The long, deflated breath you let out when you finally sit down: spine slack, eyelids twitching, coffee gone cold beside you. The breath that says I’ve had enough, even when your to-do list screams more. And then, like clockwork, comes the guilt.
Shouldn’t you be doing something?
Something productive. Something useful. Something Instagrammable. Something heroic. Something that makes you look less… weak?
Rest, in this world, is framed as failure unless it’s earned. And even then, only just.
The Hustle is a Cult, and We’re All in It
We live in a culture where burnout is a badge of honour. Where busy-ness is virtue, exhaustion is currency, and rest is treated like dessert, a sugary reward after you’ve swallowed the meat and bones of your suffering.
But here’s the uncomfortable truth: rest is not a reward. It’s a right.
And yet most of us, especially those who care for others, live with chronic conditions, juggle invisible workloads, or simply exist in survival mode, don’t believe we’ve earned it. We need to be told. Given permission. Prescribed it like paracetamol.
I still catch myself apologising for needing rest. I soften the language. I say, “I’m just going to lie down for a minute,” instead of “I’m shutting the world out because I’m completely depleted.” I say “I’m tired” instead of “I’m in pain.” I say nothing at all and power through, because who wants to be the fragile one?
It’s a scam. And it’s killing us slowly.
The History We Inherited (And Didn’t Ask For)
We didn’t create this culture of grind. We inherited it: a system shaped by generations of economic pressure, industrial ideals, and a culture that confuses rest with laziness.
Historically, rest wasn’t just discouraged, it was denied. To the enslaved. The poor. The working class. Productivity was a measure of compliance. Rest was resistance.
Today, even self-care has been co-opted. It’s no longer about replenishing the soul, it’s about selling face masks and bath bombs to the already burnt out. Even our downtime is expected to be photogenic.
And if you live with a chronic illness? Rest becomes your entire life, and somehow still, people expect you to justify it. To prove you’re not just lazy, flaky, or attention-seeking.
Rest is Resistance
Audre Lorde said it best: “Caring for myself is not self-indulgence; it is self-preservation.”
Rest is not about quitting. It’s about surviving a system that rewards overextension and punishes stillness. It’s about reclaiming softness in a world that demands sharp edges. It’s about trusting your body over your inbox.
Rest is how we remember we’re human.
What Rest Actually Looks Like (Spoiler: Not Always Pretty)
Let’s get something straight: rest isn’t always wrapped in silk pajamas with lo-fi beats in the background. Sometimes rest is ugly. Messy. Loud. Sometimes it’s:
Crying in the bath until your sinuses are clear.
Saying “no” without offering an excuse.
Sleeping in clothes that aren’t pajamas because that’s all you could manage.
Letting the dishes wait.
Cancelling plans, even with people you love.
Turning off your phone.
Doing nothing, not meditating, not manifesting, not improving yourself. Just… nothing.
Real rest is not aesthetic. It’s sacred.
You Don’t Need Permission, But Here It Is Anyway
If you need someone to say it, let me be the voice:
You are allowed to rest. Not because you worked hard enough. Not because you’re falling apart. Not because you ticked every box. But because you are a living being. And living beings need rest.
No one questions a dog for napping in the sun. No one asks a tree to bloom year-round. But somehow, you, with your spiralling inbox and shrinking patience and bones that ache when it rains, are expected to keep going like a machine.
You are not a machine. You are not a machine. You are not a machine.
Let the World Wait
The revolution isn’t in the doing. It’s in the being. It’s in saying, “Not today, thanks.” It’s in horizontal activism; in naps, in stillness, in choosing slowness when the world demands speed.
Rest isn’t the opposite of action. It’s what allows us to continue.
So lie down. Log off. Let the world wait.
It can handle itself for a while.
And if it can’t? That’s not your fault either.
Tell me…
Do you struggle with guilt when you rest?
What’s one way you’re reclaiming rest in your own life?
Should we start a nap revolution?
Let’s talk in the comments, but only after your nap.
A journey of learning to embrace life with compassion and care for myself.
When I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis (MS) in January of 2023, my focus was anything but myself. Providing for my household, caring for my children, caring for my patients (I’m a Registered Nurse), and securing a home for my disabled mom were a few of my top priorities. I had no real concept of self-love. I refused to accept the diagnosis for a full year, trying to live life as I always had. This was until one day, as I struggled to climb the stairs at work after a 12-hour shift, it dawned on me that I was fighting my very own body instead of working with my body to fight MS. I had to learn to love myself enough to set boundaries and care for my vessel as much as I did others.
Self-love involves accepting yourself fully, treating yourself with kindness, and prioritizing your own well-being. For those of us with a diagnosis of MS, practicing self-love is essential in coping with the physical and emotional challenges provoked by MS. Here are a few ways I practice self-love.
1. Cultivating a Positive Mindset
Living with MS can be overwhelming, but adopting a positive mindset can help navigate the journey with resilience and hope. Embracing self-love encourages a shift in focus from limitations to possibilities, fostering a sense of empowerment and optimism.
2. Managing Stress Effectively
Stress can exacerbate MS symptoms, making it crucial to develop healthy coping mechanisms. Self-love practices such as mindfulness, meditation, and deep breathing can reduce stress levels, promoting relaxation and calmness.
3. Prioritizing Physical Health
Self-love involves taking proactive steps to maintain physical health. Regular exercise, a balanced diet, and adequate rest are vital components of managing MS. Listening to my body and responding to its needs with compassion was most difficult but lead to improved overall well-being.
4. Nurturing Emotional Well-Being
MS can take an emotional toll, leading to feelings of frustration, anger, sadness, depression, and anxiety. Self-love encourages individuals to acknowledge and honor their emotions without judgment. I went through the entire grieving process before embarking on my journey to self-love.
5. Setting Realistic Goals
Self-love involves setting realistic and achievable goals that align with our individual abilities and circumstances. Celebrating small victories and progress creates a sense of accomplishment and motivation, contributing to a positive outlook on life.
6. Practicing Self-Care
Self-care is a fundamental aspect of self-love. Engaging in activities that bring joy, relaxation, and fulfilment can enhance mental and emotional health. I like to do activities in my garden, such as yoga, reading, and meditation. I’ve also become more in tune with nature, taking more walks and appreciating its beauty. Listening to music, dancing, and indulging in self-care nurture the soul and promote balance.
Living with multiple sclerosis is undoubtedly challenging, but the practice of self-love offers a powerful tool for navigating our journeys with grace and resilience. By embracing self-love, I have a sense of empowerment, hope, and well-being, transforming my experience into one of growth and self-discovery.
Hi, I’m Nicole. I’m a mom to 3 and registered nurse by profession. I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis in January of 2023 after a case of optic neuritis, which led to vision loss in my left eye. I recall experiencing symptoms of MS as early as 2016. I now use my knowledge as a RN as well as my experiences as a MS Warrior to educate, uplift, and bring awareness to the “rare” autoimmune disease known as Multiple Sclerosis.
I’ve always believed that life is just far too difficult to do alone. Not just the big, obvious stuff—like raising a child or recovering from loss—but the quiet, daily aches that wear us down. Healing, surviving, rebuilding… it takes a village. And more and more, that village is showing up in the form of community-based trauma therapy.
Why Community Matters in Healing
In South Africa, where many still carry the weight of generational trauma, structural violence, and social inequality, traditional one-on-one therapy isn’t always accessible—or culturally aligned. But healing doesn’t only happen on a therapist’s couch. It happens when stories are witnessed. When pain is spoken and met with compassion. When we remember we’re not alone.
Community-based trauma therapy recognizes that. It creates spaces—sometimes in community halls, sometimes on surfboards—where people can process trauma together. These models don’t just offer therapy. They offer belonging.
“Healing doesn’t only happen on a therapist’s couch. It happens when stories are witnessed.”
The Tree of Life: Stories as Medicine
One powerful example is Phola, a psychosocial support organization in Orange Farm. Their approach is rooted in narrative therapy, using tools like the “Tree of Life” to help individuals reframe their stories—not as broken, but as brave. The method allows people to speak about their experiences metaphorically, making it safer to explore painful memories, especially in group settings. This isn’t just storytelling—it’s survival alchemy.
“This isn’t just storytelling—it’s survival alchemy.”
Surf, Salt, and Solidarity
Another beautiful model is Waves for Change, which brings surf therapy to kids in under-resourced coastal communities. The ocean becomes a therapist of sorts—a place of play, trust-building, and emotional regulation. Trained surf mentors guide kids through structured sessions that blend movement with mental health support, reducing symptoms of trauma and anxiety over time.
Traditional Wisdom Meets Modern Healing
In many communities, healing is not separate from culture—it’s deeply spiritual. Practices like ukuthwasa, an initiation process into traditional healing, emphasize connection to ancestors, purpose, and the unseen. While not every path involves becoming a sangoma, the broader lesson is this: healing is not just psychological. It’s communal. It’s sacred.
The Work of Repair
South African psychologist Dr. Pumla Gobodo-Madikizela speaks of a “reparative quest”—a collective effort to confront historical trauma and create new pathways forward. Her work reminds us that healing is not about forgetting what happened, but about holding it with care, together.
“Healing is not about forgetting what happened, but about holding it with care, together.”
What We Can Learn
These community-based approaches aren’t just inspiring, they’re instructive. They remind us that we are wired for connection, and that recovery doesn’t have to be a solitary act. Whether it’s sharing a story, holding space for someone else’s pain, or simply showing up, we all have the capacity to be part of each other’s healing.
This morning, before I’d even opened my eyes, I knew. Not from a calendar reminder or a “you’re due for a flare-up” ping. Just the weight of my own body. Heavy. Cement-heavy. Fire-in-my-veins heavy.
Welcome to the delightful surprise party that is chronic illness. No RSVP needed. You just… wake up in it.
The Flare Days You Don’t See Coming
Some flares sneak up on me. Others kick the door down and announce themselves with full-body spasticity, shooting nerve shocks, and hands that feel like they’ve been beaten with hammers. Today it’s the latter.
My feet and calves are twitching like live wires, and my hands are stiff, aching, and protesting even this act of typing. Vision? Blurry. Pain? Electrical. Plans? Cancelled.
And here’s the kicker: I used to ignore this. I’d push through. Slam a Red Bull, down some coffee, and throw myself into work like I was invincible.
Spoiler: I’m not.
Before Chronic Illness, “Rest” Was an Afterthought
Rest used to mean feeling guilty. Lazy. Weak. I grew up in a culture of “hustle harder” and “push through the pain.” Rest was what you earned once everything else was done, except everything else was never done.
So I’d rest, sure. For twenty minutes. While scrolling. Or I’d lie in bed with my laptop, answering emails like a good little burnout-junkie.
Turns out, that’s not rest. That’s just horizontal productivity.
Now? Rest Is a Ritual
Rest is no longer a break; it’s a boundary. It’s a ceremony.
The bed is made, properly made. Soft, high-quality linen. No scratchy textures. My skin is too sensitive, and my nervous system too fried, for anything but comfort.
Sounds of nature fill the room. Crickets. Forests. Sometimes just silence, blessed and still.
Lavender floats through the air, either from a candle or a diffuser, because my brain needs cues that it’s safe to exhale.
Baths with Epsom salts when I can manage it. Lavender-infused again. Heat is magic. Fun fact: so is Lavender.
And always, always tea. Sometimes a fancy store-bought herbal one, sometimes a wild little blend of whatever’s in the fridge: fresh ginger, honey, lemon, mint, berries. I long for a proper teapot with a built-in infuser. I’ll get it one day, fingers crossed.
There was a moment, a real one, when I realised: rest is not a luxury. It’s not a nap. It’s not working from bed. It’s not multitasking with a heating pad on.
Rest is permission. Permission to shut off. To stop proving yourself. To not be available to everyone all the time.
I finally saw what my body was begging me for: clear boundaries. Not “I’ll just do this one last thing.” Not “It’s fine, I can take that call.” But a full switch-off, emotionally, physically, and mentally.
Friday to Monday. No clients. No guilt.
Just… recovery.
If My Body Could Speak…
It would say:
“You call this rest?! Give me real rest or I’ll force it out of you.”
And honestly? Fair.
Because my body has forced it out of me before. Through flares. Through burnout. Through collapse.
Rest Isn’t Weakness, It’s Wisdom
If you’re living with chronic illness, or even just carrying too much life in your bones, you don’t need permission to rest. But I’ll give it anyway:
Let your rest be lush. Let it be soft. Let it be sacred. Let it be enough.
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If this post helped you feel seen or reminded you to rest, consider buying me a tea. It helps support my work, and keeps this blog alive and well (even when I’m not).
It feels like fire in my veins. That kind of pain. The pain that makes you shake not from fear but from sheer bodily revolt. Electric shocks snap through me like I’ve been rigged up to a sadistic little taser and someone’s got a trigger-happy finger. It’s Tuesday morning, and I’m trying to hold back tears while typing this, because even typing feels like a bloody expedition.
This latest MS flare kicked off just after midnight Sunday, that weird, ghostly hour when the world is silent and your body chooses to riot. My fingers are stiff; they don’t want to move. My thoughts are flickering—like a dodgy lightbulb in a horror film.
And then it rains.
Bugsy, The Windscreen Wiper Assassin
The irony is thick: the one day I am at my most broken, the sky follows suit. Not a gentle drizzle. No, today it’s an angry, theatrical downpour. Bugsy—my ride-or-die, neurotic rescue dog—decides the windscreen wipers are obviously murderers. Every time they swipe, he lunges at the dashboard like he’s in a high-stakes action film and sinks his teeth into the once-beautiful leather seats. We have to head back to our town today. When I’ve managed to gather the strength or energy, we’ll hit the winding farm roads, half-swallowed by floods. Note to self: get life jackets to keep in car. My hands will barely grip the steering wheel, thank fuck for power steering, and my muscles will spasm with each bump in the road. And this is Africa, we have nothing but bumps in the road.
In Afrikaans, we have a saying, “ek voel vere.” It literally means, “I feel feathers,” but what it actually translates to is: I don’t give a damn. Today, I voel vere for everything outside this pain. Bills, emails, deadlines, they can all burn. I have a battle to fight, an onslaught to defend myself against, and a body to survive.
But here’s the kicker: I’m generally a sunny person. Not toxically positive, but cheerful. It’s unsettling to feel like I’ve been spiritually mugged in a dark alley of my own nervous system.
Summer’s Cruel Heat, Winter’s Damp Betrayal
Summer here hits 44° Celsius (that’s 111° Fahrenheit for my metric-challenged readers). That heat is its own private hell: it strangles your lungs, turns your brain to soup, and turns MS symptoms into a kind of demonic opera.
But winter? Oh, winter has its own weapons. Cold, wet air that drowns your lungs, drags bronchitis in like an uninvited guest. Sometimes even pneumonia.
Out of the frying pan, straight into the fucking fire.
But There’s a Silver Lining. Always.
Change is here. That counts. Even if it’s a shitstorm wrapped in fog. They say a change is as good as a holiday. Not sure who “they” are, but maybe they’ve been through something too.
Today, this is the best I can do: get through the drive. Hold Bugsy back from annihilating the car or me. Breathe through the fire in my limbs. And write it down, so tomorrow I don’t gaslight myself into thinking it wasn’t that bad.
If you’re in your own flare, of pain, grief, rage, consider this a hand squeezed in solidarity.
Hold on. Even feather-light resistance counts.
If this piece held your hand for a moment or made you feel a little less alone in your own firestorm, consider fueling my next journal entry with a warm cuppa. Bugsy and I run on caffeine and courage.
It’s 2:47 a.m. and I’m scrolling through Instagram, watching strangers toast champagne in Santorini, cuddle golden retrievers, and post “raw” captions that somehow still feel filtered. I’m not sad, exactly. But I’m not okay, either. I’m lonely. And I know I’m not alone in that.
In a world where we can FaceTime across oceans and “like” a hundred photos before breakfast, why do so many of us feel so disconnected? The answer is messy, layered, and deeply human if we’re brave enough to look.
The Digital Age: More Screens, Fewer Souls
We were promised connection. Instead, we got curated highlight reels and dopamine loops. A 2025 Baylor University study found that both passive scrolling and active posting on social media were linked to increased feelings of loneliness over time. Even when we’re engaging, we’re often left feeling emptier than before.
It’s not just the quantity of our interactions that’s changed, it’s the quality. We’ve traded deep conversations for comment threads, shared silences for typing indicators. And in doing so, we’ve lost something vital.
The Health Toll: Loneliness as a Silent Epidemic
Loneliness isn’t just a feeling; it’s a health crisis. The U.S. Surgeon General has equated the health risks of chronic loneliness to smoking 15 cigarettes a day. It increases the risk of heart disease, stroke, dementia, and premature death.
Mental health suffers, too. Lonely individuals are more prone to depression, anxiety, and suicidal ideation. The emotional pain of isolation can be as real and as damaging as physical pain.
The Vicious Cycle: Social Media and Loneliness
It’s a cruel irony: we turn to social media to feel connected, but it often leaves us feeling more isolated. A longitudinal study among Chinese college students found a bidirectional relationship between loneliness and problematic social media use—each feeding into the other over time.
The more we scroll, the lonelier we feel. And the lonelier we feel, the more we scroll. Breaking this cycle requires conscious effort and, often, a reevaluation of our digital habits.
The Generational Divide: Gen Z and the Loneliness Surge
Gen Z, the first generation to grow up entirely in the digital age, is experiencing unprecedented levels of loneliness. A 2025 report revealed that one in four young Australians reports loneliness as a daily stressor. Social media, while offering avenues for connection, often exacerbates feelings of isolation among youth.
The constant exposure to others’ curated lives can lead to feelings of inadequacy and exclusion, further deepening the chasm of loneliness.
The Illusion of AI Companionship
In an attempt to address the loneliness epidemic, tech leaders like Mark Zuckerberg have proposed AI companions as a solution. While AI can offer temporary comfort, it cannot replace the depth and complexity of human relationships. Overreliance on AI risks diminishing the value of genuine human interaction and may lead society to neglect essential social infrastructure.
True connection requires vulnerability, empathy, and shared experiences—qualities that AI, no matter how advanced, cannot authentically replicate.
Reclaiming Connection: Steps Toward Healing
Addressing loneliness in the digital age requires intentional action:
Digital Detox: Set boundaries for screen time. Designate tech-free zones and times to foster real-world interactions.
Community Engagement: Participate in local events, volunteer, or join clubs to build meaningful relationships.
Mindful Technology Use: Use social media intentionally. Engage in content that uplifts and connects rather than isolates.
Seek Support: If loneliness becomes overwhelming, reach out to mental health professionals or support groups.
By taking these steps, we can begin to rebuild the social fabric that technology has, in some ways, unraveled.
A Personal Reflection
I remember a time when I felt truly connected—not through likes or comments, but through shared laughter and unfiltered conversations. It was messy, imperfect, and real. In our pursuit of digital perfection, we’ve lost sight of the beauty in imperfection.
Let’s choose to be present. To look up from our screens and into each other’s eyes. To embrace the awkward silences and the unfiltered moments. Because in those spaces, true connection thrives.
