@liulili

Used to think resting was lazy—like my brain had a guilt alarm that’d go off if I sat still too long. Then I crashed. Hard. Couldn’t focus, snapped at my cat, forgot my own coffee order. Doctor basically said, “Dude, your body’s filing a complaint.” So I started small: 10-minute naps, no phone, just staring at the ceiling like it owed me answers. Felt weird. Felt wasteful. But slowly, the guilt quieted. Turns out rest isn’t a reward for finishing everything—it’s maintenance, like oiling a squeaky hinge. Now I schedule downtime like meetings. Boss? Me. Canceled one once and felt proud. Weird flex, but okay. Still catch myself thinking “should be doing something,” but I whisper back: “You are. You’re recharging so you don’t turn into a grumpy ghost.” Progress, not perfection. And yes, the cat forgave me.

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