What Rest Actually Feels Like (And Why I Didn’t Know)
From the outside, I probably look like I rest a lot - I’m slow and sloth-like, and I love a good nap.
I’ve earned titles such as “lazy,” “messy,” “disorganized,” etc.
I’ve always been confused by that because my ideal state is in a
totally white, minimalist, completely dust free space.
It’s Not Laziness-It’s Exhaustion
I love organizing things. I hate mess and clutter.
I don’t mind cleaning. Sometimes I even enjoy it.
And yet, if left to my own devices, stuff will pile up,
systems will stagnate,
and my surroundings will suffer.
I have been so frustrated when people misunderstand me and think I’m a slob or slovenly.
That’s not who I am.
I’m exhausted.
No matter how lazy I seem, my nervous system is running twelve programs at a time and burning through fuel nonstop.
Your nervous system isn’t just “wired” for constant surveillance.
That is something learned over time.
And the cost is formidable.
Rest Without Safety Isn’t Rest At All
Feeling tired to the bone day in and day out had me searching for answers,
and I’ve discovered that rest is not restorative if you are not in a state of psychological safety.
"Psychological safety" here is not the same as physical safety.
For example, I have been on my own since I was 18. I didn't achieve psychological safety until I was 38.
I can still remember the day it hit me - it felt like I dropped a huge weight I didn't know I was carrying.
It was the first time I stopped lying to myself about how my past shaped me.
That was the first time I said, this is me. All of me. No lies, no secrets. This is who I am.
Quiet first, but getting louder as time goes on.
Rest without safety feels like you're a sitting duck.
You're constantly bracing yourself against the danger your nervous system feels you are still in.
I startle very easily, a physical manifestation of years of resting-without-rest.
Always being vigilant, because something bad can happen if you let your guard down.
Always being “on.”
So yeah - maybe I looked lazy, but I didn’t even get to enjoy it because my nervous system never shut off.
When you are stuck on your couch, screaming at yourself internally to get up and do something
but you just can't (is that just me?), that is not resting.
It looks like resting to your partner, your family, your kids, but the cortisol is still elevated,
still building, your system just waiting for the next shoe to drop.
What results is a kind of mental fog, an overlay that makes true rest impossible.
I knew when I achieved psychological safety because I didn’t have to hide any part of me anymore.
I’d never experienced that before. I’d never truly looked at my past with wide eyes and a spotlight.
I had certainly thought about it, but it was always very compartmentalized.
I might think of one aspect but deny all the rest.
I was never able to step back and look at the whole of it at one time until now.
Learning To Rest With Trust
I first felt psychological safety when I was 38, but it’s taken until 41 to feel true, restorative rest.
To rest with intention.
To trust that I’ll pick up where I left off - that rest won’t derail me, just refuel me.
To tell myself it’s okay to rest, to truly rest.
To let my guard down.
To not feel like I have to have one eye open.
I’m still learning this - the trusting. I’ve only ever berated myself for rest.
I used to feel I should have gone to extraordinary lengths to earn rest, and anything short of that is me being a lazy slob.
But this year I learned to turn the compassion I have for others inward,
and now that I’ve stopped running the old program of punishing myself for resting,
I finally have space to learn how to do it on purpose -
with trust, not guilt.
