Imagine you're in a forest. You sit down with your back against an old oak tree, close your eyes, and realise something. Nobody is looking for you here. Nobody needs anything. For just this moment, you can stop.
We've turned tiredness into something we need to justify. When did that happen?
If you cancel plans, you need an excuse. If you just stop and sit, you feel guilty. We've built an entire culture around the idea that exhaustion proves commitment, and resting feels like you're not trying hard enough.
But your body is not lying to you. When it says it's had enough, that's not weakness. That's the most honest signal it can send. And we tend to ignore it until it's too late. I'm not talking about the temporary tired when you've just walked up a steep hill.
I was thinking about this recently, about all the times I pushed through when I had nothing left. As Mayor, there was always one more event, one more speech. And I kept showing up because stopping felt like letting people down. But the truth is, I wasn't really showing up anymore. I was just present. There's a difference.
Resting properly is not giving up. It's how you come back with something left to give.
This week, when you notice you're pushing through on empty, pause. Just for a moment. Place your hand on your heart and say quietly to yourself:
May I be well. May I be rested. May I be kind to myself.
You don't have to do anything with it. Just notice what it feels like to give yourself permission to stop.
When was the last time you rested without guilt? Not collapsed from exhaustion, but chose to stop while you still had something left? And if you can't remember, what does that tell you?
This week, I will rest before I have nothing left, not after.
🧘 New meditation: Permission to Rest - a gentle body scan and forest visualisation for when you're running on empty. Listen on Apple Podcasts or Spotify.
🎙️ New podcast episode: Stillness in the Storms EP163 - The Dignity of Being Tired: Permission to Stop. Listen on Apple Podcasts or Spotify.
I mentioned earlier when I was Mayor of Truro, I thought I could just keep going. One more event. One more speech. One more council meeting in the evening. I told myself the same thing we all tell ourselves: just soldier through. I'll rest when it's done.
But it's never done, is it? There's always one more thing. One more email. One more episode to watch before bed. We're all guilty of it. That voice that says just a little bit more. Just push through this last bit.
And I did push through. Until my body decided it had had enough. It gave up on my behalf. I ended up ill, properly ill, and I had no choice but to stop. My body made the decision I wouldn't make for myself.
That taught me something I keep having to relearn. No matter how much we try to soldier through, the body is keeping score. And if we don't listen to it, eventually it will let us know. Sometimes by then it's too late to rest gently. You end up resting because you have no other option.
And I don't think that has the same quality as resting before you're forced to rest.
Resting is not the opposite of being useful. It's how you stay useful. And I'd rather choose to stop than have my body choose for me. Because at that point, even calm meditation becomes too much.
Be gentle with yourself this week. You have permission to stop. Not because you've earned it, but because you're a human being. And human beings need rest.
Much love, Steven
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