Relearning how to pause without guilt

This is my first blog post since March 30th.
I’ve been quiet — not because I had nothing to say, but because I needed space to listen to myself first.

Between closing my tiny shop, shifting fully online, and balancing part-time work, I’ve been moving through a season that demanded rest — but not the kind I used to allow myself.

I used to treat rest like something that had to be earned.
Like I could only slow down after I’d produced enough, posted enough, packed enough, achieved enough.

And as someone who built a business from scratch, wore every hat, and poured so much of myself into every corner — that belief felt normal. Even noble.

But it was also exhausting.

Over time, I started to notice something:

My creativity wasn’t gone — it was buried under pressure.
My body wasn’t weak — it was whispering for space.
My spirit wasn’t unmotivated — it was overwhelmed.

So I started listening.

Rest isn’t what comes after the work.

It’s what makes the work possible.

It’s not the retreat at the edge of burnout.
Not the reward for pushing harder.
But a rhythm. A ritual. A sacred pause.

Rest can look like:

• A slow walk with no destination

• An afternoon with a book and zero guilt

• Canceling plans to make space for your breath

• Lying still with nothing “productive” in sight

What I’ve learned:

• Rest isn’t laziness — it’s longevity.

• It doesn’t take me away from the work. It brings me back to it — softer, clearer, more grounded.

• And it doesn’t make me less ambitious. If anything, it makes my dreams feel more sustainable.

For those of us navigating change, building from scratch, or trying to hold onto purpose in a shaky economy…

This is your reminder:
You don’t have to earn your pause.
You don’t have to prove your exhaustion.
You don’t have to wait for permission.

You’re allowed to rest in the middle.
In the mess. In the figuring-it-out.
Because rest isn’t the reward for surviving —
It’s the resource that helps you thrive.

You deserve to feel well while building something beautiful.
This season is about rhythm, not rush.
And I’m honoring that, one quiet morning at a time.

Thanks for being here.
Thanks for returning, even after the silence.
And if you’re resting too — I hope it feels like coming home.