Burning Beneath

Have you ever tried to just be—to lie in bed all day, to do nothing, to exist without obligation—only to feel that gnawing sense of guilt creeping in? That relentless voice whispering, You should be doing something. You should get up. You should clean. You should cook. You should be productive.

For so many of us, especially mothers, rest is not truly rest—it is stolen time, borrowed in fleeting moments before duty calls again. It is something we have to justify. A reward only granted after an exhausting list of completed tasks, never freely given, never guilt-free.

But why?

Why is doing nothing so hard? Why does stillness feel like failure?

Perhaps it’s because we were raised to equate doing with worth. Productivity is praised, busyness is admired, and rest? Rest is lazy. Rest is indulgent. Rest is only acceptable when exhaustion forces it upon us, when there’s no other choice.

But the truth is—rest is necessary.

We are not machines. We were not meant to grind ourselves into the ground for the sake of a never-ending to-do list. The world will not fall apart if the laundry waits another day. Our value is not measured by how much we accomplish before we allow ourselves to breathe.

So what if, just for today, we gave ourselves permission?

Permission to rest.
Permission to be still.
Permission to let go of guilt and reclaim the simple act of existing.

Because we do not have to earn rest.

Rest is a right, not a privilege.