Our culture hands out metaphorical gold medals for being busy. We praise exhaustion like it’s proof of virtue. “Working hard.” “Grinding.” “Sacrificing.” These are the badges of honor we believe should be worn proudly.
And yes, if you want to achieve something, you do need practice. You need to hone the craft. You need to show up.
But we’ve confused constant motion with meaningful progress.
There is power in downtime.
There is value in staring out the backyard window while the dog wanders the grass. There is value in playing a computer game for no reason other than enjoyment. There is value in lying on the couch letting your brain wander without demanding it produce something measurable.
Some forms of rest look respectable like community theatre, redecorating a room, and reading a novel. We can justify those. They feel adjacent to productivity.
But rest doesn’t need to justify itself.
Relaxation is not the opposite of productivity. It is the fuel for it.
As someone coming to terms with neurodivergence, I’m realizing that my brain isn’t a machine meant to run at full capacity all day. It needs intentional recharge. It needs joy. It needs moments without performance.
When I deny myself rest, I don’t become more productive. I become resentful, foggy, and ashamed that I can’t “push through.” When I protect rest, then I write better. I parent better. I show up better.
Proper relaxation isn’t laziness. It’s maintenance.
And maintenance is what keeps the engine running.
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