Rest Isn't a Reward: Why Slowing Down Can Feel So Difficult
Rest as Remembering
Why does rest feel so difficult?
I've been thinking about rest again. Not simply sleep, or collapsing on the sofa at the end of a long day, but the kind of rest that helps us feel more connected to ourselves and better able to navigate whatever life is asking of us.
In my July newsletter, I explored what might happen if we stopped treating rest as something we have to earn. What if pulling back doesn't mean falling behind, but finding our rhythm again?
It's a question that's stayed with me, partly because I still find resting surprisingly difficult.
I practise yoga, I'm interested in mindfulness, Ayurveda and nervous-system regulation, and much of my coaching work involves helping people find ways of living and working that don't leave them constantly depleted. You might imagine I'd have this rest business fairly well sorted by now!
And yet, even sitting quietly for two minutes with a cup of tea can be a challenge. My mind starts listing things I ought to be doing, accompanied by that familiar guilt about not being productive. All while two enormously fat pigeons provide free entertainment by attempting to squeeze themselves into the bird bath outside my window.
You'd think I could manage two minutes of that, wouldn't you?
Recently, I found myself with more commitments than I could realistically fit into the time available. Something had to give, and after weighing things up, I decided to miss my yoga class.
A fairly ordinary decision, you might think. Except that the internal commentary afterwards was anything but ordinary.
Have you learnt nothing? Why are you prioritising everyone else when you know yoga is one of the things that helps you? Here you go again, putting yourself last.
The voice was loud, familiar and remarkably convincing.
Eventually, I paused, took a few deeper breaths and became curious about what I was telling myself. Was this really the truth, or an old narrative about what it means to look after myself and all the ways I might be getting it wrong?
As I sat with that question, another perspective emerged.
Paula, it's OK. You haven't let yourself or anyone else down. You made a decision. You prioritised your responsibilities, recognised your limits and responded to what was needed in that moment.
And then something occurred to me: perhaps I hadn't abandoned my yoga practice at all. Perhaps, in a different way, I had been practising yoga.
When self-care becomes another expectation
One of the things I've come to appreciate through my yoga journey is that yoga offers much more than a physical practice. The movement, breath and stillness matter, but so does what we learn about ourselves and how that understanding shapes the way we live.
Two yogic principles feel particularly relevant: svadhyaya, or self-study, and ahimsa, often translated as non-harming. Both invite us to become more aware of our habitual responses and how we treat ourselves.
In that moment of self-criticism, I had an opportunity to notice an old pattern without automatically following it. I could acknowledge my disappointment about missing class without turning it into a judgement about my commitment to wellbeing.
It made me wonder how easily self-care becomes another expectation. We know movement, sleep, nourishing food, connection and rest can support us. But what happens when we can't manage everything? Do we respond with flexibility and understanding, or add another layer of pressure?
Even when we stop physically, our minds may continue working at full speed, revisiting yesterday or planning tomorrow.
I wonder how often the way we think about rest actually makes resting harder.
How our coping patterns can leave us exhausted
Sometimes it's not simply the demands of our lives that exhaust us, but also the ways we've learned to respond to those demands.
In my coaching work, I've become increasingly interested in the patterns we develop to manage pressure and expectations. Being responsible, anticipating problems, working hard and putting others first can help us navigate difficult circumstances or feel more secure.
For some people, particularly those who've spent years adapting to environments that don't naturally accommodate their needs, these responses may have been essential ways of coping.
But strategies that once helped us can also become exhausting when we feel we have no choice but to keep using them. Rather than judging these patterns, we might become curious about what they've helped us manage and whether other responses are now possible.
Of course, sometimes we're exhausted because we're genuinely carrying too much, with too little time or support. No amount of self-compassion can make an impossible workload manageable.
I recognised some of these patterns in my reaction to missing yoga. Alongside the pressure to fulfil my commitments was an expectation that I should somehow manage everything and look after myself perfectly.
What helped wasn't another wellbeing activity to squeeze into the day. It was recognising that familiar pressure and giving myself room to respond differently.
That didn't remove my responsibilities or magically restore my energy, but it changed how I was relating to myself.
Restoration isn't always about what we stop doing. Sometimes it's also about what we stop demanding of ourselves.
Learning to recognise what we need
If rest isn't simply about stopping, how do we recognise what might genuinely restore us?
We're often encouraged to 'listen to your body' or 'notice how you're feeling'. Helpful invitations, perhaps, but they assume that recognising our needs is straightforward.
For some people, particularly those who experience differences in recognising bodily signals or identifying emotions, it isn't. This is something I encounter in my work with neurodivergent people, and I'd like to explore it more fully in a future blog.
Sometimes it helps to begin with something concrete. What has my day involved? How demanding has my environment been? What have I noticed about my concentration, energy or tolerance for noise?
Perhaps conversation feels exhausting after a day of meetings, while time outdoors helps us think more clearly. Maybe creativity restores us after administrative work, or solitude is what we need following a busy social occasion.
These observations don't have to become rules. They're simply information that can help us make choices that better support us.
I'm increasingly interested in the movement from knowing what we should do towards understanding what we actually need. Our capacity changes, our needs may differ from other people's, and we won't always have an immediate answer.
For me, that's where self-trust begins. Not with getting every decision right, but with becoming more familiar with ourselves and allowing room for a different response.
Perhaps that's part of what rest as remembering means to me: recognising old patterns, reconnecting with what supports us and learning to meet ourselves with a little more understanding.
Sometimes rest is just watching the pigeons
Which brings me back to those rather large pigeons attempting to squeeze themselves into the bird bath outside my window.
It's easy to turn rest into another thing to understand, organise or get right. We can learn about our nervous systems, explore our coping patterns and become more aware of what helps us feel restored. All valuable, but I don't want rest to become another item on the to-do list.
Sometimes it's much simpler.
I can make myself a cup of tea, sit by the window and enjoy the slightly ridiculous sight of two fat pigeons trying to negotiate a bird bath that really wasn't designed with their dimensions in mind.
I don't have to turn it into a mindfulness exercise or assess whether my nervous system has successfully settled. I can simply enjoy the moment, even if my mind wanders.
And if I notice that familiar urge to get up and be productive, perhaps I can meet that with curiosity rather than criticism.
Missing my yoga class reminded me that I can practise compassion even when I can't make it to the mat. Watching the pigeons reminds me that restoration doesn't always have to be serious or profound.
So I'll leave you with a question I'm asking myself:
What might feel restorative for you today, if you didn't have to get it right?
And if the answer involves a cup of tea and some entertaining garden visitors, I reckon that counts too.
A little more space to pause, connect and create
If this has resonated with you, my Pause. Connect. Create. newsletter offers a monthly moment to reflect on how you're living, working and looking after yourself, with curiosity rather than judgement.
Sign up to Pause. Connect. Create. https://paulacoxcoaching.co.uk/newsletter-sign-up
And if you'd like some space to explore your own patterns, energy and ways of working, you can also find out more about coaching with me here: https://paulacoxcoaching.co.uk/all-services