A Nun Watched Me for Three Minutes and Saw What I'd Hidden for Three Years
A Buddhist nun asked me why I'm in such a hurry. I thought I'd slowed down. I was wrong.
Dear fellow travellers,
I was having tea with a Buddhist nun last week.
We hadn’t been talking about my plans or my goals. We were just sitting together, drinking tea, being quiet.
And then, out of nowhere, she asked:
“Why are you in such a hurry?”
I was stunned.
I hadn’t said anything about being in a hurry. I hadn’t mentioned my timelines or ambitions or the things I’m trying to accomplish.
She saw it just by watching me.
“I’ve been observing you,” she said simply.
I thought I’d changed. I thought after months at the temple, I’d learned patience. I thought I’d slowed down, learned to reflect, stopped rushing through life.
She could see I hadn’t.
And then she said: “Impatience comes from greed.”
I felt something crack open in my chest.
The Word I Couldn’t Escape
Greedy.
I’ve been called that before. By someone I loved. By the mentor we both trusted.
At first, I thought “greedy” meant ambitious. Wanting things. Having goals.
So I came to the temple to let it all go. To release my ambitions. To stop wanting to be special. To put myself in a lower position.
Because for years I’d been told I was nothing.
And I’d started to believe it.
But here’s what I couldn’t figure out: If I’m supposed to be humble, and I believe I’m completely incompetent—isn’t that the same thing?
Where’s the middle ground between humble and worthless?
I couldn’t find it. I kept swinging between “I’m special and deserve recognition” and “I’m disgusting and deserve nothing.”
No centre. No balance. Just extremes.
The Meditation Question
The nun gave me what’s called a hwadu (화두)—a meditation question to sit with. A koan to crack open.
“Why am I so greedy?”
She told me to take this question into Seon meditation. And she gave me specific instructions:
“Memories will flash through your mind. Let them flow. Let your emotions flow through like a river. Don’t hold onto anything. Just watch.”
So I did.
After the dawn ceremony the next morning, I sat for Seon meditation. 5 am, still dark outside, the meditation hall quiet except for breathing.
I asked myself: Why am I so greedy?
And then: What’s making me so impatient?
Why am I in such a hurry?
The Face That Appeared
Her face flashed through my mind.
My ex.
And suddenly I understood.
It felt like a cold shower. Brutal but refreshing.
The memories came exactly as the nun said they would—flowing like a river. I didn’t hold onto them. I just watched.
And underneath all of it, clear as ice water:
Even though I’ve been telling myself for months that I wasn’t abandoned—that the breakup was ‘mutual’, that it was for the best, that I’m healing—the belief system running underneath is completely different:
I am worthless.
Nobody loves me.
I need to prove myself to be worthy.
I need to prove to those who hurt me and abandoned me that I was worth keeping and they were wrong to let me go.
That’s it.
That’s the root of everything.
How It All Connects
Every goal I’m chasing. Every timeline I’ve set. Every achievement I’m desperate for.
None of it is actually about the goal itself.
It’s all about proving I wasn’t worthless after all.
The ambition isn’t ambition—it’s compensation.
The greed isn’t greed for success—it’s greed for proof of worth.
The impatience isn’t about wanting things quickly—it’s about needing validation now before I disappear into the worthlessness I believe I am.
I’m not running towards something.
I’m running away from the belief that I’m nothing.
And I’m running towards the fantasy that if I achieve enough, accomplish enough, become impressive enough, the people who abandoned me will realise they were wrong.
They’ll see what they lost.
They’ll regret letting me go.
And somehow that will prove I was worthy all along.
The Greedy Truth
That’s why I’m greedy.
Not because I want things for my own sake.
But because I need constant proof that I exist, that I matter, that I’m worth keeping.
Every achievement is another piece of evidence against the verdict that I’m worthless.
Every goal reached is another appeal against the abandonment.
And it’s exhausting.
Because no matter how much I achieve, the belief doesn’t change.
The worthlessness isn’t about what I do. It’s about what I believe I am.
So I can accomplish everything on my list and still feel empty. Because I’m trying to solve an internal problem with external solutions.
I’m trying to prove worth to people who’ve already decided I don’t have it.
And even if I could prove it to them—what about proving it to myself?
What I Told Myself in That Meditation Hall
Sitting there at 5 am, watching this realisation unfold, I tried something different.
I told myself: You don’t need to prove anything.
You don’t need to be impressive to be worthy.
You don’t need to win anyone back to validate your existence.
If you’re going to run towards goals, let it be because you genuinely want to do those things. Because they make you happy. Because they’re interesting.
Not because you’re trying to prove you weren’t worthless after all.
The Question I’m Sitting With Now
But here’s what I don’t know:
How do you separate genuine desire from need for validation?
When I want to accomplish something, how do I tell if it’s because:
A) I actually want this for itself, or
B) I’m trying to prove I’m not worthless?
When I feel impatient, how do I know if it’s because:
A) I’m genuinely excited about the thing, or
B) I’m desperate for proof of worth before the worthlessness swallows me?
How do you do things for yourself when you don’t believe you have a self worth doing things for?
I don’t have the answer yet.
The Pattern I’m Starting to See
Being told you’re greedy when you’re actually just trying to prove you’re not worthless—that’s a mindfuck.
Being told to be humble when you already believe you’re nothing—that’s not humility. That’s just reinforcing the wound.
Being told to slow down when you’re running from a belief that you’re about to disappear—that feels impossible.
You can’t slow down when you’re running for your life.
Even if the threat isn’t real. Even if it’s just a belief system installed by people who hurt you.
It still feels like survival.
What the Temple Is Teaching Me (Slowly)
I thought I came here to let go of ambition.
But what I actually need to let go of is the belief that I’m worthless without it.
I thought I came here to become humble.
But what I actually need is to find some ground between “I’m special and deserve everything” and “I’m disgusting and deserve nothing.”
I thought I came here to stop being greedy.
But what I actually need is to stop trying to earn worth from people who’ve already decided I don’t have it.
The greed isn’t the problem. The worthlessness underneath it is.
The Uncomfortable Question
If I genuinely believed I was worthy—just as I am, without achievements or validation—would I still want the things I’m chasing?
I honestly don’t know.
And that terrifies me.
Because it means I don’t actually know what I want. I only know what I think will prove I’m not worthless.
Who am I without the desperate need to prove myself?
I have no idea.
What I’m Trying (Without Much Success)
When I notice myself in a hurry, I try to pause and ask:
Am I excited, or am I desperate?
Am I doing this because I want to, or because I need to prove something?
Would I still want this if no one would ever know I did it?
Would I still want this if she never found out?
That last one is the hardest.
Because so much of what I want is specifically designed to be visible. To be impressive. To be something she’d regret missing.
If I’m honest, I’m not building a life. I’m building evidence.
Evidence that abandoning me was a mistake.
And that’s not the same thing.
For Anyone Else Running on Empty
If you’re chasing things you’re not sure you actually want:
If every achievement feels hollow because it’s not bringing the validation you’re desperate for:
If you’re in a constant hurry but you don’t know what you’re rushing towards:
Check underneath.
You might not be greedy. You might not be ambitious.
You might just be trying to prove you’re worthy to people who’ve already decided you’re not.
And you can’t win that game.
Because the problem isn’t your lack of achievements.
The problem is the belief that you’re worthless without them.
That belief is a lie.
But knowing it’s a lie doesn’t make it feel less true.
What I’m Learning to Ask Instead
Not: “How can I prove I’m worthy?”
But: “What if I’m already worthy?”
Not: “How can I accomplish enough to be valuable?”
But: “What if value isn’t earned?”
Not: “How can I make them regret abandoning me?”
But: “What if their opinion isn’t the measure of my worth?”
I don’t believe these questions yet.
But I’m sitting with them.
And maybe that’s enough for now.
From a meditation cushion where I’m learning that greed and worthlessness are closer than I thought
Emotionally yours (and trying to slow down),
Suinny
P.S. - The Shift I’m Attempting
I’m trying to notice the difference between:
Running FROM worthlessness (desperate, exhausting, never enough)
vs.
Walking TOWARDS something (curious, energising, enough just to try)
I fail at this most of the time.
But occasionally, for a few minutes, I can feel the difference.
And in those moments, I’m not trying to prove anything.
I’m just being.
And maybe that’s what it feels like to believe you’re already worthy.
I’m not sure yet.
But I’m staying to find out.
Next week: Probably still impatient. Possibly less greedy. Definitely still working on believing I’m worthy without proof.
Resources:
On hwadu practice in Korean Seon Buddhism: Look up Seung Sahn or Chinul
On worthlessness core beliefs: Schema therapy, specifically “Defectiveness/Shame” schema
On doing things for genuine desire vs. validation: I’m still figuring this out, honestly
Note: This is one meditation session’s realisation, not enlightenment. I still feel worthless most days. I’m still impatient. I’m still greedy for proof. But now I know why. And maybe that’s the first step.