Why Does Rest Feel Like A Luxury As We Get Older?

 


A Love Letter To Burnt-Out Women Who Can’t Seem To Stop

I used to wear “busy” like it was Chanel.

You know what I mean. That proud little tug at the end of “I haven’t slept” or the martyr glow after finishing a report at 3 a.m. and still showing up to work looking semi-put-together (read: dry shampoo and undereye concealer doing overtime). I was a hustler in every sense of the word.

I had a fast-paced agency job that paid the bills (and then some), three freelance gigs on the side that paid for my oat milk lattes and skincare addiction, and somehow I was also ghost writing for a start-up CEO who thought emails should read like TED Talks. Oh, and I am also the designated family tech support, part-time therapist, errand girl, and—you guessed it—breadwinner.

I thought I was thriving.

To be fair, it looked like I was thriving. I had the receipts—emails at midnight, invoices paid, Google Calendar looking like a rainbow vomited on it. But inside? I was withering. Slowly. Quietly. In a way that didn’t feel dramatic enough to feel like I was always two missed calls away from sobbing in the produce section of Trader Joe’s.

I wasn’t lazy. I was just done.

And yet, the idea of taking a break felt selfish. Luxurious. Even dangerous. Like the whole world—or at least my box—would crumble if I dared to rest. Because when you’re raised on “you have to work twice as hard,” “don’t waste time,” and “rest is for the weak,” it’s hard to see rest as survival instead of surrender.

But my body had other plans.

The Day I Burned Out

Let me tell you about the day I cracked. It wasn’t poetic. It wasn’t even cinematic. I didn’t fall dramatically onto the floor or get rushed to the ER. I just… stopped functioning.

One morning, I opened my laptop and stared at the screen for 15 minutes, not remembering what I was supposed to do. Not in a “LOL I’m so scatter brained” way, but in a genuinely blank way. My hands were shaky. My chest felt like a kettle about to whistle. I kept checking my pulse like a hypochondriac and Googling “heart attack symptoms” even though I knew it was anxiety (Google made it worse, by the way—10/10 don’t recommend).

I called in sick and crawled into bed. I cried for two hours, and not the pretty, mascara-running, music-video kind of cry. It was the ugly cry, the one where your face swells and your nose runs and your soul sort of leaks out. And I realized this wasn’t just exhaustion. This was a breakdown.

I burned out because I was never taught to pause. I only knew two speeds—go and crash.

Why We Don’t Rest

So why does rest feel like a luxury for so many of us?

Because we were raised in a system that made “doing nothing” feel like failure. Productivity became our personality. Our value was measured in KPIs, promotions, and the number of plates we could spin without collapsing.

Especially if you’re a woman—especially if you’re the eldest daughter or a first-gen breadwinner—you feel like everything depends on you. If you stop, who will pick up the slack?

Who pays the rent? Who answers the client? Who brings the birthday cake to Sunday lunch?

We don’t rest because we’re afraid. Afraid of falling behind. Afraid of being judged. Afraid of what might bubble up in the quiet.

And let’s not even start on social media. You take a break and suddenly your algorithm is flooded with #girlboss(es) running five businesses, meal prepping in matching sets, and going to Bali with “soft life” in their bio like it was easy.

SPOILER ALERT: IT’S NOT!!!

Read More: https://peonymagazine.com/culture-trends/rest-feels-like-luxury/


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