For many years, I carried a quiet belief.
I did not always say it clearly, but it was there.
I must produce something meaningful.
I must contribute.
I must be useful.
I must justify my existence through work.
This belief gave me energy.
It helped me study, train, operate, research, and continue through difficult years. In the expansion phase of life, this belief can be powerful. It pushes us forward. It helps us build.
But over time, it also becomes heavy.
Because if my value depends on productivity, then rest feels dangerous.
If my worth depends on contribution, then stopping feels like disappearance.
If my identity depends on achievement, then failure, aging, or being unrecognized becomes threatening.
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Over years, I began to feel a deep freedom.
It came when I started releasing this belief:
“I must produce something visible to justify my existence.”
At first, this felt strange.
If I do not need to justify my life through productivity, then what is my life for?
But gradually, the question softened.
Maybe life is not something I need to justify.
Maybe life is something I receive.
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As a surgeon, I often stand close to the fragility of life.
When I see sick children, I sometimes feel that they reveal something adults forget.
A sick child does not need a title.
Does not need achievement.
Does not need productivity.
Does not need to contribute to society in order to be loved.
Their life matters simply because they are alive.
This should be obvious.
But for adults who live in achievement-driven cultures, it is easy to forget.
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I do not want to romanticize suffering.
Illness in a child is painful and unfair.
Families suffer deeply.
Children suffer.
But even in that painful reality, something true becomes visible.
Life has value before achievement.
Existence is sacred before productivity.
Love comes before usefulness.
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Perhaps this is why caring for children is spiritually powerful.
It quietly challenges the adult world’s measurement system.
The world often says:
You matter because of what you do.
You matter because of what you produce.
You matter because of what others recognize.
But a child’s life says something different:
I matter because I am.
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This truth is not only for children.
It is for all of us.
I spent much of my life trying to prove value through work.
Now I am learning that life was already valuable before proof.
This does not make work meaningless.
It makes work freer.
But I do not have to do these things to deserve existence.
I do them because life is already a gift.
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A child does not need productivity to deserve love.
Perhaps none of us do.
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I used to believe I had to justify my life by what I produced.
Now I am learning that existence itself is already sacred.
And from that place,
gratitude becomes possible.
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