In December 2019, I became unwell. The doctor had no idea what it was, guessing it was some kind of virus. “Just get lots of rest,” she prescribed.
Rest, it turns out, was a shocking medicine, and I found it difficult to swallow.
But my body wasn’t giving me an option. I was bedridden for a fortnight, cared for by friends who dropped round nourishing food and who kept my spirits up on the phone when I had the energy and voice to talk.
After that crash, I decided to make room for regular and dedicated rest in my daily life. If that meant learning how to do that, then so be it. Being summer, it was an odd time to start. Rest seemed more conducive to the hibernation of winter. But I knew I didn’t want to be physically forced to rest again if I could help it.
But, what exactly was I resting from? I had no partner or children making demands on my time. I had a full and fun social life. I didn’t feel stressed. I did feel mentally drained at the end of each week, sure. And I did overcommit at times, leaving myself little to no free time. But it occurred to me that whatever our marital status or level of busyness, we all need rest. And I accepted that I did too.
Painter Peter Heller once said, “You rest now. Rest for longer than you are used to resting. Make a stillness around you, a field of peace. Your best work, the best time of your life will grow out of this peace.”
While I agreed with Heller in spirit, the question remained: How?
I immediately thought of simply sitting and finishing a cup of tea. Without simultaneously putting on a load of washing, or cooking, or listening to a podcast, or chatting on the phone, or even reading. Just doing exclusively that. Since I walk and practise yoga regularly, I reckoned I’d find it easy to finish a mere cup of tea.
Rest. But how? I thought of simply sitting and finishing a cup of tea. I reckoned I’d find it easy…
I ended up finding it quite the challenge; it was almost a comical experience.
I turned my comfy chair to face the window and, with cup of tea in hand, was off and running. Only a couple of sips in and my body moved to switch on some music. I forced myself back into the chair and stayed there. With intention. My mind then drifted to the laundry where I was sure a load should be on. I forced myself again to stay put, chuckling at my agitation.
I laughed again when I realised I was setting aside minutes of my time here, not hours. Why was this so hard? It felt almost clandestine, luxurious, but confronting, too. I felt guilty for daring to put a pause on achieving by doing.
How ridiculous, I told myself. I could do this!
Training my eyes on three sister trees in the garden, I tuned into the caterwaul of the red wattlebirds that played in the bottlebrush on the footpath, and focused on breathing in… and breathing out… I watched the fluffy clouds drift by. And I tasted the tea.
I was split in two: the top layer buzzing with energy and needing to be in motion; the bottom one thoroughly enjoying this time to simply be.
Author Katherine May, , Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times, discusses how pausing activity can bring “a sense of humiliation, a sense of having uniquely failed”. She points out how our culture values our output above all else, which can prompt a sense of shame about resting, about our needing confirmation from a medical professional before we allow ourselves to do it, and which often comes too late.
May invites us to welcome periods of wintering, which she clarifies are not necessarily to do with the season itself, describing them as: “a time for reflection and recuperation, for slow replenishment, for putting your house in order. Doing these deeply unfashionable things… is a radical act now, but it’s essential.”
It is essential. I’ve practised a lot since that first fraught time, and found that rest helps me stave off burnout and brings equilibrium. Now, I look forward to those minutes each day, staring into the garden, or standing outside feeling the sun on my back, focusing only on breathing in… and breathing out…
It’s still a priority I find challenging at times when work is busy or when my to-do list is growing. But I am always more effective when I bring my rested self to those tasks, so I now unfailingly make time for it. Feeling good is always worth the effort.
You might also like
'A room of one's own' can be the best type of self-care
