Rest doesn’t come easily to me. For as long as I can remember, my life has been defined by productivity—by the need to keep moving, keep achieving, keep proving my worth. The idea of slowing down, of doing nothing, has always felt alien, even dangerous. But the truth is, the relentless pace of life has taken its toll, and I’ve had to learn a lesson I wish I’d embraced sooner: rest isn’t a sign of weakness. It’s an act of courage.
For so many of us, rest feels like a betrayal of our purpose. We equate slowing down with giving up, with losing our edge. The world reinforces this idea, glorifying the grind and celebrating exhaustion as a badge of honor. But the world doesn’t tell us that constant motion doesn’t make us stronger—it wears us down, little by little until there’s nothing left to give.
For me, the need to rest became impossible to ignore as my body began to rebel. Living with Functional Neurological Disorder forced me to confront the limits I’d spent so much time denying. I wasn’t invincible. Pushing through the pain, the fatigue, the overwhelming demands of life wasn’t noble—it was destructive. And in that realization, I found something unexpected: permission. Permission to let go of the idea that my worth was tied to what I produced. Permission to rest.
Resting, I’ve learned, isn’t about laziness or giving up. It’s about replenishing the reserves that allow us to keep going. It’s about listening to our bodies and our minds when they whisper, “Enough,” instead of waiting until they scream. Most importantly, it’s about honoring the life we have—not as a series of tasks to complete, but as something to be experienced, savored, and cherished.
There’s courage in resting because it means stepping away from the noise, the expectations, and the endless demands we place on ourselves. It means facing the uncomfortable truth that we are human with limits that deserve respect. It means choosing to prioritize our well-being, even when the world tells us to keep pushing.
Rest looks different for everyone. For me, it might mean researching a new tool or discovery without worrying about deadlines or obligations. It might mean finding a quiet table at a local restaurant (that makes me feel safe) and letting myself exist in the moment. It might even mean doing absolutely nothing at all—and being okay with that.
If you’re like me, if you’ve spent your life resisting rest, I want you to know this: you’re allowed to stop. You’re allowed to take a breath, to sit still, to let the world carry on without you for a while. Rest doesn’t make you weak—it makes you strong enough to keep going.
So give yourself permission. Honor the life you’re living by letting yourself experience it fully, without the constant pressure to do more. Rest, not as a luxury, but as a necessity. Rest, because you deserve it. And rest, because it’s the bravest thing you can do for yourself.