When Doing Replaces Being: The Illusion of Productivity in Emotional Avoidance
A reflection on how productivity can become a mask for emotional avoidance in relationships—and what gets lost when presence is replaced with performance.
— Calla Hart
From the outside, he looks like the kindest, most generous man. And in many ways, he is. But presence can’t be measured by checklists.
There’s a pattern I’ve come to recognize. When my husband feels uneasy, overwhelmed, or maybe even knows—deep down—that something didn’t land well or that he may have hurt me, he shifts. Not into reflection. Not toward a softening. But into action.
Suddenly, he’s moving with purpose. Fixing something. Organizing. On the phone. Crossing tasks off a list. From the outside, it looks admirable. He’s productive. He’s helpful. He’s “showing up.”
And yet, I feel further away.
Because what’s really happening is not connection—it’s avoidance. He’s doing everything except facing the thing between us. And somehow, in his mind, that doing becomes a kind of defence.
Later, when I try to name the emotional distance, when I speak to what still feels tender or unresolved, the response is almost always the same:
“What do you mean? Don’t you see I’m trying?”
“Don’t you see I’m working my ass off?”
And here’s the hard part: from the outside, it’s believable.
To anyone watching—he looks like the kindest, most generous, most productive man. And in many ways, he *is.*
But presence isn’t performance. And doing isn’t being.
So I’m left holding both the truth of his effort *and* the ache of his absence.
Still unseen. Still unheard. Still wondering if asking for emotional presence makes me sound ungrateful. Or spoiled.
Because when you’re with someone who’s always in motion, it becomes hard to justify your stillness. Your need. Your longing for repair.
But what I’ve come to understand is this:
Repair can’t be replaced by productivity.
Action without attunement is just noise.
And being busy doesn’t make someone emotionally available.
What I want—what I need—is not just a man who works hard. But a man who can pause. Who can face the discomfort with me. Who doesn’t confuse activity with intimacy.
Because love isn’t proven by how much you do.
It’s revealed in how you *show up*—especially when it’s hard. And I still believe there’s space to learn that. But not if we keep calling avoidance effort. Not if presence keeps getting measured by checklists.
Sometimes the most generous thing you can offer… is yourself.
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