How to rest without feeling guilty?

I’ve been trying to rest lately. Emphasis on trying. It’s not going great lol, so I’m writing this to scratch the itch in my mind. If that itch sounds familiar, welcome! this one’s for you.

It’s not even the glamorous, soft focus kind of rest that you see on Instagram. I mean the awkward, slightly itchy kind. The kind where your body sits down… but your mind stands over you with crossed arms like, “So. What exactly are we accomplishing here?”

Because apparently, I’m very good at lying down and tragically bad at letting myself be at ease.

I’ve noticed this strange contradiction: I’ll take a break, but I’ll also spend the entire break mentally listing all the reasons I don’t deserve it. Which means I’m technically resting, but emotionally doing squats. And unless that’s a new wellness trend, I can confirm it’s not restorative. At all.

Somewhere along the way, rest became something you earn. Like a reward sticker or a smiley badge (yes, we used to get those in school). Finish the work. Prove your worth. Exhaust yourself just enough. Then and only then you may lie down. Briefly. Without joy. Preferably with mild anxiety.

And even then, there’s guilt.

The quiet kind. The well-trained kind.

The kind that whispers, “If you were more disciplined, more driven, more serious about life… you wouldn’t need this.”

And maybe this hits harder because my days rarely look the same. One moment I’m editing stories, the next I’m facilitating sessions, holding space, thinking on my feet.

My work asks me to switch gears constantly creatively, emotionally, energetically. So when things finally go quiet, my nervous system doesn’t exhale. It keeps pacing.

What I’m slowly realizing is that guilt-filled rest isn’t rest at all. It’s just another form of self-monitoring. Productivity in disguise. A performance of slowing down while still trying to be impressive.

I catch myself announcing, “I’m resting today,” and then immediately wanting to justify it to whom? no one but myself. As if the universe is keeping score. As if stillness needs an explanation or a disclaimer.

And here’s the honest part:

I don’t actually know how to rest without measuring it.

Without timing it.

Without turning it into something I can succeed or fail at.

So lately, I’ve been experimenting. Gently. Clumsily.

Letting myself pause without immediately asking, “What’s next?”

Letting rest be a state, not a strategy.

Some days it works.

Some days my brain throws a tantrum like a toddler who missed a nap and now has opinions.

And I’m learning not to treat that as a personal failure.

Maybe rest isn’t about switching off completely. Maybe it’s about tuning out the inner voice that keeps demanding proof of usefulness.

Maybe it’s about learning to sit with yourself without trying to fix, optimize, or improve the moment.

I’m not there yet. But I am noticing things now.

And attention, I’m realizing, is a form of care.

If nothing else, I’m learning this:

Rest that comes with kindness feels SO MUCH different.

Quieter.

Wider.

More honest.

And that feels like the kind of rest worth figuring out slowly, imperfectly, without guilt hovering like a productivity manager in my head.

Still learning. Still pausing. Still figuring it out.