Learning to Rest: The Freedom in Letting Go

True rest—the kind that requires you to lay things down, to release, to surrender.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been moving. Going. Doing. Pouring. I have spent so much of my life holding things together, managing responsibilities, carrying grief, and showing up—sometimes because I wanted to, sometimes because I had to, and sometimes because I didn’t know how to do anything else. Rest? I thought I knew it. A quick nap here, a moment of stillness there, a deep breath before pushing forward again. But true rest—the kind that requires you to lay things down, to release, to surrender—I have fought that kind of rest with everything in me.

Because who am I when I’m not doing? Who am I when I’m not achieving, fixing, carrying, or proving?

I didn’t realize how exhausted I was until I finally stopped. Not just physically, but emotionally, mentally, spiritually. And let me tell you, stopping felt foreign. It felt wrong. Like I was abandoning something or someone. Like I was failing. And honestly? Some days it still feels like failing. Some days, the stillness feels too loud, and I question if I’m doing the right thing. I have to remind myself—every single day—that it’s okay to rest. That I am not losing myself in the slowing down, even when it feels like I am.

I have been conditioned—whether by life, by experiences, or by my own expectations—to believe that my worth is tied to my ability to endure, to push through, to keep going no matter how heavy things get. But lately? Lately, I’m learning that the most powerful thing I can do for myself is rest. Not just sleep, not just momentary pauses, but real, deep, intentional rest. The kind where I give myself permission to just be. And let me be honest—that permission? It’s very hard to give myself. Sitting in stillness, allowing myself to just exist without expectation, feels unnatural. Some days, I do feel lost. Some days, I wonder if I’m doing enough, if I’m enough. But I am learning to trust that even in the quiet, even in the slowness, I am exactly where I need to be.

I am in a season of releasing. Of putting things down. Of realizing that I do not have to carry everything, that I do not have to be everything for everyone, that I do not have to exhaust myself to prove my value. I am choosing to believe that rest is not laziness. That slowness is not failure. That pausing does not mean I am lost.

I used to think rest was something you earned, something you had to work hard for. But I’m learning that rest is something you take, something you choose. It is an act of trust. Trusting that things will be okay even if I’m not holding them all together. Trusting that I am worthy even when I am not producing. Trusting that God will handle the things I was never meant to carry in the first place.

So, here I am. Laying it all down. Releasing the need to always be strong. Letting go of the guilt that creeps in when I am not “doing enough.” Giving myself the space to breathe, to feel, to exist without expectation.

And maybe you need this reminder too. Maybe you’ve been running on empty, convincing yourself that you’ll rest after—after the work is done, after the problems are solved, after you feel like you’ve “earned” it. But let me tell you, rest is not a reward. It is a necessity. And you, my love, deserve it just as much as anyone else.

So, let’s rest. Let’s lay it down. Let’s be. Because that? That is enough.