A few weeks ago, I experienced the joy of two nights in a row of full and deep sleep, after years of consistent sleep deprivation. But with that first deep inhale that felt like relief, the first thoughts that raced through my head were:
Did I miss something? Were the babies crying and I didn’t hear it?
What did I do to make this happen? And how can I make it happen again?
These thoughts are telling. Within moments of receiving the gift of rest, I am already trying to control it. Maybe you can relate?
Standing at the kitchen sink during a moment of relative quiet, I confided in our babysitter Anna one day, “I wish you had known me before.”
The year was 2019, and I had recently hired this incredible unicorn of a human being to come and help me with my three kids a couple times a week so I could get some writing time in. If you are lucky enough to know Anna, you know that she is one of those rare souls that is equal parts kindness and firmness. She does not tolerate shenanigans from my little boundary pushers, but she also warms their hearts with affection and attention. (I’m sorry to embarrass you Anna, but when you are friends with a writer, sometimes you get written about.)
Next to me at the kitchen sink, she wisely responded— “Do you think that who you were before was actually better?”
Before the compassion fatigue, before the ministry burnout, before the exhaustion of caring for a very sick child, before the depression of relationships and people forever lost to me, before the grief of it all had become much too much and had taken me under—I had been a very high-capacity person. My days were full of meaningful activities. I brought at least one meal a week to someone who needed it. I took care of my three kids, wrote things, homeschooled, cooked from scratch, and kept my house clean. I hosted a church small group, and I made sure there was something for everyone to eat despite various dietary restrictions and obstacles. I spent at least one day a week getting to know one individual in the group better.
And none of these things were bad in and of themselves. I liked serving people. I loved cooking for others. (I still do.) I enjoyed my time with my kids, and my writing was important to me. But there was no “off” switch on my productivity meter. My desire to do was mixed with ulterior motives. Sure there was part of me that just genuinely wanted to love on, and serve others. But there was also this part of me that was just trying to keep the monsters of fear and shame at bay. I had to do “enough” to be a good person. I had to be invaluable to others so that they would not leave me. I had to set a “good example” for the people in my small group about what it meant to serve others. My internal world was a pressure pot of mixed motives and unreasonably high personal expectations. And I did all this without any regard for the importance of rest. Looking back, it seems inevitable that an intense season of burnout was just around the corner. Without any regard for rest, even those who would fancy themselves ‘high capacity’, will eventually wear out. The saddest fact of all this, was that I had actually seen friends who had been working alongside me wear out, but I was arrogant enough in those days to think that it wouldn’t happen to me.
Perfectionism and People Pleasing have long been my go-to coping mechanisms when life gets stressful and hard. When the waves of difficult circumstances crash over my head hard enough, I fight harder to control what I can control (usually my own behavior and environment) to give myself the feeling that I am staying afloat after all.
But living my life trying to control the uncontrollable, not only made me prideful (for all those times I thought I was “making it” when everyone else was not), but it also makes it really hard to receive the gift of rest.
In my experience, we all learn about our need for rest sometime. Either from a season of deep exhaustion, or if you are lucky enough, you stumble upon the gift of it in a season that is sweet. But today I want to share with you some of the misconceptions that the recovering perfectionist/people pleasing control freak in me used to have around rest, and what I know now that has allowed me to receive this gift much more readily.
Selfless service doesn’t mean never setting boundaries. For years in my early parenting life, I thought I was “serving my children” and doing right by “putting them first,” but I never set any boundaries for time/ability to take care of my own basic human needs (hydrating, eating sufficiently, sitting for a few minutes) and this led to a deep, aching, frustration. I have since learned that it is not selfish to say, “not right now honey,” or “no, that’s Mommy’s snack,” or “Mommy’s resting right now—I can help you/play with you in a little while.” It is not selfish: it is a humble acknowledgment of my own neediness and finitude. And when/if my children become parents some day, I don’t want them to compare themselves to some imaginary version of me that seemed to have no needs in the face of endless tasks and demands. I want them to know that it’s okay to take a minute (or thirty) as they are able, so that they can continue to be the loving and attentive parents they want to be. This can also apply in other situations; in other adult relationships where perhaps you need to say “no” to a request, instead of “yes.” In the workplace, when you need to advocate for your own needs and not always be the person everyone asks for everything knowing you’ll always say yes.
You don’t have to earn the rest. I know I’m not the only one who is tempted to think of their lives in some sort of balancing act of the “good” they have done lately (i.e. the work), and the “break” they think they have to work really hard to deserve (but still always end up feeling guilty after.) Even the very word “break” implies that this period of rest is only a short intermission between bouts of work. But what about resting just to rest? What about resting when you are in an intense season of suffering, physical weakness, or exhaustion where you can’t do much of anything productive? It may seem obvious to some, but for those of you who need to hear it, like I did, I’ll say it: You don’t have to earn rest. It’s a gift—and it’s a gift God actually commanded his people to receive by making Sabbath one of the Ten Commandments. (More on that in another post.)
You don’t have to feel guilty if you are caught resting. I’m not sure if it’s a result of being raised under the banner of “Jesus is coming back, what will you be doing when he comes?” But something in my childhood shaped in such a way that I was always very conscious of what I was doing when someone I respected came into view. As a new wife, I would sometime spend the last few minutes before my husband got home rushing around tidying, and was even known to save the ironing for that time of day because I thought it made me look good to be ironing when my husband came home. (Yes, I know, the 1950’s are calling and they want their housewife back.) More importantly, I never wanted to be “caught” sitting on the couch watching TV or reading a book for pleasure—somewhere in the back of my mind there was an uneasiness about being found in a moment of rest. But here’s the truth: your God and your loved ones want you to rest. Your loved ones, even need to see you resting, because you model to them what life can be like. Both our children, and our friends alike need to see that we are not tireless machines who never need a break: we are just like them. We get tired. We feel the strain. We need to take a break. And if anyone tries to make you feel guilty about resting…maybe they are speaking from their own deep exhaustion and they need to be invited into this rest too. In my experience, the times when I am most bitter about someone else’s rest, is when I am most exhausted and in need of rest myself.
Rest often takes effort, but it’s worth it. This might seem like an oxymoron, but allow me to explain. For those us in intense seasons, rest will often take some forethought, intentionality, and effort. For us to practice Sabbath as a family with food allergies, I must plan in advance to have on hand either easy food we can eat, or enough leftovers from a previous meal. I must restock the paper plates if I’m going to give myself a break from dishes. I must plan my house projects to fall on a different day. I must also turn my mind towards what would actually feel restful on a given day; not simply allowing the inertia of social media scrolling, or endless TV binging to suck up hours that could be spend reading something inspiring or taking a long walk or a nap. For you, what feels restful might be completely different. So don’t be afraid to make the effort. Think about what might truly feel restful for you, and then plan your rest. And most importantly, when things don’t go to plan, don’t give up. It’s okay to try and try again. Rest is a practice, especially for those of us who have spent most of our lives deathly afraid of it.
I hope these thoughts feel helpful to you friends, as your journey towards a life that includes the gracious gift of rest. It might not always look the way we want it to, and our bodies and minds may still be tired as we trudge through the challenging seasons of our lives, but I’m hopeful that as we continue to try to rest, even with the obstacles, that God will continue to give us what we need, sustaining us with the daily bread.
From my tea cup to yours,
Gracie
"Exceptional" doesn't even come close to an adequate word for Ms. Anna.
But yes, your observations about control are on point. I'm continuing to unfetter myself from hurry and the never-ending list of expectations.