Rest used to feel like a luxury — something I had to earn. I’d spend days chasing tasks, and when I finally took a break, guilt would creep in. “You should be doing more,” it whispered.
But burnout doesn’t knock — it builds. Slowly. Quietly. Until you’re too tired to notice.
One day, I realized rest isn’t the opposite of work. It’s part of it. Like inhaling and exhaling — you can’t have one without the other.
Now I rest without apology. I read for no reason. I take long walks. I let my mind wander. Productivity is nice, but peace is better.
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