No place to rest: A feminist study on women's relationship with rest

Thanks to the women who vulnerably and courageously shared their stories with me, we are beginning to understand women's relationship with rest more deeply and how we can create a world where we all feel safe enough and worthy enough to rest. 

The research paper itself is currently being peer-reviewed but below you will find a selection of stories exploring women's relationship with rest – composite narratives weaving together the voices of the women I spoke with into a collective harmony. 

I hope they offer you a sense of comfort and connection, softness and tenderness, inspiration and hope.

What is rest? 

Despite being a universal need that’s fundamental to our individual wellbeing and collective flourishing, rest has been a long-neglected research topic – so much so that rest hasn’t even been clearly conceptualised. Like love and play and grace, rest has to be experienced rather than intellectualised to fully grasp, but drawing on women’s own descriptions and lived experience of rest, I have been able to capture the essence of rest below:

“Rest is a universal human need, a holistic and proactive process of recovery and restoration that involves temporarily detaching from stressors, responsibilities and expectations and intentionally engaging in freely chosen, low demand activities that evoke a low-threat, high-safeness restorative state of parasympathetic dominance and ventral vagal activation, often associated with feelings of calm, contentment, comfort, pleasure, ease and joy.” 

Or, to put it simply, “Rest is the experience of feeling safe enough for our stress responses to ‘switch off’ so our minds and bodies can recover and restore.” From this essence, eight properties of rest have emerged:. 

• Intentionally unproductive. Rest is agendaless. It doesn’t have any practical value, especially in terms of capitalist productivity – it doesn’t make us money or optimise our efficiency or lead to some future accomplishment. Rest is its own reward.
• Freely chosen. Rest is self-chosen and self-initiated, free from any sense of obligation. 
• Low demand. Rest asks little of us. It reduces physiological and psychological demands and offers us temporary respite from the physical, mental and socioemotional responsibilities of everyday life.
• Unhurried. Rest provides freedom from time anxiety and inner urgency. When we rest, we are immersed in the present moment and lose sense of the passage of time.
• Peaceful and joyful. Rest is an experience of inner harmony. When we rest, we are free from self-judgement and inner conflict, and experience feelings of pleasure, peace, calmness, comfort and joy.
• Multimodal. Rest has no specific system and includes various practices, activities and techniques. What feels restorative is different for each of us and may vary from day-to-day.
• Neuroceptively safe. Rest is a state of low threat and high safeness. Our nervous systems sense that our environments are free from potential harm and we experience a felt sense of safeness. 
• Holistically restorative. Rest activates the parasympathetic nervous system, creating a biological environment for energy restoration and health optimisation. 

Stories of rest 

As you read through these stories, you might like to notice how your body – heart, muscles, nervous system, belly, skin – respond. Do these stories resonate with you? Do they offer you a sense of connection with other women? Do they inspire you to begin resting in whatever small way you can? 

Emma's story

 I woke up one morning and just collapsed. My body was debilitated. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. My kids were really little and it was terrifying. I’m a therapist so I knew the impact stress has on your body but I just didn’t see this coming. I was trying to give 100% to my kids and 100% to my clients and do everything else 100% and it was too much. It was like I was in denial that I had any limits, like I thought I was superwoman. I didn’t realise how exhausted I was. My body had been whispering to me through headaches and anxiety and difficulties sleeping but I was too busy to listen. And then one day, it shouted, ‘STOP’. 

Maya's story

Years of chronic stress eventually led to a point where I completely crashed and burned. I wanted to show my daughters that women can have it all, but it was absolutely exhausting. Deep down, I knew I needed a break. I wasn’t sleeping, I kept getting infections and, even though I probably looked successful to the outside world, I felt like a robot, functioning but not really alive. I was signed off work with stress and I spent three months basically in bed whilst my amazing husband supported me and our family. Since then, I’ve come to understand my burnout in mythological terms as an underworld journey. All the things that had given me a sense of worth and identity – my career, my supermum role, my people-pleasing – were stripped away. I’d always found my worth in my achievements and productivity, but now I had to find it in something deeper than accomplishments and degrees. One of the things that has been so healing for me is learning to work with my rhythms and cycles, to allow myself those periods when I need to focus inwardly and rest deeply and then, at other times, to live daringly, work passionately and give generously.  

Grace's story

A lot of the women in my life are the superwoman archetype, and it’s phenomenal and it’s also toxic. I see so many of my friends trying to juggle so much and uphold these unrealistic expectations of what a woman ‘should’ be – expectations that we never even wanted in the first place. And I used to be like that too. I used to feel a strange sense of pride when my friends would refer to me as ‘superwoman’. I took pride in how busy I was and how much I could juggle and how, even when I felt exhausted, I would just push through. But I began to feel increasingly alienated from myself and those I loved and life started feeling more and more meaningless.

One day, out of nowhere, I had a memory of this relaxed, playful version of myself from my childhood, a little girl who read books for pleasure and wandered around the garden listening to the birds and looking at moss and leaves. Growing up, the message I received – the message I think all women receive is, ‘You’ve got to speed up. You’ve got to get ahead. You’ve got to achieve. You’ve got to succeed’. But at 54, I started sensing a deep longing for this relaxed self, for the relaxed woman that was buried in me.

As I’m recovering from burnout, I feel like I’ve come full circle. When I was very young, I was intuitive and playful and carefree. I didn’t feel like I had anything to hide or anything to prove. And now, as I’m getting older, I feel like I’m returning to that authenticity.. I’m remembering what’s important to me and, rather than trying to prove myself and please everyone else, I’m more able to focus my energy on what truly matters. Recently, I was offered a promotion. The prestige and money would have been nice, but for me, it’s just not worth it. There’s more in life that I value and I’m never going to get this time back. In a strange way, it doesn’t feel like I’m creating a more relaxed life, it feels like I’m returning to it. Deep down I’ve always known what matters, I just forgot for a few decades.

Hazel's story

In my family, female role models like my mum and grandma had an extreme attitude of martyrdom and selflessness. The women in my life were always running around taking care of everything and everyone. There was no place for rest. My mum would tell me that I need to work twice as hard as men to be taken seriously. That I always need to look in control. That I can’t cry, that I can’t let anyone see my vulnerability or they’ll take advantage of me. She was trying to protect me but it taught me that being a good woman meant masking my emotions, overriding my body and suppressing my femininity. Slowly, I’m reparenting myself. I’m learning how to listen to my body, how to be vulnerable, how to let my guard down and allow people to see the soft and tender parts of me. 

Eloise's story

I didn’t realise how stressed I was. I thought being anxious and short-tempered and indecisive was just my personality. I didn’t realise that the coping mechanisms I’d developed – compulsive busyness, overworking, trying to control everything – were not who I am. They were behaviours I did when I felt unsafe. 

Over the last few months, as I’ve been practising yoga and mindfulness and going to therapy, I’ve realised that it’s not that you’re either a stressed person or a relaxed person. Relaxation is something you can learn, something you can practise. And so I’m beginning to unlearn those habits that were keeping me stressed – rushing, overthinking, staying compulsively busy, always trying to fix and rescue and people-please – and learning new skills and practices that can help me live more authentically and peacefully. I always used to worry about how dangerous the world is so now I practise looking for beauty. I always used to rush unnecessarily so now I practise doing things slowly. I always used to pick my body apart in the mirror so now I practise speaking to myself compassionately.

I’m learning how to set boundaries, how to express my emotions, how to simply rest and breathe. And I wish someone had taught me these things in school. Because, as I do these practices, I’m learning that the anxious, overwhelmed, exhausted woman that I thought was ‘me’, is not me. When I’m not stressed, I’m passionate, I’m fun, I’m lighthearted and lively and bubbly. 

Zara's story

I’m 31 and I have no idea who I am. I’ve spent so many years taking care of everyone else and juggling all the balls that I’ve lost myself. As a teacher, I spend my days empowering my students to find their voice, but I’ve lost mine. I don’t know what I want or what I enjoy. Looking back, I started losing myself as a child. I come from a broken family and had a really difficult childhood. Both my parents struggled with addiction and I had to be extremely responsible and deal with problems I wasn’t mature enough to handle. I’ve been carrying all that childhood trauma with me and, over the years, as my life has gotten busier and more stressful, I’ve become more and more alienated from myself. I’ve lost connection with my body. I’ve lost connection with what really matters to me. I’ve lost connection with my self. I don’t want to get to the end of my life and not know who I am beyond what I achieve and how well I please others. I want to make friends with my body. I want to make friends with my self.

Anna's story

I’ve lived a lot of my life from a trauma response, desperately trying to find safety in pleasing others. When I was stuck in a state of stress, I unconsciously believed that being in a relationship meant I had to abandon my own needs. Just the thought of setting a boundary or expressing a need made me feel physically sick. I was this codependent, overcaring, overfixing, overgiver. But I’m slowly unravelling this identity. Because constantly trying to help and fix can be so damaging for other people and for myself.

Over the last few years, as I’ve begun to prioritise rest and recuperation in my life, I’ve learnt that if I’m going to hold space for someone who is in pain, I need to be in a very grounded, relaxed state. Now, when there is chaos outside and other people are falling apart, I can stay in this relaxed state because I know it’s not my job to fix anything or save anyone. I can witness. I can hold loving space. But I’m not there to rescue. And it feels liberating to be able to reclaim this relaxed state, even when I’m active and engaged in the world. 

Lily's story

I work so hard to compensate for the feeling that I’m not good enough, that there’s something wrong with me. It doesn’t matter what I do or what choice I make, I always feel guilty. My sense of worth is so low that it’s like I have to earn my right to exist. And there’s a part of me that knows what a gift is to have this brief time on earth and that I don’t have to do anything or achieve anything to deserve to be alive, but there’s another part of me that feels like I need to prove that I am worthy of being here – as if I need to compensate for something bad or broken in me. A big part of my healing journey is around this belief that there’s something wrong with me that I need to fix. And as I’ve started talking with other women, I’m realising this isn't just a me problem. It’s just really hard to be a woman in a patriarchal society that constantly tries to convince you that you’re unworthy. 

Elizabeth's story

I’m on the go from the moment I open my eyes until I collapse into bed at night. I’m always busy, always tense. I can’t switch off. Even after I’m home from work and the kids are fed and the chores are done and I could technically have some downtime, I’ll always find something else that needs doing. On the rare occasion that I do sit down and watch a movie with my family, my brain won’t switch off and I’m constantly thinking about the next thing I need to do. I feel like a train that never stops. I’m afraid to relax because I’m scared that if I take my foot off the gas, my whole life will fall apart. 

Freja's story

Every day, I feel like I’m falling short of my potential. I’m always asking myself, ‘Am I doing enough? Am I working hard enough? Am I good enough?’. And I think we feel this collectively, as if we’re failing what we were promised we could do as women. As a doctor, I spent so many years trying to compensate for a broken system. Work just took over my life. Boundaries felt like something I wasn’t allowed to have. After I had my daughter, I felt so much responsibility to be the perfect mother and the best doctor and the person everyone comes to when they need help. I got to a place of burnout where I would struggle to get out of bed in the morning so I decided to pause my career to be a full time mum. And even though motherhood is the most precious and exhausting job in the world, sometimes it feels like I’m taking the easy way out, like I’m being unambitious and ungrateful to the feminists who fought so hard for women’s independence. I feel ashamed because there’s this expectation that, as a woman, I should be able to cope, that I should be able to do it all.   

Emily's story

I grew up in one of the most privileged countries in the world and I never lacked anything and I’m still struggling. I am so fortunate from the outside, but inside I feel like I can’t cope. And I feel bad for feeling bad because I know how privileged I am in every aspect of my life. Experiencing burnout has forced me to start looking at things differently. I can’t contribute to the world if I don’t look after myself. I can only do so much. And, as much as I would love to single-handedly end sexism and racism and poverty, I need to focus my energy on where I have power, where I can make a difference. And I’m realising that I deserve some happiness too. And that that happiness can be a sustainable happiness, a happiness that doesn’t exploit anyone or the environment.

Jenny's story

My husband does a really good job of supporting me. He reminds me I don’t have to make everything so hard on myself. He’ll ask me how he can make things easier for me, what I can say no to. My boss at work has been great too. He reminds me to slow down, to take a lunch break, to leave the office on time. After I burnt out three years ago, I started becoming more open with the men in my life about the physical, mental and emotional load women face. Since then, they’ve become my greatest allies. 

Jessica's story

I’ve been in survival mode since my kids were born. The last seven years have been really tough and it feels like I’ve been stuck in a constant state of fight-or-flight. I feel restless and disconnected. I’m always bloated and constipated. I overwork and overeat and spend too much time on social media. I do my best to hide it but I feel constantly anxious and exhausted. And when I feel exhausted, I just keep going. I’ve never seen women rest so pushing through feels like the only option. On the rare occasion when I let myself lay down and watch TV, it feels like my body is still on high alert. My muscles are tense, my brain is whirring with everything I still have to do and I feel like I can’t relax because I need to be prepared just in case something terrible happens.  

Emmy's story

I’ve realised that I tolerate stress differently at different times of my menstrual cycle. I generally cope well with stress. I’m pretty relaxed and then when stress happens, I get an adrenaline kick and I can respond really well and then I go back to a fairly calm baseline afterwards. But I know women who are constantly stressed and frazzled all the time. The only time I feel like this is in the couple of days before my period – I feel anxious and irritable, the ‘not good enough’ thoughts are much louder and I struggle to sleep. Now I understand my cycle better and know how much smaller my stress capacity is when I’m premenstrual, I do my best to prioritise rest and recovery during those few days to help me cope.

Abby's story

I’ve had psychosomatic symptoms of stress since I was 16. Gut issues. Back pain. Food intolerances. In my final year at university I was so stressed that I could hardly sleep. I started getting panic attacks and my IBS was really bad. I had extreme physical symptoms: Dizziness, digestive issues, heart palpitations, migraines. I used to think I was fragile and couldn’t cope with the demands of university life but now I understand stress better and I realise that the pain and fatigue and insomnia were a cry for help from my body. My body was telling me that I’ve been experiencing too much stress for too long. My body has been communicating with me the whole time. My practice now is to listen. 

Ellen's story

Growing up, it didn’t feel safe for me to have feelings and needs. It didn’t feel safe for me to be me. I developed a lot of coping strategies that help me feel safe that now feel embedded in my body. People-pleasing was a big one because I felt that I wouldn’t be loved or cared for if I didn’t make everyone happy. Now when I notice I’m people-pleasing, I’ll pause and pay attention to how the present experience is echoing something from my childhood. Instead of reactively sacrificing my own needs, I’ll use the urge to people-please as a sign that I feel unsafe and my inner child needs soothing. Slowly, my nervous system is learning that it’s safe to let people down sometimes, it’s safe to be disliked, it’s safe to have boundaries, it’s safe to be me.