The Radical Act of Rest

Listening to What Your Body Already Knows

I've been thinking about rest lately, especially as I watch the world around us spin faster and demand more. We live in a culture that has somehow convinced us that our worth is measured by our productivity, that slowing down is selfish, and that the weight we carry on our shoulders is just the price of being human.

But what if I told you that rest isn't just nice to have—it's revolutionary?

What if the kindest, most radical thing you could do today is give yourself permission to stop?

What Our Bodies Try to Tell Us

A few months ago, I found myself sitting in my truck after a trail ride on Mystic, and I knew something had to change. The whole world of facilitation—the constant giving, the emotional labor, the way I'd been bending myself into shapes that didn't feel like me anymore—it was all catching up.

My body had finally said what my mind had been too busy to hear: "We can't keep doing this."

That exhaustion that comes from being someone you're not, from carrying burdens that were never yours to begin with, from saying yes when everything inside you is screaming no—it accumulates. And eventually, if we're lucky, our bodies become our teachers, showing us what we've been too afraid to acknowledge.

The truth is, we live in a world where we're often expected to carry the weight of multiple burdens on our shoulders. Whether it's striving to excel in workplaces that don't always value our contributions, battling against societal expectations that were never designed with us in mind, or simply trying to keep up with a pace that feels increasingly unsustainable — exhaustion can become such a constant companion that we forget what it feels like to be truly rested.

The Sacred Shift

The antidote to this burden of endless "doing" isn't found in doing more or doing better. It's found in the radical shift from doing to being. It's found in rest.

In giving yourself permission to rest is actually giving yourself permission to stop long enough to hear what you already know.

All those answers you've been searching for outside yourself? They're often whispered by your body when you finally get quiet enough to listen.

Rest isn't laziness. Rest isn't giving up. Rest is coming home to yourself.

A Morning Practice in Permission

This morning, I want to invite you to explore something with me. Grab a journal and find a comfortable spot—maybe that chair by the window, or curled up in bed with your coffee. Before you start writing, let's find your center together.

I invite you to begin with this mantra. You can read it silently to yourself, or speak it out loud—whatever feels right for you:

I give myself permission to slow down.
If I do it, I can do it slowly.
I am practicing "the pause."
I feel the wash of shame and the rush of anxiety.
That's my signal to stop, breathe, and wait.
Right now, my job is to let my brain catch up to my body.
Right now, my job is to let my body catch up to my brain.
I do not have to apologize for taking time to rest.
I do not have to explain why I need to rest.
Not everything is as urgent as it feels.
Urgencies are not emergencies.

Repeat these words as many times as you need to. Let them sink in, past the resistance, past the voice that says you don't have time for this. You do have time. You've always had time. You just needed permission to claim it.

Questions for Your Heart

Now, with your journal open and your heart a little more open too, let's explore these questions together:

What does rest actually mean to you?

Not the dictionary definition, but your lived experience of it. When you think of true rest—both physically and emotionally—what comes up? Paint me a picture of your ideal state of rest. What does it look like, feel like, sound like?

When was the last time you felt guilty about taking a break?

I'm willing to bet it was recent. What caused those feelings? Was it something someone said, or was it that voice in your head that sounds suspiciously like all the messages you've absorbed about productivity and worth? How did you handle it then, and what would you say to yourself now?

What actually makes you feel alive?

Not what you think should rejuvenate you, but what genuinely fills your cup. List three things that make you feel like yourself again. How often do you actually do them? What gets in the way? Be honest about the barriers—some are real, some are stories we tell ourselves.

Let's talk about rest guilt.

You know what I mean—that feeling that creeps in when you're not being "productive." Where do you think that comes from? What cultural or family messages did you absorb about rest and work? Sometimes naming these influences helps us see them for what they really are.

Finally, write yourself a letter.

Grant yourself permission to prioritize rest without guilt or judgment. What would you want your best friend to know about their right to rest? Say that to yourself. Mean it.

Listening to Your Inner Wisdom

Our bodies are incredibly wise. They know when we need to slow down long before our minds catch up. They know the difference between productive stress and toxic overwhelm. They know when something isn't right for us, even when we can't articulate why. But we've been taught to override these signals, to push through, to ignore the whispers until they become screams. Rest is how we start listening again.

Breaking free from the cycle of burnout isn't a one-time event—it's an ongoing practice of choosing yourself, again and again. Some days, rest will feel like a warm bath and your favorite book. Other days, it might look like saying no to one more commitment, or asking for help, or simply sitting in your truck for five extra minutes before walking into the house.

The world will always have another demand, another urgency, another reason why you should keep pushing. But your body—your wise, resilient, beautiful body—will always be there, ready to guide you home to yourself when you're ready to listen.

You have permission to rest. You've always had it. You just needed someone to remind you.