The Nectar of Rest

When I think about rest, my breath slows and my nervous system settles. I feel my belly relax and the edges of my eyes soften. Something deep inside of me becomes heavier and more grounded. Internally, there is a realignment from wherever I have been (which is often somewhere not so restful), to a place that is more authentic and dignified. Simply thinking or saying the word “rest” has become a mnemonic tool for re-centring.

It hasn’t always been this way. For most of my life, true rest eluded me. First as a remedial school teacher, then as a policy advisor and social justice strategist, I hurtled through life at great speed. Frequently praised for the pace at which I produced both work and ideas, my sense of self-worth and meaning was tightly coupled with notions of service and productivity. In a fatiguing act of dissonance, I also felt shame at my inability to rest. Especially as a meditator, and later as a yoga teacher, I craved rest but was trapped in a narrative around “unearned” rest equating to laziness or wasted time.

I had been dancing around the practice of rest for a number of years when I finally experienced the mother of all