How to Rest When You’re Exhausted: A Practical, Mindful Guide

" Sometimes the quietest days end up meaning the most."

Lessons from slowing down, healing gently, and finding peace in unexpected places

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Dear You,

I’m writing this from the windowsill of a quiet little room in my happy place - the Lake District.

The sun’s playing hide and seek behind the clouds. A pheasant just strutted through the hotel garden like he owns the place (as they do). Sheep dot the hillside like peaceful punctuation marks. There’s an old horse clip-clopping by on the lane. The wind’s stirring through ancient trees, and for once… I’m still enough to hear it.

Cuppa in hand, legs tucked beneath me, and my daughter dozing softly nearby - I found myself thinking: maybe this is the kind of moment I’ve been chasing all along.

After the fall I had a few weeks ago, rest hasn’t been optional. My body demanded it.

My brain couldn’t keep up. And even my heart - usually so busy holding it all together- asked for space.

I’ve shared little bits of this journey recently, but today felt like a good day to go deeper. Maybe because the mountains are watching. Or maybe because I know I’m not the only one who struggles with rest (especially when life forces you into it before you’re ready).

So if your nervous system has been in overdrive, if your brain feels foggy, or if your soul is simply tired - I hope this gently helps. I want to share the practical rest rituals I’ve leaned on - the ones that helped me stay grounded when everything else wobbled.

No pressure, no perfection. Just honest, gentle encouragement.

Let’s talk rest. The real kind - the kind that rebuilds us.

" This is the view from my window as I write this blog."

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The Breakdown That Led to the Breakthrough

Let me be real with you - the past few weeks haven’t exactly been serene mountain walks and herbal tea (though I did manage to get a few rest days in the mountains... just in a very different kind of mental state)

After the fall, everything felt… scrambled. My thoughts, my focus, my sense of self.

Some days, even reading a sentence was a task too far. I’d stare at a page and the words would float like strangers. Lights felt too bright, sounds too sharp, and the smallest thing - like the neighbour shutting a door too loudly - made my whole system jolt.

There was one moment that broke me open. I was trying to help my daughter with something simple - just reading a few words - and I couldn’t even find the words on the page. I cried, she calmly took my hand, and gently guided my finger to the line I was supposed to be looking at.

(Yes, the hospital told me this might happen. Yes, they said it would pass. Still - in that moment, it felt like I’d lost something essential. And it hurt.)

The important part is - even when I felt mentally broken, there was still one small part of me willing to heal. A flicker of will. A whisper that said: Visualise yourself strong again. Whole again.

So I did.

I’d lie down, close my eyes, and imagine my brain reconnecting, my thoughts flowing again, my body repairing itself with every deep breath. No, it didn’t always stick - sometimes I fell right back into frustration an hour later (or ten minutes, let’s be honest). But I’d pause. Reset. And try again.

Because healing isn’t linear - and neither is rest.

Sometimes it’s sobbing in the bathroom.

Sometimes it’s a one-minute breath with the curtains closed and the world tuned out.

Sometimes it’s just… being willing to begin again.

" You don't need to earn your rest. You're allowed to slow down."

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What I Thought Rest Was… and What It’s Actually Become

For years, I thought rest meant collapsing on the sofa after a long day.

Maybe scrolling a bit, maybe closing my eyes for ten minutes and calling it “recharging.”

And sure, sometimes that is enough.

But what I’ve come to realise (thanks to being completely knocked sideways by life) is that there are different kinds of rest. Like different flavours, each one feeding a part of us we didn’t even know was starving.

And rest doesn’t just mean sleep.

Sometimes it’s silence.

Sometimes it’s art.

Sometimes it’s choosing not to reply to a message right away, even when your people-pleasing brain says otherwise. (Guilty.)

So I started gently asking myself:

"What part of me is tired?"

And from there, I began meeting that tiredness with something softer. Something real.

Here are some of the ways I found rest - and maybe, if you’re reading this with a heavy mind or aching body, one of them might be what you need too:

The Ways I’ve Learned to Truly Rest

(Or: how I started treating rest like nourishment instead of a reward)

Sleep - the most underrated healer

First up, the obvious one - but also the one so many of us still don’t give ourselves enough of.

Sleep has actually become my non-negotiable for years now. I started going to bed and waking up at the same time every day - even on weekends (yep, even when it’s tempting to scroll till midnight). I noticed that when I honoured my rhythm, I woke feeling more… me. A bit steadier. A bit less tangled inside.

Turns out, a regulated sleep pattern can actually support your brain’s ability to heal - especially after a knock or trauma. It’s like giving your nervous system a soft place to land.

(And I don’t know about you, but my nervous system had been throwing tantrums like a toddler with no nap.)

 Mental rest - the permission to pause thinking

My brain? Constantly problem-solving. Even when I’m resting, I’ll find myself planning the next meal or mentally replying to emails I haven’t opened yet. (Just me?)

So I gave myself mental breathers.

One-minute zen breaks.

Midday lie-downs.

A cheeky power nap without guilt (especially when I’d been up since 4.30am - I mean, fair’s fair).

I even let myself paint or collage without needing it to “be good” - just something that let my thoughts drift without having to be useful.

Mental rest isn’t about switching off, it’s about softening the edges of that constant buzzing. And when I did… things felt clearer. Not immediately, but gradually.

Like a window being wiped clean in slow, gentle circles.

Emotional rest - giving my feelings a seat at the table

Some days, I journalled until the page ran out.

Some days, I cried on the bathroom floor.

Some days, I asked a trusted person to simply listen - not fix, not advise, just hold space.

Emotional rest is like letting your heart exhale. It’s the kind of rest that comes from finally saying, “This hurts,” and not needing anyone to tidy it up.

And if the heaviness was too much to carry alone - I turned to therapy.

Because being strong doesn’t mean carrying it all yourself. Sometimes it means letting someone else help untangle the threads.

Creative rest - the art of being filled up instead of drained

There were days I woke up and couldn’t find my smile. You know the feeling - where everything feels a little grey around the edges. That’s when I knew it was time to lean into something that lifted me.

For me, that’s music.

Putting on a song I love and letting it wash over me like a reset button.

Or walking in nature - not always the full Lake District escape (though I’ll never say no), but a nearby park where I can just be, watch the light shift through trees, and remember that I’m not just my tiredness.

Creative rest is about letting beauty in - through your senses, your soul, your surroundings. It doesn’t ask for output. It just wants you to feel alive again, even quietly.

" Rest doesn't mean stopping your life - it means fuelling it."

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Sensory rest - because yes, the world is a bit loud sometimes

After my fall, sensory overload was real. Bright lights, noise, even certain textures made my whole system tense up. But honestly? Even before the accident, I think most of us were a bit overstimulated.

So I started carving out simple ways to dial the world down.

Earplugs in.

Eye mask on.

Soft music or silence.

Looking out the window and letting my eyes rest on something still - like the sheep grazing outside, or the shadow of a tree swaying gently in the breeze.

That small switch into calm has a ripple effect. It slows your breath. Your thoughts follow. And soon, your body softens too.

Social rest - a no-scroll pause for the soul

This one’s close to my heart: No-Scroll Sundays.

Every week, I put my phone down. No social media. No notifications. Just presence.

And yes, I still take the odd photos or jot down ideas (you know me!), but the difference is - I’m not performing. I’m not sharing in the moment. I’m simply living it.

I haven’t had a TV in eight years. That often surprises people. But in its place?

I have bookshelves. I go to the cinema instead - where I choose what to watch, when, and how deeply I want to take it in.

It’s about protecting my energy. Choosing what enters my space.

Not avoiding the world - just filtering it more mindfully.

Spiritual rest - coming home to myself

Four years ago, I started something that changed my life.

Every so often, I plan days just for me.

Nature, solitude, long meditations, quiet prayer, even fasting. A chance to reconnect with something deeper than the noise of daily life.

This is the kind of rest that fills you from the inside - the kind that doesn’t always show on the outside, but changes everything quietly within.

You don’t need to go off-grid to access it.

Spiritual rest can begin with one deep breath, one whispered intention, one moment of silence.

Rest Isn’t One-Size-Fits-All

(How to know what kind of pause your soul is asking for)

Something I’ve learned through all this? Rest looks different at different times - even on the same day.

Sometimes I need upbeat music to lift my morning fog.

Sometimes I need silence and slow-brew tea by 3pm.

Sometimes my eyes literally start closing on their own mid-task, and I have to laugh and say, “Alright, alright, I get it…” (That’s usually when I’ve ignored three gentle signals already.)

So here’s what I do now - and maybe this helps you too:

I check in with myself

Before reacting to tiredness or overwhelm, I pause.

What part of me is most tired right now?

Is it my mind, my emotions, my senses, my spirit?

Then I meet that need - as best I can - with kindness instead of guilt.

For example:

• If my brain’s fried, I take a tech-free wander, or do a one-minute Zen reset.

• If I feel emotionally full, I journal or voice-note a friend.

• If I’m socially drained, I cook. I put the phone away, light a candle, and get lost in stirring and chopping. (Therapy, in garlic and olive oil.)

I schedule rest the same way I schedule everything else

Meditation, journaling, even my midday breathers - they go in the diary like appointments.

I also use little phone reminders that pop up with loving nudges: “Pause. Breathe. Return to you.”

Small moments, big impact.

I focus on the benefits

When the “keep going” part of my brain gets loud, I gently remind myself how good I feel after resting.

How my thoughts flow easier.

How I parent more patiently.

How I feel more me.

That reminder helps me keep choosing what’s good for me, not just what feels urgent.

 I blend rest types when I need to

A mindful walk in nature? That gives me sensory, spiritual, and physical rest all at once.

Curling up with a beautiful book and calming music? That’s emotional and mental.

You don’t have to isolate the flavours - just follow what feels nourishing.

I protect my rest with boundaries

This was a hard one, but a necessary one: I’ve learned to say no.

No to plans when I’m running on empty.

No to activities that chip away at my peace.

No to self-pressure that says “you should be doing more.”

Boundaries aren’t about shutting others out - they’re about honouring what I need to stay well. And from that place? I can show up more fully, more gently, more truly.

" This mountain road is where I usually go for my morning run when I am in Lake District."

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Resting Together - and the Quiet Power of Sharing It

Here’s something I never expected: the more I started resting out loud, the more others around me softened too.

When I shared my slow days, my messy moments, my one-minute breathers - you responded with kindness. You shared your own rest routines, your favourite quiet corners, your ways of coming back to yourself.

And I just want to say… thank you.

Truly.

This space - this little corner of the internet we’ve made together - means more to me than I can ever type into a caption or blog post.

You remind me that rest isn’t just personal.

It’s communal.

When one of us chooses softness over stress, permission ripples outwards.

When we speak kindly about our needs, we make space for others to do the same.

So please, keep sharing your ways.

Keep resting - in whatever shape it takes for you.

Keep coming back to the breath, the birdsong, the pause that says, “You’re allowed.”

Afterword - Just in Case You Needed This Nudge

If no one has told you lately…

You don’t need to earn your rest.

You’re not lazy for feeling tired.

You’re allowed to slow down, even when the world keeps spinning.

Resting doesn’t mean stopping your life - it means fuelling it.

Start with one breath.

One mindful pause.

One moment of saying, “I matter too.”

I hope this post wraps around you like a soft blanket and whispers,

“You’re not alone in this.”

And if something here helped, even a little - feel free to pass it on.

We’re not here to hustle alone. We’re here to heal - together.

If this post resonated - please share it with someone who needs to hear that rest is allowed.

And I’d love to know: what kind of rest are you craving most right now?

Let’s keep the conversation going - I’m always listening.

Just a gentle reminder – these thoughts are for personal reflection and growth, not a replacement for therapy or mental health support. If you’re finding things tough, reaching out to a licensed professional can be a really helpful step.

With Love, Eva

" One minute. One breath. One whispered, 'I matter too'"

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Reference Notes

• Brain & rest recovery: After injury, rest supports neuroplasticity — the brain’s ability to rewire and heal. (Harvard Health, 2023)

• Types of rest: Inspired by Dr. Saundra Dalton-Smith’s concept of “sacred rest,” adapted here through real-life, lived experience

• Sensory overload science: Overstimulation triggers the amygdala, increasing stress. Sensory breaks help regulate the nervous system (APA, 2022)

• Rest as productivity support: Short breaks improve focus and emotional resilience (NIH, 2023)