When Rest Is Not a Choice
(unscheduled maintenance)
Originally, earlier in 2025, I planned to take a break from creating and posting on social media. This planned break turned into a mandatory break in the form of a health related stop sign that I did not see coming… and I was surprised by how uncomfortable it felt.
Not because I don’t believe in rest. I do. I’ve written about sustainability, pacing, protecting attention, guarding energy. I believe creative work needs space. I believe visibility has a cost. I believe the middle matters. Apparently, I prefer all of those things on my own terms.
When rest is chosen, it feels intentional. Almost virtuous.
When rest is forced, it feels like something has been taken.
I thought I would welcome the break. Instead, I’ve had to confront something less flattering: I don’t know how to sit still without trying to turn it into progress.
It’s uncomfortable to admit how much identity can wrap itself around output. Around being productive. Around building something. There’s a subtle anxiety that creeps in when you’re not producing anything measurable. No drafts. No launches. No forward motion. Just waiting. Healing. Existing. I’ve noticed how quickly my mind tries to negotiate with rest.
Maybe I can outline something.
Maybe I can reorganize.
Maybe I can at least plan.
(I’m not perfect and I’ve definitely done all of these things during this period of rest.. including but limited to starting this Substack!)
As if stillness needs justification. As if being temporarily unproductive is a character flaw. But here’s what this pause is gently confronting in me: productivity is not the same thing as worth. That sounds obvious. Almost cliché. And yet when the structure of work disappears, it’s startling how quickly you feel untethered. I’m used to movement. Iteration. Adjusting. Refining. Even when things are messy, they’re in motion. Rest removes motion. And without motion, you’re left with yourself.
For context, this pause didn’t come out of nowhere. In November 2025, I was diagnosed with stage 1 breast cancer following a routine mammogram. No lumps, bumps or other changes prompted my visit. Several ultrasounds, an MRI and two biopsies confirmed the diagnosis I never expected. Surgery in the form of a partial mastectomy followed in February 2026, and I’m currently in the middle of adjuvant chemotherapy, with radiation still ahead to reduce my risk of recurrence down the road. Even writing all of that still feels surreal… but I’m thankful this was caught as early as it was.
There are some obvious losses attached to something like this. Time. Energy. Freedom. Hair. Parts of your body that quietly became part of your identity until suddenly they’re being discussed clinically and measured in centimeters. Perceived health shifts from something assumed to something monitored.
And emotionally, I expected to feel more consumed by those losses than I actually do. That’s been one of the stranger parts of this experience. Because alongside the disruption, the appointments, the acronyms, the portal logins, and the uncertainty, I also… feel okay. Not in every moment, obviously. But overall? Surprisingly grounded. Surprisingly present. More aware of my body, my energy, and what actually deserves my attention.
Not everything is rainbows and ponies, there’s grief. There’s discomfort. There’s fear, occasionally. But there’s also humor, perspective, and a strange kind of clarity that arrives when life interrupts your momentum. I’ve chosen to remain positive and focus on the good around me.
I’m so incredibly thankful for friends, family and a great medical team. They have all made this journey far better than anticipated.
I’m learning that forced rest isn’t just about physical recovery. It’s about recalibration. About noticing how quickly I try to turn rest into progress. How instinctively I look for meaning, productivity, or some measurable form of forward motion. Even here.
But maybe not every pause needs to become something useful.
Maybe sometimes healing is just healing. No optimizing the pause.
No pretending this is secretly a productivity hack.
Just rest.
Just recovery.
And I want to say this clearly: I’m not sharing any of this to create fear or sadness or even ask for sympathy. If anything, I’m sharing it because routine screenings quite literally matter. Early detection gave me options. It gave me time. It gave me a path forward that, while sometimes difficult, is still incredibly hopeful.
Sometimes the most ordinary appointments end up being life-saving. Please do not put them off.
A few resources to help:
A Small Practice
If you’ve ever been forced to slow down, by health, circumstance, burnout, or life… notice what comes up.
What do you reach for first?
What feels threatened?
What part of your identity feels unsettled?
Then gently ask:
If I am not producing anything right now, what remains? You might find that more remains than you thought.
If this resonates, especially if you’re navigating an unchosen pause of your own; you’re not alone. And if this post encourages even one person to schedule the screening they’ve been putting off, it will have been worth sharing.
xo