I let myself slow down and nothing terrible happened

You didn’t see much of me last week. No one did because I gave myself a secret slow week.

After my last letter, I realized that I had to. For a variety of reasons, the gears of my nervous system were stripped. If I didn’t let myself rest, I’d soon reach a point where my job, relationships, or health—probably all three—would suffer.

So for six days straight, I dialed my life back as much as I possibly could. I retreated from Substack. I read less news. I rescheduled any meetings that I could. I got done exactly what I needed to get done at work and no more. I ate comfort food and slept in, and every time that guilt crept back in—oh, that familiar guilt that says you’re worthless if you aren’t spending every second producing and that rest is only worthwhile insofar as it optimizes your ability to produce more in the future—I reminded myself that I not only needed but deserved this rest.

It was so hard to give that to myself. I’m so glad I did.

And you know what? Not a single bad thing happened. I did not get fired or reprimanded. My friends did not resent me. Everything did not come crashing down. No one even noticed except my husband (because he lives with me, and he was very supportive) and maybe one or two of you, at most.

And that weight, that awful weight that felt like the whole world crushing my nerves and bearing down on my shoulders? I set that down, too, and the world kept right on spinning.

Turns out I’m no Atlas. Thank the gods for that.