It’s 11 p.m.
You should probably go to bed.
Instead, you’re answering one more email. Checking one more thing. Maybe finishing something you could absolutely finish tomorrow but, I mean, you’re already here.
Might as well get it done.
And somewhere underneath the exhaustion is this tiny little sense of satisfaction.
Look at me getting all this done.
You’re tired because you’re working hard.
You’re overwhelmed because you have a lot of important things to do.
You don’t have time to rest because people need you.
Which means, in a very backwards way, the exhaustion starts feeling like proof.
Proof that you’re committed.
Proof that you care.
Proof that you’re not dropping the ball.
I know that story because I told it to myself for years.
Late nights. Early mornings. Phone always within reach. If there was something left to do, resting while it sat there felt almost irresponsible.
I called it dedication.
And some of it probably was.
I care deeply about the things I commit to. I like getting things done. I’m willing to work hard.
None of that is something I want to get rid of.
But I eventually had to admit that there were times I wasn’t working late because something truly needed to be done at 11 p.m.
I was working because stopping made me uncomfortable.
Because what if I missed something?
What if somebody needed me?
What if I let something sit until tomorrow and tomorrow got even busier?
What if everything started slipping because I decided I needed a break?
So I kept going.
And then I’d tell myself I would rest when things calmed down.
You know where this is going.
Things did not calm down.
There was always another message.
Another project.
Another busy week.
Another reason this wasn’t the right time to slow down.
And here’s the part I didn’t recognize for a long time:
Even when I technically wasn’t working, I wasn’t necessarily resting.
I was scrolling.
Watching something while also checking my phone.
Filling every quiet pocket with noise or information or something to look at.
My body may have been sitting on the couch, but my brain apparently did not receive the memo that we were off duty.
I thought I was resting because I wasn’t actively producing anything.
But there’s a difference between stopping work and actually restoring yourself.
That one took me a while.
Because real rest can feel surprisingly uncomfortable when you’re used to constant input.
Stillness gives your brain nowhere else to go.
There’s nothing to accomplish.
Nothing to respond to.
Nothing to check.
You just... stop.
And if you’ve spent years attaching some part of your worth to how much you can handle, stopping can feel an awful lot like doing nothing.
Maybe even being lazy.
I think that’s where I misunderstood rest.
I treated it like a reward.
Get enough done and then you can rest.
Finish the list and then you can stop.
Take care of everybody else and then, if there’s anything left, take care of yourself.
The problem is there is always something else you could do.
So if rest only happens when everything is finished?
Good luck.
I started thinking about rest differently when I noticed what depletion was actually costing me.
Because yes, I could keep going.
That was never the question.
I can push through tired.
I can operate on too little sleep.
I can answer the message.
I can squeeze one more thing into the day.
But which version of me shows up after I do that long enough?
My patience gets shorter.
Small problems feel bigger.
I’m physically present with my family but mentally somewhere else.
I react faster.
Think less clearly.
And eventually the people I’m supposedly doing all of this for are getting whatever is left of me after I gave everything else the first serving.
That doesn’t feel much like strength.
It made me realize rest isn’t separate from the things I’m responsible for.
It’s part of how I stay able to be present for them.
And I don’t mean we need to turn rest into another elaborate thing to accomplish correctly.
Please no.
I can already see myself researching the optimal resting strategy and somehow creating a spreadsheet.
That would rather defeat the purpose.
Sometimes rest is really small.
A few quiet minutes before picking up the phone.
Going to bed when the thing can actually wait until tomorrow.
Sitting outside without simultaneously consuming something.
Leaving a little white space in a day instead of immediately filling it.
Letting my body and brain have a moment when nobody needs anything from them.
Your version of rest may look completely different from mine.
And there are absolutely seasons where true rest is harder to come by. Babies do not care about your beautifully protected sleep schedule. Sick kids, caregiving, demanding work seasons and real life can make this complicated.
So this isn’t another standard to fail at.
I think it’s more about noticing the story we’ve attached to exhaustion.
When you’re completely depleted, what do you make that mean?
That you worked hard enough?
That you were needed?
That you did everything you could?
That you were a good mom, employee, wife, friend, leader or whatever role needed the most from you that day?
And what does resting mean by comparison?
That’s the question I’m more interested in now.
Because I don’t want exhaustion to be the evidence I use to prove I gave enough.
I’d rather have enough of myself left to actually be there for the life I’m working so hard to take care of.
Maybe tonight there will still be something left on your list.
There probably will be tomorrow too.
The question may not be whether you can keep going.
We already know you can.
Maybe it’s whether continuing is actually giving the people and things you care about the best of you...
or simply proving, one more time, how long you can run without rest.
Want to keep going with this conversation?
🎧 Listen to Episode 19: Rest Isn't Weakness — It's How You Come Back to Yourself →