The Stories We Tell Ourselves About Rest

We live in a culture that praises the grind. We’re taught to measure our worth in tasks crossed off, hours worked, things produced. Productivity becomes not just a goal, but a moral value. In this framework, rest is often framed as weakness, laziness, or something to be earned only after we’ve proven ourselves.

But what if that’s a story that needs rewriting?

At The Rewrite Workshops, we talk often about the power of narrative—especially the stories we inherit. Somewhere along the way, many of us learned that rest was indulgent or selfish, that our value lies in what we do for others. That slowing down makes us less useful, less important. This story gets under our skin. It whispers to us when we cancel plans, take a nap, or say no to one more thing. It tells us we’re falling behind.

But here’s the truth:

Rest is not a reward. Rest is a right.

Rest is how we heal. How we listen inward. How we create.

Rest is resistance in a world that demands we keep going no matter the cost.

Rest is what allows us to live, not just survive.

When we write, we slow down. We tune in. We give ourselves space to feel. Writing can be a radical act of rest, too. Writing allows us to pause long enough to ask: Whose story is this? Do I still believe it? Do I want to?

This week, we invite you to examine the story you carry about rest. Was it passed down to you? Was it shaped by your culture, your gender, your role in your family?

Then ask: What would a rewritten story sound like? One where rest is sacred and non-negotiable?

Writing Prompt:

What story do you carry about rest? Who gave it to you—and do you want to keep it?

Let that be your entry point. Write without judgment. See what emerges. And maybe—just maybe—put the pen down when you’re done and take a nap.

You don’t need to earn your rest.

You just need to claim it.