Feeling 'Useless' Lately? It May Just Mean You're Human

"I must be useful to someone… right?"

It's a question that floats in and out of our minds, like that one relative who turns up uninvited just when you thought you had the house to yourself. Not every day. Not loudly. But every now and then, just when the room is quiet or the phone stops buzzing, it tiptoes in. "I must be useful to someone, right?"

To your team at work? To your family WhatsApp group? To your childhood friend who still asks you how to claim HRA? To your grown children who now talk to you like they are the adults?

We're not always sure. And in that not-knowing, somewhere between the daily rush and the 11pm scroll through online grocery apps, a quiet discomfort creeps in. That perhaps, without our roles — parent, provider, performer, peacekeeper — we might not know who we really are. That perhaps we are running more on habit than purpose.

There's a very specific Indian flavour to this. We grow up being told our worth is tied to how many people need us. "Beta, be useful to others. Don't be selfish." And fair enough — it's a good value to grow up with. But somewhere between that moral and the endless puja of productivity, we end up carrying this lifelong pressure to be 'needed'. And worse, to be 'seen' being needed.

You can spot it in the young professional juggling work calls and ageing parents, quietly wondering, "Am I doing enough for everyone?" In the middle-aged executive who has just been replaced by someone 10 years younger and is asking, "If I'm no longer the go-to person, who exactly am I now?" And even in retired elders who were once the centre of a family’s universe and now ask, "Do they really want my advice, or are they just humouring me?"

Sometimes, we don’t ask these questions aloud. We just stay busy. Busy is our national therapy. We over-schedule our lives like they're city public buses — always crammed and always late. We keep moving so we don't have to stop and ask, "Is this activity nourishing me or just distracting me?"

There's an old Indian saying — "Kaam karo, par kaam mein kho mat jao (work, but don't lose yourself in work)". Easier said than done. Especially in a society that reveres busyness. Being constantly needed gives us a sense of control, of centrality. It’s our insurance policy against irrelevance.

But at what cost?

There's a young woman I know, barely thirty, managing her career, a new marriage, parents and in-laws, and a dog she didn’t want but rescued out of guilt. One evening, she said, “I don’t know if I’m living my life or managing someone else’s.” She wasn’t looking for sympathy. Just a pause button. And perhaps someone to ask, “When was the last time you were just you, without a title attached?”

We all perform roles — manager, spouse, sibling, friend, grandparent. Indian life gives us a lifelong rotating cast of parts. From rakhi tying to retirement gifts, we’re always someone to someone. But when you strip those away, who’s left?

Here’s a small list of uncomfortable but necessary questions. Ask yourself:

"Am I useful or just busy?”

“Do I fill every hour because I’m afraid of the silence?”

“If I stopped doing everything for everyone tomorrow, would they still value me?”

“Do I measure my worth only in how much others need me?”

“Would I spend time with myself if I weren’t me?”

If you winced at one or more of those, congratulations—you’re human.

And humour, of course, is how Indians often survive things too complicated to unpack. Like ageing. Or adult children who now send you YouTube videos on “mindfulness.” Or the colleague who still asks you to fix the printer because “you’re so dependable.”

It’s worth remembering that usefulness is not a fixed identity. You are not a screwdriver. You are a person. You will be needed by some, misunderstood by others, occasionally ignored, and sometimes deeply cherished. Your usefulness will change as seasons do. But your worth — your being — doesn’t need constant proof.

Just last week, an old family friend in his late 60s called me, sounding a bit adrift. “Now that both my sons are in the US and don’t ask for anything, I feel like I’ve been fired from the job of being needed.” I asked him gently, “And who hired you in the first place?” We both laughed, but it landed. It always does.

In India, even our milestones are measured in usefulness. The muhurat of a wedding is as much about who is doing what as it is about who is getting married. A birthday is not complete until you’ve served guests, not been served. We’re raised not to blow out candles, but to light lamps—for others.

If you’re still unsure about your usefulness, here’s a test. Stop replying to the family group for two days. If at least three people call to ask if you’re okay, congratulations—you’re still very much needed. If no one does… well, maybe start forwarding those ‘Good Morning’ quotes again.

Try, just once this week, to spend 30 minutes being completely useless—by conventional standards, that is. Not scrolling, not fixing, not advising, not delivering. Just being. It may be the most important thing you do.

The philosopher Kahlil Gibran once wrote, “The significance of a man is not in what he attains, but in what he longs to attain.” We could do with revisiting that. Because even when no one is asking us for anything, even when the phone is silent and the meetings are over, we are still becoming. Still longing. Still alive.

So yes, you are useful to someone. But more importantly, you are not only useful. You are joy, memory, presence, possibility. You are a whole person, not a project management tool.

The next time that voice sneaks in—“I must be useful to someone, right?”—maybe smile and say, “Yes. But even when I’m not, I’m still enough.”

And then perhaps, do something wildly ‘unproductive’.

Like sitting with a cup of tea and staring out the window. Or read the paper slowly, without clipping an article for someone else. Or just be. Because usefulness may win you praise, but being—being wholly and fully yourself—is what will give you peace.

And surely, that’s a purpose worth living for.

Srinath Sridharan is a corporate adviser and independent director on Corporate Boards. Author of 'Family and Dhanda'.