Permission to rest...
...sorry, what now?
It’s fair to say, resting isn’t my strong point. The irony of me have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (CFS/ME) is not lost on me.
Today, however, I am going to do something extraordinary. I am going to give myself permission to rest. And I mean really rest.
It does not come easily to me, partly because of my busy brain, and partly because of my busy life. Even by our standards though, the last couple of weeks have been extraordinary. My body is rebelling, reacting; my skin bubbling, my limbs grumbling, and whilst I generally gloss over it and forge onwards (until I fall over), today I am going to stop. Go me. It’s almost as if I have some learning capacity after all.
So my first experiment is writing this short piece without editing, without spending 8 hours refining, because this is part of my rest. Writing makes my heart full, connecting on here, but in a ‘no pressure’ way. This will not be the Pulitzer Prize winning article that I ‘lost’ through a technical glitch last week, this is a quick note from my heart to yours, written from my bed.
The build up
Since I last wrote about the day that began with meeting a Prime Minister and ended with Bridget Jones - and what a day it was - our family life has gone into overdrive.
My exhausted youngest daughter Taz has had a weekend long GB training camp (she is in Team GB for her sport of TeamGym gymnastics), then a weekend with us at a glorious wedding in Northumberland, a week of mock GCSEs, another weekend long GB training camp, another week of mock GCSEs, all interspersed with the usual 15 hours a week of gymnastics training…she is utterly broken.
Fiver has had the end of term flurry, portfolio deadlines, work, the wedding in Northumberland and an overnight Uni visit to Bournemouth.
Himself has been working his socks off…
…and I flew from the wedding straight to Ireland for a highly intense week’s writing retreat. As I returned, having driven the width of Ireland to get the flight, my body was screaming for rest, but was plunged into: maths revision until midnight, early rises, emotional containment of fractured children, miles of driving, a friend’s birthday - seeing Cyndi Lauper at the Royal Albert Hall (incredible but knackering) - my literary agency’s 21st birthday party, our 19th wedding anniversary, various medical appointments, dog sitting, receiving the book cover and copy edits for Breaking Waves, book marketing…oh and the Uni visit with Fiver.
You do too much
If I had a pound for every time I am told ‘you do too much’, well…who knows what I would do. Whilst some of the loading we all carry is pretty unavoidable - especially the parenting and income generating parts - it’s true some of the other parts are optional, but those are what feed my soul. Sure, I didn’t have to go and see Cyndi Lauper at a gig in the middle of it all, but that was for me. For my heart and my soul, with my best friends in the world, listening to one of my favourite songs of all time, and one that connects me so deeply with the memory of my brother: ‘Time after Time’. So what bits do I sacrifice? The ones that other people rely on me for? The ones that pay the bills? Or the ones that keep me sane…? It’s not easy.
When my husband despairs at me as I’m working to another self-imposed writing deadline saying ‘Em, you’re doing too much, we sold the house so you wouldn’t have to work so hard’ etc. I remind him of what joy I get from my writing, my work. How even though I was medically retired, my passion and drive for creating and thriving has not been laid to rest, and I don’t want it to be. I ask him to consider how he would feel if he was medically retired, and I expected him to just potter around in the garden for the next 30 years. He wouldn’t be able to do it either. We are passionate, driven individuals, and that’s ok. It continues to be a tricky balance.
My mother is ALWAYS telling me I do too much, but consider this: On Friday, amidst my whirlwind (and before having to drive 100 miles in the opposite direction to take Fiver to Bournemouth on the same day), I drove her to Kent and back so that she could do her first skydive at the age of 83.
Apple? Tree? Distance?
So what is rest?
When I did my year of CFS/ME therapy, there were very specific ‘rules’ around what constituted rest. Reading? No. Watching TV? No. Sleeping? Not necessarily. Cognitive fatigue is a huge factor, certainly for me, and real rest is more about the absence of any activities; instead practicing mindfulness, meditation. I am utterly useless at mindfulness practice, unless I’m swimming in the lake - that is where I become ‘still' of mind, but today I am not going to swim. I possibly won’t even get dressed. Now that my CFS/ME is much more manageable though, I can indulge in things like reading and watching TV for rest.
So this is what I am going to do.
Today
Today there will be no cleaning, no shopping, no planning, no organising. There will be no laundry done and no driving. No Sunday ‘catch up’, finance planning or admin. Himself is on a 48 hour shift so on the way back from our Uni visit yesterday, Fiver and I did a ‘girl food’ Tesco run, so we are fully stocked with flatbreads & hummus, crisps & dips, fruits & cheeses, bowls of olives…everything we need for a day of casual grazing. What a treat. No prep, no cooking, minimal cleaning. (I love cooking when I have energy, but when I’m fatigued it just feels like another chore).
A conversation with my beautiful friend
last night reminded me that I don’t ‘need’ to post on here today, but if I want to (which I do), I can simply communicate how vibrant life has been recently. She gets it - the joy of connecting without pressure, how writing can replenish and not diminish, the magic of community and the power of knowing we are not alone. She’s a keeper ✨So I will read, snooze, graze, watch England play football (which is never restful to be fair), and dream to the backdrop of Glastonbury. I may write for myself, but I will not edit!! I may connect with others in a gentle and sleepy way, or I may just cocoon. I am excited to finish
’s hilarious and poignant book ‘Sorry I’m Late, I Didn’t Want to Come’, and tomorrow I will visit Gentle Book Club to discuss it. Reading Jess’s work is like chatting to a brilliant friend, and wholly heart lifting and nourishing. It is an absolute joy. If you haven’t discovered her yet, you are in for an absolute treat.I hope to also finish
’s searing memoir ‘The Part that Burns’. Jeannine’s writing is exquisite, her words have the power to transport you in an extraordinary way, and are a balm to the soul.And then…reader…I have done something terribly naughty, and I’m going to have to confess…
On our Uni familiarisation trip, we visited the local town centre, and before I knew it I was in Waterstones. I do not know how that happens, but to be fair there’s no better litmus test of a town than checking out its Waterstones!! Clearly if it doesn’t have a bookshop I can’t have my daughter living there, but this one passed with flying colours. The problem with Waterstones, however, is that I am incapable of leaving without buying a book (just like I can’t leave IKEA without having spent £400 on fifty thousand tea lights, kitchen accessories I’ll never use and some plants). It’s hard to justify the spend when I have so many unread books on my shelves, but hey - I’m supporting other writers…right??!
This book leapt out at me, firstly for the cover, then the title, then the blurb. A novel about a woman who ‘has it all’ (anger face emoji at that expression but you know what I mean), and then predictably burns out. She quits her career to follow her dream; opening a bookshop. Clearly as someone who has ‘had it all’, burnt out, spent years with chronic illness and then quit everything to become a writer, I can #hardrelate. But I love that this is a novel, not a memoir, and in a setting I cannot wait to be transported to.
Described on the back as ‘profound and healing’, delightful, reflective and heart-warming’ and one to be devoured. I feel lifted just holding it in my hand.
I note that this is already three books in my ‘day of rest’, but I may just select one, or even none. I may fall asleep several times. So as I press ‘publish’, I wish you a day of rest however that may show up for you. So many in caring roles are not able to ‘rest’, and if this is you, I wish you some rest in your heart and in your soul today, even just for a moment.
Meanwhile I will put the laptop away, make a cup of tea and some toast with marmalade, return to bed with a book and go with the flow. I feel a nap coming on as I type. Bliss.
Happy Sunday my friends 🫶
What does ‘rest’ mean for you?
Is it something you manage to build into your life? I’d love to hear.
As always,
Love & lemons 💕🍋
Em xx
I used to teach ‘pacing’ to folks with chronic illness. Made it sound so easy. What an ass I was. Now I need to pace and fuck me, it’s hard work. Why are rhythms of rest and work so hard to achieve?
This I do know - when my limbs ache and my brain is like porridge, then a gentle stroll in the garden, a sniff of my roses and a gathering up of the pine cones that fell in last night’s storm will be much more restful than sitting here trying - and failing - to write anything worth reading.
I wrote an article about rest recently too. What has our culture done to us that we feel the need to justify it? 😆 Well, that's part of it, but sometimes writing itself can be part of rest, right?