A few years ago, I signed up for a 9-day meditation and breathwork training. I knew I desperately needed a break. I’ve had a relatively easy time in this life, but that year, the most difficult and challenging things I’ve ever faced seemed to collide all at once.
First, our beautiful 200-year-old building—home to SHALA, my husband’s business, and The Lexington Writer’s Room—burned down. A furnace next door shorted, caught fire, and exploded into a massive blaze on the night of a freak windstorm. It was a big deal—front-page news for days. In the aftermath, we were left staring at ruble where so much love, labor, and hope had once stood.
Then, I had a frustrating cancer scare that led to three horrible, invasive biopsies. ( I was and am totally fine. The biopsies and the fear were the awful part.) And to top it off, I earned my first-ever broken bone. I slipped on uneven coral while carrying bottles I was trying to recycle. (I was doing good work, saving the planet! Surely I didn’t deserve the fall.) In my effort to keep the bottles from breaking and stabbing me in the heart, I twisted my arm in a way that broke my ulna and sprained my wrist. The rehab was painful and felt like it lasted forever.
By the end of that year, I knew I needed a reset. I needed rest. But instead of simply admitting that, I did what I always do: I disguised rest as work. I concocted an elaborate plan to attend a yoga training—something that technically qualifies as “work.” Pretty tricky, right? Here’s the kicker: I don’t have a boss or small children, so the only person I was fooling was myself. And, fun fact, I just realized this about three minutes ago while writing this.
This was supposed to be about taking 30 minutes every day to meditate. But honestly, it’s all connected.
It reminds me of something else that used to happen when my children were younger and life felt endlessly busy. Whenever I got sick, I’d secretly feel a small wave of relief because it meant I could finally rest. How wild is that? It took me a long time to realize how crazy that was—to wait until I was physically incapable of doing anything else before allowing myself to stop.
One day, it hit me: If I needed rest that badly, I should just take it. Not when I was sick, not when I was at the end of my rope—but when I actually needed it. And here’s the amazing thing: when I started prioritizing rest, even just a little, I got sick far less often.
This reflection keeps bringing me back to my relationship with rest. It hasn’t been great. I’ve treated rest like a reward, something I could earn only after everything else was done—after the work was finished, the emails answered, the house clean, the people taken care of. But the truth is, rest isn’t something to be earned. It’s something to be honored.
I want to be someone who admits when I need rest.
Good if I can be honest with myself about it.
Better if I can admit it to the people around me.
Best if I can shout it from the mountaintops—because normalizing rest isn’t just about me. It’s about all of us.
We live in a culture that glorifies burnout, productivity, and hustle. Rest is often viewed as lazy, indulgent, or even selfish. But the truth is, rest is essential. It’s not the opposite of productivity; it’s the foundation of it. Without rest, we can’t show up fully in our work, our relationships, or our own lives.
These days, I’m trying to honor rest in small, consistent ways. Sometimes it looks like a 30-minute meditation. Sometimes it’s a day without screens. Sometimes it’s simply allowing myself to sit still without feeling guilty. And sometimes it’s admitting that I need a break before everything comes crashing down.
I’m still learning. I’m still unlearning years of conditioning that told me my worth is tied to my productivity. But I know this much: Rest isn’t a luxury. It isn’t a reward. It’s a necessity.
Talk to me in the comments--what small shift could you make this week to create space for rest?
Comments