REST is Not a Four-letter Word!
Over a month ago, the retinas in both my eyes tore and I had to have laser surgery two weeks apart. That meant no lifting weights, turning my head quickly, sneezing, skydiving, go-kart racing, or handstands. The last three were very easy to avoid but taking it easy meant REST!
Sometimes REST is just as an unspeakable a word as those other ones that probably came into your mind.
Why is it so hard?!
Especially when my body so obviously needs it. I really resonated with Abby Maslin’s article That’s a Boundary about perfectionism, people-pleasing, being a caregiver, and being everything to everyone.
How did I grow up in such a Rest Less world?
My Ya-ya (maternal grandmother) and my aunt lived with my family growing up. I have three siblings and my father often traveled for work. My mother stayed at home to care for us, her mother and sister until she was 40 years old and became a nurse.
Every Sunday we had pasta and meatballs, lavish meals on holidays, and family parties. My mother took care of all the cooking, cleaning, laundry, caregiving, making sure everyone had lunch, and were sent off to wherever we had to be on a timely basis.
Do I remember my mother resting?
Maybe to sit in the sun on our back porch.
Watch a movie with the family.
Read a book as I have my love of reading from her.
But I don’t remember my mother ever mentioning that four-letter word or actively doing it.
Once she became a nurse and worked full-time, we were in high school, working our own jobs, and living our lives. We had chores but my mother still cooked and handled the heavy lifting of running the household.
There wasn’t time for REST.
When my father was diagnosed with cancer and beat it twice, my mother became a caregiver who took care of all the details, the drive to appointments, the healing care. When he was diagnosed a third time, my mother took a leave of absence from work and cared for him with a love that ran deep until he died.
My mother is amazing. I don’t harbor any resentment toward her for how she modeled motherhood. Having her home with us was the reason I stayed home with my children.
Yet it took personal experience to see REST as CARE.
When my son, Nick, was diagnosed with leukemia at age 13, I cared for him with all I physically had. Everything took a back seat to him, including my health. When he died, I didn’t REST. I threw myself into helping other children fight cancer.
For years, REST has been the antithesis of who I am. REST felt like giving up, being selfish.
Over the last couple of years, I have cared for my aging mom with that same intensity and attitude: I can do it all–care for her, my family, my home, my business, oh yeah, and me.
Through experiencing my body’s breakdown, I have learned that REST isn’t a four-letter world, it’s an active word that needs to be a part of every single day.
It is not selfish to REST, it is Self-Full! I am full of vitality, energy, and connection to my purpose and what brings me joy because of REST. My eyes are healing because of REST.
I am at my BEST, when I REST!
I refer you back to Abby’s Maslin’s post on creating boundaries, which absolutely help with REST.
I also recommend Tricia Hersey’s book Rest is Resistance: A Manifesto
Here are some prompts to perhaps get to the root of why REST is so hard to come by and how to bring more of it into your life.
Journal Prompts for REST:
What does it mean to REST?
What do you do to REST?
Write about a time when you rested and made space for YOU.
What did you do?
Where were you?
Was anyone with you?
Who?
Describe the details–especially sensory to thicken the memory
Why did you need this REST?
How did you feel?
To go deeper, I offer these prompts:
How do you rate your quality of REST?
What examples/stories of REST did you receive as a child through your parents, teachers, relatives, coaches, etc.?
How do these stories inform your idea of REST?
What would it mean to slow down?
To not overcommit?
To not resist REST?
To set realistic timelines?
To create space each day to reflect and be.
How/When will you put REST into action?
Describe what it would look like.
Feel like.
Thicken the imagery as if it has already happened.