In a world of hustle culture, non-negotiable rest feels like the only way.
Let me caveat this whole article with saying I have deep gratitude for the supportive people in my life, my general health and safety, and a comfy roof over my head. Without those things, the reasons I have been forced to rest wouldn’t feel so luxurious.
I’m an elder millennial. Hustle culture is in our veins; we basically have to commit to bloodletting to get rid of it. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think it’s a bad thing that our Boomer parents instilled in us a solid work ethic, but there comes a point where we can’t even rest without feeling intense guilt. There’s a reason they call us and Gen Z the anxious generations.
Anyway, something that has always kind of bothered me about me is that in order to truly rest, my agency to choose it must be taken away. The twisted reality is that I revel in situations that force me to take a break, because otherwise I feel bad doing so. I’ll explain by giving examples.
During the initial Covid19 quarantine, we were forced to stay home. No planning outings to the zoo or making play dates on the weekends; no birthday parties to attend; no family obligations. Just us, snuggling in front of a movie, playing Candyland, going through our stock of chalk in the driveway, and baking banana chocolate chip muffins.
You all remember, I’m sure, this was a crazy time. We didn’t know much about the virus; it was scary to be so constantly uncertain. We didn’t know when quarantine would be lifted, where it was safe to go, and when we would inevitably get sick (or how severely!). Working in a nursing home, there was a baseline level of anxiety my coworkers and I were living with, knowing at any moment we could be unknowingly contracting the virus and bringing it home to our families. By the time Friday afternoon came each week, I could breathe a sigh of relief (without having my own breath thrown back at me behind my mask).
Weekends were my cozy little escape before going back into the lion’s den on Monday. I came to LOVE the weekends home with no plans. I’m actually nostalgic for them sometimes, which feels pretty messed up since that whole year was traumatic for millions of us. I got long Covid myself, including my taste and smell being messed up for a year. But I can’t help the level of safety and comfort I felt being tucked away each weekend with the goal of staying put.
Similarly, each time I had a baby, I was home for twelve weeks. Despite the newborn phase NOT BEING A VACATION (yelling for clarity), there was a relief in my only job being to rest and feed my baby. There weren’t even borders between day and night, and I sought refuge in those early days of zero guilt for sleeping whenever I possibly could, watching endless TV, and soaking in the squishy snuggles.
Kimberly Harrington reflects on postpartum in her book, Amateur Hour, saying “it was a release from being able to plan anything at all. I had lost control, and no list on earth was going to change that.” I felt that, too. When you’re in survival mode, you don’t worry about anything other than your basic needs, and there’s something comforting about surrendering that control when you’re an over-achiever. I wouldn’t even call myself that, actually. Maybe just an over-doer. Always doing, doing, doing, maybe not even making that much progress, but looking damn busy all the while.
A third example of this—which solidified it as a pattern for me—was when I had major surgery and was unable to even get out of bed without help. I rallied my village ahead of time, which I am extremely blessed to have, and I didn’t have to lift a finger for weeks. I relished in the days that I spent entirely in bed, being served my meals and bingeing Titanic documentaries, the first two seasons of Euphoria, and Ina Garten shows between my doses of painkillers. Again, I am nostalgic for those days, even though I was cut apart and put back together, in pain, and unable to shower without getting winded.
I found out that I can be a pretty good rester, but only when the rest is forced. If I find myself with a free hour before the kids get off the bus, I have a mental list of all the things I could do in that time. Go for a 20-minute walk and take a shower? Film some content to engage my online audience? Get a load of laundry in and start dinner? Read a book? Clean out my emails? There are so many choices! None of which include rest except maybe reading, but that’s the least likely choice I’d make to be honest. I was afforded some time this afternoon, in fact, and I did choose reading. But ya know what happened? I read that quote from Kimberly Harrington, got inspired, and put the book down to write this. That’s not a bad thing, but my rest was defeated by productivity yet again.
As a relevant side note, I highly recommend the work of Tricia Hersey, who is dubbed “The Nap Bishop.” She is a prominent activist for social justice and Black liberation who founded The Nap Ministry and wrote a book called Rest is Resistance: A Manifesto. Tricia wants us to “embrace rest as a healing spiritual practice” and reject “grind culture” as it contributes to toxic capitalism. You can find her on Substack here.
I know I need more of Tricia in my life because WHAT DO YOU MEAN I need to be hospitalized in order to rid myself of the guilt of resting?! That feels… unhealthy. Alexa, remind me to move Tricia’s book to the top of my queue. I heard her speak on a podcast and writing this reminded me of her work. You see? Even writing about needing to rest more was productive because it led me back to her.
Aside from my day job as an SLP, I am in the postpartum education space. I have a passion for helping moms become more informed about all aspects of new parenthood before diving into it. One of the things I preach to new and prospective moms is that “guilt spoils rest.” I really believe that, it’s just easier said than done! I don’t want others making the same mistakes I’ve made, so I’m preaching before I fully learned to practice, okay? Those who can’t do… or something like that.
But as someone who has somewhat been able to push aside the guilt so I can rest when I need it the absolute most, I can tell you it’s worth it. This level of surrender also involves accepting help. Receiving acts of service from others after pouring so much of yourself into everyone around you? It feels good if you let it. And it’s like a muscle; if you practice doing it, it’ll feel more natural over time. During postpartum, resting and accepting help go hand in hand; you can’t really have one without the other, or else things that need to get done won’t and you’ll end up eating into your rest time.
After having gone through several iterations of forced rest, I will say I have done a little better since then grabbing moments of chosen rest. To balance the fact that I fill small spaces of time with productivity, I realized if I could schedule down time in the form of plans, it was another way to force it—and it works! Brunches with friends, happy hours, date nights, and kid-free vacations (however short) are some ways I do this. If you’re someone who has trouble grabbing smaller bits of relaxation, scheduling it in may be for you!
While some of these outings don’t necessarily involve resting, they still bring me joy and emotionally rejuvenate me (especially as an extrovert). If you’d like to read more about my perspective on taking trips as a strategy to improve mental health (especially for parents), check these out:
I’m dying to know if you all feel this way, too. I suspect I am not alone in this given the tendency of our generation to adopt the “Can’t stop, won’t stop” attitude.
Let me know in the comments, and PLEASE share any tips you have for achieving healthy rest habits. We need balance and we need breaks if we are going to handle [gestures wildly] all of this.
xo, Amy
p.s. here’s where I wrote about the mystery surgery I was referring to: