how i stopped treating rest as a reward

there was a stretch of time when i couldn’t sit down without negotiating with myself first. if the dishes were done, then maybe i could rest. if the inbox was cleared, then maybe. if i had worked out, replied to the text, folded the laundry, finished the draft, then i was allowed to collapse onto the couch and not feel guilty. except the list never really ended. i’d lie down with one eye open, already thinking of what i hadn’t done, and it made rest feel less like relief and more like a temporary escape i had to sneak in before the next round of tasks caught me.

the script is familiar to almost everyone. we grow up with the mantra: work first, play later. and as children that kind of bargain works, because “later” might mean thirty minutes from now. but adulthood doesn’t hand out neat blocks of time. there’s no bell that releases you from duty, no defined “after” when everything is complete. there’s only the churn — bills to pay, groceries to restock, deadlines to manage, plans to keep, children to raise, homes to maintain, bodies to care for. the list refreshes faster than you can cross it off. if you believe rest is something you have to earn, you’ll never stop waiting.