, “So, what do you do?”. I’m often tempted to reply, “Who do you be?”. Isn’t it the more important question?

We can be in doing and being at the same time. It’s called mindfulness. We can act mindfully, be immersed in our physical senses, be attentive in place, and experience the moment with our whole selves. When we focus on our behaviour and not our being, a core part of ourselves retreats away from presence in the moment. We’re not there (in place). We’re not here (present). No doubt there’s a neurological explanation for this detachment, but experientially it feels like we’re not really present. We’re just going through the motions. We’re a human doing. It feels like time flies, but we’re the ones flying through time, through space, untethered from the here and now. It’s probably a good thing if we’re immersed for a time in a hobby or a really good book, but not so good if we’re sleepwalking through life when we need to be wide awake for ourselves and others.

We hit bottom when what we’ve been doing corrupts our being so fully that we arrive at a turning point: to go on is death, but to stop is also to die. That’s because we believe the big lie: that we are what we’ve done. Addicts understand this, but it can apply to anyone who suffers from their own actions. Recovery begins when we stop doing what we’ve been doing and admit “My way doesn’t work anymore and probably never has.” This can be the end for some, which is especially tragic because it is the turning point from which a new life can emerge.