Take time to rest
What do you say to hearing, “I’m sorry, your dad has been placed in hospice?”
That call came this week. After months of fighting an internal infection, it was finally too much. See, it wasn’t just one infection. For the past thirty years it has been one damn thing after another. Colon cancer. Guillain-Barré syndrome. Hernia mesh rupture. He is ready to be done.
While not surprising, the news was devastating all the same. I needed to call a time out to catch my breath and swirling thoughts.
There is no playbook for a moment like this. But grief has been my companion before. I envision grief as a woman with kind eyes and a very cold touch. She takes my hand, guiding me through tragedy and loss until new life begins to sprout. I’ve come to recognize her work as a kind of healing magic that she whispers in my ear:
“Rest.”
A friend encouraged me to view rest actively, as a radical act of self-care. So, I cleared my calendar and started washing walls.
I know I need to rest right now, but I get twitchy without some sort of activity. Without it, I end up turning the same thoughts over and over and over like a hamster wheel.
I’ve found—and neuroscience will back me up—that repetitive, bilateral motion helps our brains slow down and create space for reflection. Activities like walking, knitting, or playing piano create a calm where new connections happen. The rhythmic activity releases serotonin to alleviate anxiety and balance moods. This allows us to process events and emotions instead of racing from one thing to the next.
True rest is a radical act of prioritizing self.
So as I slowly and rhythmically wiped wall after wall, I was able to be present with my thoughts, emotions, and memories.
I remember my dad pushing me home in a new wheelbarrow when I was six. Over the three-block walk home, I repeatedly yelled, “Woah!” My dad would pretend to nearly tip me out, while I gripped the shiny green sides and giggled delightedly. The memory warmed and soothed me.
I haven’t always believed I deserved rest or self-care. I wrongly thought I had to earn or obtain permission for them. For years, I worked myself ragged in the misguided attempt to earn that permission and approval externally. Now I see how bonkers that is! It’s not anyone else’s responsibility to make sure I am rested and refreshed.
In a culture that glamorizes the hustle, busy schedules, and visible consumption, rest is subversive. True rest is a radical act of prioritizing self. It invites us to listen instead to our inner wisdom. To turn off the onslaught of messages pummeling us to buy more, be different, and keep working to prove our value.
In rest, we come face to face with the inherent value we were each born with. We deserve care and respect. It’s not an escape, but a reconciliation and chance to reconnect with our fundamental humanity and unique self.
Through restful activity, I can cultivate mental stillness. In stillness, I can grieve. In grief, I can process all that having a father has meant. And in that, I can heal.
Take time to rest. You deserve it.