@liulili

I used to think rest was laziness in disguise—until my body forced me to stop. A friend once said, “You can’t pour from an empty cup,” and it stuck. At first, guilt gnawed at me when I sat still, as if silence equaled failure. But slowly, I began treating rest like medicine: scheduled, measured, non-negotiable. I started small—ten minutes with tea, no phone, no agenda. No grand productivity, just breathing. Another voice I recall: a therapist who murmured, “Rest isn’t reward; it’s maintenance.” That shifted everything. Now, when the guilt creeps back, I name it—“Ah, there’s the old script”—and let it pass like weather. I’ve learned that honoring fatigue isn’t weakness; it’s stewardship. The world won’t collapse if I pause. In fact, it hums better when I do.

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