The Radical Act of Rest
A Season of Self Reflection
Introduction: The Resistance in Rest
I didn’t grow up in a household where rest was honored. Like many, I was raised with the idea that your worth was tied to how much you accomplished. Productivity was praised, busyness was expected, and slowing down often came with guilt attached.
Now, as an adult navigating a neurodivergent household of four kids—including three of my own and one foster toddler—I’ve learned to carve out moments for myself. I drive three kids to school; for years now, after the morning school run, and I return home, The house is still buzzing with the echoes of morning chaos—half-packed lunches, forgotten gloves, or breakfast dishes if the morning was too hectic. When the door finally closes behind me, there’s a brief, heavy silence.
This pause isn’t glamorous or dramatic; it’s ordinary, but it’s mine. And in that stillness, I feel the radical pull of rest—the quiet defiance of saying, I don’t have to keep running. I’ve given myself that time.
I pour my tea, and as the steam curls into the cold air, I let myself exhale for what feels like the first time all day. In that quiet space, I let myself breathe. I think about life, about my family, and about dismantling this rat race we’re all caught in. That hour has become my lifeline—a pause in the chaos to reset, to simply be.
And yet, every time I sit there, I can’t help but think about how radical that pause feels. Most people don’t have the luxury to stop and think, let alone rest. How wild is that? So many of us live stuck in survival mode, constantly vacillating between fight, flight, freeze, or fawn. There’s no space to question, to reflect, to imagine something different.
But what if there were something else? What if rest wasn’t a luxury, but a birthright? What if we reclaimed rest not as an afterthought, but as a foundation for liberation?on?
I want to give a shoutout to my good sis Tricia Hersey, founder of the Nap Ministry, who has been preaching this truth for years. Her teachings have seeped into my soul, and they hit even deeper since she published “Rest Is Resistance: A Manifesto”. If you haven’t read it yet, I encourage you to grab her book and follow along with her work on Instagram. Tricia reminds us that rest isn’t just self-care—it’s a practice of liberation.
Why Rest Feels Radical
Rest shouldn’t feel radical. It should be as natural as breathing, as simple as sleeping when we’re tired or pausing when we’re overwhelmed. But in a world shaped by supremacy culture, rest is anything but simple. Supremacy culture equates worth with productivity, teaching us that to stop is to fail. It thrives on urgency, scarcity, and the lie that we have to earn our right to exist through endless doing.
Pause right there… EARN, as if you are not born with intrinsic worth to be fed, covered, and housed. Supremacy culture stips you bare, then forces you to “earn your keep” Breathe, Drink water, Move your body.
When we choose to rest, we disrupt these narratives. Rest reminds us that we are enough as we are—not for what we can produce or accomplish, but simply because we exist. Rest calls out the false promises of hustle culture and demands that we honor our humanity.
The resistance in rest lies in its refusal to play by the rules of a system designed to exhaust us. Rest isn’t just for you; it’s a quiet rebellion against a world that benefits from your burnout.
The Survival Trap
For many of us, the idea of rest feels impossible. When you’re stuck in survival mode—constantly cycling between fight, flight, freeze, or fawn—rest can feel like a luxury you can’t afford. How can you rest when there are bills to pay, children to care for, or injustices to fight?
But that’s exactly what supremacy culture wants. It wants us so preoccupied with surviving that we can’t imagine something more. It keeps us in the grind, convinced that rest is indulgent, when in reality, it’s the very thing that could break us free.
Rest as Ancestral Connection
Our ancestors knew rest in ways we’ve forgotten. They rested not just to recover, but to dream. They stole moments of stillness when the world would have denied them, finding ways to resist in the face of systems designed to grind them down.
Rest was resistance then, just as it is now. When we rest, we honor that legacy. We reclaim what was stolen. We restore what was broken. Rest is not just a personal practice—it’s an ancestral call to liberation.