Rest has become a revolutionary act in a society that glorifies exhaustion and treats "busy" as a badge of honour. We exist in a capitalist framework that constantly demands more production, achievement, and hustle, while treating rest as an indulgence rather than a necessity. This culture of perpetual productivity affects everyone, from students to shift workers to the self-employed, as we internalize the belief that our value comes from what we produce.

The consequences of such a framework are profound: burnout, disconnection, and lives too exhausted to be fully lived. As Tricia Hersey discusses in her groundbreaking work Rest is Resistance: A Manifesto, our refusal to rest isn't a personal failing—it's a symptom of a system designed to extract maximum value from human bodies and minds. When we choose to rest, we aren't merely practicing self care; we're challenging capitalism's relentless demands and reclaiming our humanity in a world that often reduces us to our capacity to produce.

When we choose to rest, we aren't merely practicing self care; we're challenging capitalism's relentless demands.

The formative years: How our childhood shapes our relationship with rest

Capitalism creeps in the moment we trade the cozy, crayon-scented cubbies of preschool for the cold, fluorescent-lit hallways of the school system. Suddenly, naps are no longer a right, but a privilege—scheduled like board meetings and supervised like prison yard time. And just when you think it can't get worse, grade 1 hits and the naps vanish altogether, along with the freedom to follow your imagination.

From then on, you're not rewarded for curiosity but compliance—gold stars for sitting still and timed bathroom breaks that require written permission. Individuality gets benched while performance takes center stage. And rest? That's for the weak or the retired.

Growing up in environments where rest is treated as a reward rather than a necessity, we learn that our value comes from productivity, not presence. In such homes, being caught in a moment of stillness while others busied themselves wasn't merely frowned upon— it was labelled as laziness and promptly corrected. "Find something to do," becomes a command that echoes through our formative years.

Unfortunately, these early lessons are deeply ingrained, teaching us that our value lies in productivity rather than well-being. We learn to suppress our bodies' natural rhythms and needs in favour of external schedules and expectations. By the time we reach adulthood, the capitalist attitude of constant production has become so normalized that we struggle to rest without guilt.

Perhaps this explains why, as adults, we feel compelled to push ourselves beyond exhaustion. Even when our bodies and minds desperately signal for a pause, that old and pervasive  programming urges us forward, as if worth and action remain inseparably intertwined; to stop moving is to stop mattering.

The revolutionary act of rest: Disrupting capitalism's relentless cycle

We live for Friday only to collapse on Saturday and battle Sunday night anxiety—before starting the cycle again. This perfectly designed hamster wheel isn't an accident; it's capitalism.

Work-life balance might be capitalism's most incredible illusion: 40+ hour workweeks in casual Friday attire, impossible deadlines, and one person doing three people's jobs. When the math doesn't add up, we’re quick to blame ourselves instead of the system.

Think about how deeply we've internalized productivity culture. When did you last take a complete lunch break or use all of your vacation time without feeling guilty? These benefits are part of your compensation, yet we often feel guilty using them.

Productivity worship has reached religious levels, convincing us that our worth equals our output. Rest? Inefficient. Naps? Weakness. So, you find yourself five coffees deep on Tuesday afternoon, drowning in emails across multiple screens, wondering when survival became your full-time job. You try to remember those efficiency hacks you heard on that podcast last week. 

Capitalism treats humans like machines, but even machines break down when overworked . The difference? Machines are repaired or replaced; human burnout creates ruptures in real lives, and no mindfulness app can fix that.

The uncomfortable truth is this: capitalism thrives on our constant motion, creating an endless race with no finish line, where we must achieve and produce to earn rest and, even then, it’s to be optimized and measured.

Here is your radical, vital reminder: You are a magnificent human being, not a productivity algorithm with flesh. As Ms. Hersey urges us to remember, rest isn't something you must earn—it's your birthright. So take that unscheduled nap. Close the laptop mid-email. Romanticize doing absolutely nothing. Maybe start your own quiet revolution—one cancelled meeting at a time.

You are a magnificent human being, not a productivity algorithm with flesh.

Busy isn't a badge of honour; it's exhaustion masquerading as success

Have you noticed the phrase I'm so busy has become our modern-day humblebrag? We're all running around like caffeinated squirrels, wearing our exhaustion like a designer label. Meanwhile our bodies are sending distress signals we ignore.

Your body shouts, "Hey, I'm trying to rebuild cells and boost brain function here, please rest!" Yet somehow, we've transformed napping from a basic biological necessity into a luxury experience requiring scheduling and permission slips. The irony? We've become such experts at being busy that we now need tutorials on how to do nothing.

We've become such experts at being busy that we now need tutorials on how to do nothing.

Maybe it's time we understood that our worth isn't measured or determined by checked boxes. And rest isn't a productivity strategy—it's an affirmation of your inherent worth, all accomplishments aside. So, why not stop striving for a minute and just be?

An introvert's revolution: Defining the radical act of rest in a loud world

Introverts need rest just as much as our extroverted counterparts—just differently. While extroverts often recharge through connection, we require solitude after social interactions, like phones needing chargers after depleting their batteries.

In a productivity-obsessed world where visibility equals success, our need for quiet feels almost rebellious. The greatest misconception? That we're silent because we have little to say. In reality, our minds resemble Times Square on New Year's Eve—dazzling lights, crowd noise, and countless simultaneous thoughts. We're perpetually processing yesterday's awkward interaction while rehearsing tomorrow's presentation.

An introvert's burnout is often subtle. We don't dramatically flame out; we quietly retreat. Our responses become delayed, our smiles more practiced, our eyes find fascination with ceiling corners during conversations.

For introverts, rest involves resting from all the sights, sounds and demands. It’s noise-cancelling headphones in coffee shops and "sorry, I have plans" (translation: I'm repotting houseplants in blessed silence). It's relationships where comfortable silence isn't awkward but sacred.

By protecting our need for solitude, we practice radical resistance against a culture that values constant visibility over depth of thought. And in a world obsessed with noise, sometimes our revolutionary act may be cultivating the rich, wild beauty of our interior worlds.

The revolutionary act of rest

When was the last time you daydreamed? Or breathed deeply not to prevent anxiety, but simply to feel the air in your lungs? When did you last release the guilt of unplugging, and enter deep rest?

When was the last time you daydreamed? Or breathed deeply not to prevent anxiety, but simply to feel the air in your lungs?

Rest has become revolutionary in a world where "rise and grind" is a cultural commandment.  We have forgotten that rest isn't merely a temporary escape. It's a profound state of renewal where your body stops fighting itself and begins restoring balance. It's creating space to exist without expectations or deadlines. Rest is nourishment for your soul.

Capitalism has convinced many of us that our productivity defines our worth and that any time we’re not producing is time wasted.  But Tricia Hersey reminds us that, "Resistance is lying down when [capitalism] tells you to keep going."

Tricia Hersey reminds us that, "Resistance is lying down when [capitalism] tells you to keep going."

Rest is contagious, in the best way. Each time we prioritize rest, we create space for others to do the same. So in a world where work too defines who we are, rest becomes a tool for our collective liberation, challenging norms that reward overwork while nurturing communities that value care.

So take that mental health day. Use all your vacation time. Because a rested you is a revolutionary you. When properly rested, you become clear-eyed and capable of envisioning something better than a society that keeps running on caffeine and cortisol. A rested world is a healed world. And when you choose rest, you boldly declare: I am more than what I produce.

So take that mental health day. Use all your vacation time. Because a rested you is a revolutionary you.