During seasons of injury or illness in our lives, we are often told by doctors and surgeons to rest so that our physical bodies can heal. We do it, to some degree, until we start receiving daily reminders that life hasn’t stopped for us. We negotiate with ourselves to get back to our usual routines once we feel as though we’ve healed ‘enough’ and use that perseverance to begin moving through our world again. Maybe this time with a temporary limp, restricted breathing, or some new medications to remember everyday. But how often do we afford even a fraction of that focus on self care when it comes to mental health? Or to matters of the heart?

Me? Never.

When I still drank booze, I used to think that self-care was a bottle of wine and watching Grey’s Anatomy. It was shots or screw-drivers. It was screaming in my car. It was avoiding people, for days, weeks, sometimes forever (I’m definitely not proud of that one). Once I got sober, it was the solid belief that if I could plow right through it, I could defeat whatever it was. Until I wrote my book.

Writing my first book was exhilarating, challenging, painful, and beautiful all wrapped up in one big ball of not-so-hot-mess. I was a test of self-reflection through perseverance. As I wrote each story and wove them into chapters, they freed me. But somehow, once that final draft was submitted and pencils were down, I was exhausted. I wasn’t the weightless optimist I expected would walk out of my home office that day. Reliving all of those struggles again and again for 10 months straight had taken a toll on me. I was diagnosed with severe depression and anxiety, yet somehow still believed that writing my story had wrapped up the healing process for me.

But, in reality, it showed me the parts of myself still suffering.

What I believed to be my year of bright lights and huge accomplishments never took off like I expected. Only days after submitting the final draft to my publisher, I suffered ear drum damage on a flight that left me with hearing loss and tinnitus. The ringing gave way to wrist surgery on my dominant arm and 6 weeks off my bicycle. I did everything weak-handed for a month, determined to get through it without being a burden on my husband. But then, on one of my first bicycle rides back after healing, I hit a pothole and crashed. My bruised and battered body ached in all the places hope began escaping me.

Days later, vertigo set in and life truly ground to a halt. Here I was, months deep into reduced activity from my previous ailments, lacking energy from missed workouts, running out of gumption, completely void of the elation I thought I should be feeling as a published author. I was coming apart at the seams and couldn’t figure out how to stop it. I finally broke down and found a therapist, desperate to get through an entire week without crying. The main focus she advised for me: REST.

“I have rested! I’ve done nothing but rest.” She didn’t buy it. She knew it wasn’t real rest. I was exhausted physically, uninspired for book marketing, too anxious to promote my work, and too terrified to do it all wrong. My therapist insisted I accept help when it was offered, request it when it wasn’t, and do nothing but rest as the help was carried out. It was cringe-worthy how difficult such a simple task was. Accepting a ride when I was too dizzy to drive. Saying “yes, I’d love a refill” as my hubby made dinner in the kitchen and my body furthered the imprint on my side of the couch. She taught me, through the challenge of accepting help, how to give myself the permission I needed to stop trying to do everything myself.

She guided me to own my own rules in a new way I’d never considered. Sure, I can choose not to drink alcohol, but choosing to ignore all the things I’m expected to do, too? At that point, there was nothing else to do. I had tried my ways and things kept getting worse. So I rested.

I spent long nights at home in my pjs eating ramen and binging New Girl episodes while my husband headed out to ride with friends. I ignored my book and everything I thought I needed to be doing. I ignored the hair that collected in the corners behind the door and stopped pulling the weeds in the yard. I focused on how many hours of sleep I could get each night, I did breathing exercises when my watch notified me I was stressed, and I started to say “No” to invites I had no energy to pursue.

And slowly but surely, it worked. After months of weekly doctor and therapy appointments, things started to improve. My dizziness waned, I thought up new stories to tell and started making notes about marketing ideas, I even thought up my next book! I paid attention to what brought me energy and what things zapped it from my body. I figured out my most productive hours of the day to maximize my output at work and gave myself permission to rest once the energy faded.

I spent time with my loved ones and cuddled my dog extra when the energy was there. I spent time in nature and started taking lessons to play the drums. I started dancing to my favorite Sam Cooke & Etta James tunes as I baked cookies, and sang to my favorite ‘90s songs from when I was younger.

Most importantly, I took a good hard look inside at how I treated myself, how I got down on myself when I hadn’t accomplished what I thought I should. The discomfort and the rest combined to show me that I needed to stop living by the expectations I bound myself to. How much I should earn, how I should look, how clean my house should be. It all had to go. Those weren’t the rules I want to live by any longer.

I instead chose new rules for myself… I will rest when I’m tired. I will accept help when it’s offered and ask for it when the list of to-do’s gets a little long. I set boundaries and say “no” when I feel that discomfort in the pit of my stomach. I prioritize myself and the things that bring me joy. Nature, music, learning, writing. My husband, my family and friends. My dog. <3

2023 was an amazing, tough, challenging, and promising year. My biggest achievement is definitely getting my first book published, but I also learned the magic of granting myself rest. It turned out that adding one thing after another to the long list of things I didn’t accomplish was one of the best things I could not do to best prepare myself for this next chapter in life.

I hope you, too, can find ways to do less and rest more. The only person who will be there for you until the end is You. Take care of that person. The outcome is pretty spectacular.

Resting into 2024!

Kristy