Even the idea of rest feels daunting to me. I don’t know how to do it. In yoga, I understand rest. I know that softening the parts of me that don’t need to work allows me to be stronger, more present, and more capable in the parts that do. But true, whole-body rest? Rest that isn’t a task to complete or a box to check? I’m not there yet.
This year, I decided it would be the year I truly, intentionally, took rest. And then I realized: I had no idea how to begin. So, I started thinking about it—observing myself, noticing my habits, and trying to understand what rest really means. Here’s what I’ve realized so far:
Sometimes we really do need to get away from everything and everyone to find rest. That kind of rest is easy to understand. Like pretty much everyone, I love going on vacation, stepping out of daily responsibilities, and hitting pause on life’s relentless to-do list—that's the rest we know how to take. But vacation-rest cannot be the only kind of rest we allow ourselves. There has to be something more sustainable, something integrated into the daily rhythm of life.
I’ve realized there are tiny opportunities for rest scattered throughout every day. It can be as simple as one long, slow, deep breath. And maybe another. And another. For a long time, I set a timer to meditate so I could make myself sit still for 30 minutes. Now, I understand that those 30 minutes aren’t about achieving perfect stillness or clearing my mind; they’re about setting aside 30 minutes to do absolutely nothing. A vacation from doing. The timer is so I don’t allow anything to interfere with this rest for my mind.
The problem is, doing nothing feels intolerable sometimes. When I’m even the tiniest bit uncomfortable or bored, I start working. If there’s no real work to do (there’s always work to do), I’ll invent fake work. I’ll pick up my phone, open my laptop, or start organizing a drawer that absolutely does not need to be organized. And when even that feels pointless, I’ll scroll. Instagram, TikTok, NYT—whatever. It might look like rest from the outside, but I assure you, it isn’t.
So I’ve started cutting some of that out. I pick up my phone less. I don’t want to scare you—it scared me—but one day not too long ago, my iPhone told me I’d been on it for over eight hours. Eight. Hours. Lately, it’s been more like two to four hours, which feels reasonable. I listen to music, read on my Kindle, edit videos, and yes, I actually talk to people on the phone. The phone itself isn’t the problem; it’s how I use it.
One of the most helpful shifts I’ve made is setting aside one day each week for rest and restoration. For me, it’s usually Sunday. On that day, I don’t use screens at all. I don’t clean. I don’t do any work. So far, those Sundays have been filled with lounging, reading, cooking, and just being. Soon, I think I’ll add play to the mix. I love painting, but I haven’t painted in months. I keep telling myself I don’t have time. That’s such a lie. Of course, I have time.
Daily, I aim for at least 30 minutes of meditation. Sometimes it feels luxurious, sometimes it feels impossible, but I try to show up for it anyway. And on the days I can’t sit still, I remind myself that rest isn’t always stillness. Sometimes rest is a walk without my phone. Sometimes it’s looking out toward the falling snow. Sometimes it’s just closing my eyes for three minutes.
The truth is, rest isn’t passive. It’s not something that just happens to us when we finally exhaust ourselves. It’s a practice. A discipline, even. And it’s not always comfortable.
Rest is precious. And it’s deeply personal. What feels restful for me might not feel restful for you. What feels restful today might not work tomorrow. But I know this much: rest requires intention. It requires boundaries. And it requires trust—trust that the world won’t fall apart if I step away, trust that my worth isn’t tied to my productivity, trust that I am allowed to simply exist.
I’m still learning. I’m still fumbling my way toward a relationship with rest that feels healthy and whole. But I know this: I don’t want to be someone who only allows herself to rest when she’s burned out. I don’t want to measure my worth by how much I’ve accomplished in a day. I want to build a life where rest isn’t a reward—it’s just part of the rhythm. A breath in, a breath out. A sacred pause in the middle of all the doing.
Tell me in the comments--how do you currently prioritize rest in your life?
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