Let’s just say it: rest doesn’t fix your fear of resting.
You can take the damn nap, book the massage, sit your butt on the couch for a full 3-hour movie (with popcorn and the plush blanket), and STILL feel like a failure for doing so. You’ll lie there, fidgeting under the weight of all your undone tasks, scrolling through Pinterest boards titled “Productivity Hacks” with your left eye twitching. And you’ll wonder, Why the hell doesn’t this feel better?
Because friend, here’s the spicy truth: rest doesn’t fix what’s been wired into your nervous system to fear stillness.
Rest ≠ Cure
If you grew up with chaos, with conditional love based on performance, with a parent who never stopped moving (and silently resented everyone else for it), or if you're just a human soaking in a capitalist soup that glorifies hustle — then your body has learned that motion = safety.
So when you stop?
Cue the panic.
Cue the guilt.
Cue the internal monologue that sounds suspiciously like a coach/parent/boss saying, “If you’ve got time to rest, you’ve got time to be useful.”
Let’s call it what it is: internalized survival strategy.
Because once upon a time, constantly doing was how you earned love, safety, worth.
The Rest Paradox
You’re not lazy. You’re exhausted.
But more than that — you’re terrified of what’ll come up when you stop.
The silence?
The feelings?
The memories?
The crushing awareness of your own humanity?
No thank you! Let me just reorganize the pantry instead!
(And alphabetize the spices. Twice.)
This Post Is for:
- The parents so tired they forget their own names but still feel selfish taking 30 minutes alone.
- The men who were taught that self-care is “soft” and burn themselves out to earn some imaginary badge of honor.
- The overachievers who mistake emotional worth with external success.
- The adults who never saw a single caregiver model rest and are now trying to piece together what it could look like.
You didn’t choose this way of functioning.
But you are allowed to choose differently now.
Source: Erin Ashley Goldman @iridescentscarab
So What Actually Helps?
1. Name What Rest Feels Like in Your Body
Before you can actually rest, you have to notice how your body reacts to rest.
Do you get tense? Twitchy? Do you start planning your next 24 hours in your head?
Good. That’s your signal. Not that you’re bad at resting — but that your nervous system is simply not familiar with it.
Practice sitting in the discomfort. Not forever. Start with five minutes. Let your brain freak out. Breathe. You’re safe.
2. Find Restful Activities That Still “Do” Something
Yes, ideally we could all lie in a field of lavender and meditate for 40 minutes. But you’re not there yet. Try a rest-adjacent task:
- Stretching while listening to an audiobook
- Painting with no end goal
- Sitting outside watching squirrels throw acorns at each other (just me?)
Let your body move gently and your mind slow down gradually.
3. Question the Thought That You're Falling Behind
Who told you that?
Whose voice is that in your head whispering that you're “lazy” or “slipping”?
The world will not collapse because you didn’t answer an email.
Your worth is not measured in unchecked boxes.
You don’t earn rest. You exist, therefore you are worthy of it. Period.
4. Talk Back to the Burnout Badge
Burnout isn’t a badge. It’s a warning sign.
You are not more virtuous for being tired. You are not more lovable when you suffer.
Suffering isn’t noble. It’s a trap.
So unpin that badge. Set it down. Burn it in your mind.
You can do hard things without doing all the things.
Final Unsolicited Truth:
You’re not broken because rest doesn’t feel good yet.
You’re not weak for needing it.
You’re human. With limits. And needs. And a body that’s tired of running from stillness.
The goal isn’t to become great at resting. The goal is to let yourself deserve it — even when your inner critic says you haven’t done enough.
So go rest. And when the guilt shows up, tell it:
“I know you’re just scared. But we’re safe now. We get to stop.”
Need help figuring out how to rest without spiraling? That’s why we made our tools — not to tell you what to feel, but to help you feel safe actually feeling it.
You're not alone. You just need a new script.
And we’re here for the rewrite.
