Vanessa Campos

I always thought resting was something easy and natural for humans, like breathing. Something you do without thinking about each step. You just do it, and that’s it.

Resting is deeply connected to time, and I think everyone goes through this: as life happens, our time, like sand, slips through our hands, showing us that no matter how hard we try, we’re not in control. While we’re still studying, we dream of the day we’ll just be working, with a set schedule, and finally be able to rest after 6 p.m.

But then, what we once dreamed of becomes our reality, and somehow, we’re not resting the way we imagined. There’s always something to do: cleaning the house, meal prepping, playing with the dog, visiting family and friends. It feels like even rest has become exhausting. It’s as if we have a checklist for how to rest, trying to optimize even our downtime. We plan it all out, hoping to manage everything, and still, we fall short.

I used to blame time. I thought it was work that drained my energy and kept me from enjoying even my free moments. I was too tired to enjoy my own time off. All the fun things I’d planned? I had no energy for them. So I blamed work. It was the reason I didn’t have time, and therefore, the reason I couldn’t rest. And in some ways, that was true. Stress really is a powerful thief of energy and joy.

So, just like back in college, I started dreaming of a calm job, something stress-free, part-time. It sounded almost utopian. But to my surprise and joy, that dream actually came true. A beautiful gift from God, something I had prayed for. And I got to taste the sweet feeling of being loved and cared for by a God who is close.

I finally had the time I’d wanted so badly. I told myself that once I had time, I’d rest. I’d paint, write a book, exercise, do this and that. The list was so long that there wasn’t even room left for rest. My body and mind, coming out of months of a relentless and unsustainable routine, started to show signs. Signs I ignored. My body wanted to rest, but I had a different idea of what rest was supposed to look like.

Even after five months in this new, calmer routine, no stress, plenty of time, I still hadn’t done everything I thought I would. I felt like a liar. Like I was wasting time. Like I was lazy. I needed rest, but I felt guilty for it. I wanted to be productive 100% of the time. I wanted to live life to the fullest, take advantage of every free morning, become a writer, a painter, an artist, an athlete. I also wanted to be the perfect homemaker, the kind that always has a spotless house (and the irony here is that I’ve always pushed back against the idea that women are supposed to be responsible for the home).

In a therapy session, I mentioned how unsatisfied I was with how I was using my time. I wasn’t reading or writing as much as I wanted, and I hadn’t started painting or exercising. And then, wise as they are, my therapist began asking simple questions. The kind that sounds harmless, the kind you answer without much thought… and then realize they’ve just exposed everything. Hello, the problem is me. I wanted to rest, my mind and body were asking for it, but I was the one standing in the way. Guilt was consuming my peace. So, even though I had time, I didn’t have rest. Even when I was “doing nothing,” I felt guilty for not being productive by my definition of productivity.

You know, God really doesn’t make mistakes. When He rested on the seventh day of creation and gave us a command to do the same, to set aside a day for Him, for rest. He knew exactly what He was doing. The Creator knows His creation. A good Father knows His children. If resting were easy, it wouldn’t be a commandment. You won’t find a verse in the Bible where God tells us to breathe; it’s just something we do, because we need it, because it’s automatic. But rest? Rest is there, written as a commandment. And even though we need it, we ignore it.

Contrary to what I used to believe, resting is not as simple as breathing. So, let go of the guilt. Embrace moments of true rest, staring at the sky, watching the trees move, doing absolutely nothing. Be human. Just human. Don’t try to be a machine.