Why Do I Feel Guilty When I’m Doing Nothing?
If you’ve ever finally had nothing you needed to do… and somehow felt guilty for doing nothing… this reflection is for you.
September always feels a little strange to me. Summer pulls me out into the world. Long evenings. Mountains. Water. Bare feet. Road trips. Sitting somewhere beautiful with coffee. Coming home with far too many photographs and somehow still believing I needed just one more.
Then autumn arrives and seems to whisper something completely different. Come back. And perhaps that’s where I am at the moment. Somewhere between the two.
My mind could move mountains right now. Honestly, give it half a chance and it’ll create three new projects before breakfast. But emotionally, another part of me wants to float quietly down a river for a while. Not because I’m unhappy. Not because anything is wrong.
I think I’m simply standing on that little bridge between seasons, deciding what I want to carry across with me. And what I can leave behind. Maybe that’s what September was is for.
When Quiet Feels Strangely Uncomfortable
I’ve noticed myself wanting more quiet lately. More time at home. Slower evenings. A cup of tea. A book. My sketchbook. Moments where absolutely nothing impressive happens.
Lovely. Until I actually sit down. Then my brain arrives. You could edit something. You could answer that message. You could work on this. You could just… here it is. Could.
Not need to. Could.
And I’ve started noticing just how much of life we can fill simply because something could be done. There’s always another message to answer. Another cupboard that could be organised. Another goal, another idea, another version of ourselves we could improve.
Even our rest has somehow joined the productivity department. We walk to get our steps, we meditate to improve our focus, we sleep so we’ll perform better tomorrow, we take time off so we can come back refreshed and ready to go again. All perfectly sensible. But sometimes I wonder: Does everything we do have to lead somewhere?
What if I go for a walk and learn absolutely nothing, what if I sit beside the sea and have no revelation? What if I drink tea while watching the rain and return to my day exactly the same person I was before? Was that time wasted? I don’t think it was.
The Invisible Supervisor
I love creating. I love being useful. I love ideas. I love the feeling of making something that didn’t exist yesterday. So this isn’t me declaring that productivity is terrible and we should all spend autumn staring at trees. Although… I’ve had worse ideas.
It’s simply that I’ve noticed how quickly an empty space becomes something I feel obliged to fill. Nobody is asking anything from me, nothing is urgent. Yet somewhere in my mind, a tiny supervisor appears with her clipboard: Surely we could be doing something useful.
And lately I’ve been asking her a question she doesn’t seem particularly prepared for:
Why does this moment have to be useful?
Some of the moments I treasure most have produced absolutely nothing.
Sitting beside someone I love. Watching the last light disappear behind the hills.
Laughing until we’ve completely forgotten what we were talking about. Walking somewhere simply because I wanted to see what was around the corner.
None of those moments improved my CV. They didn’t make me more efficient. Some of them didn’t even teach me anything. They were simply lovely while I was living them.
Maybe that’s enough.
Twenty Minutes That Belong to Nobody
So I’m trying something. Nothing dramatic. No 30-day challenge. No colour-coded tracker.
Please. We have enough jobs. Just twenty minutes.. Twenty minutes that don’t belong to work, or the house, or your phone, or your goals. Or even the future version of you that you’re forever trying to help.
You don’t have to meditate, you don’t have to journal, you don’t need to stretch, count your steps or listen to something educational. You don’t even need to become particularly relaxed. Because the moment we start wondering whether we’re resting properly, we’ve somehow managed to turn rest into another performance..
Make tea. Sit outside. Watch the rain. Walk without tracking the distance. Look out of the window. Do something completely unremarkable. And when the thought inevitably arrives— I should probably… — just notice it. Hello again, clipboard lady.
No, you don’t need to argue with her. You don’t need to prove that rest is secretly productive. Perhaps you simply don’t obey her for twenty minutes. And ask yourself:
What actually happens if I don’t make this moment useful?
Maybe you’ll feel peaceful. Maybe you’ll feel restless. Maybe after seven minutes you’ll suddenly remember a drawer that apparently requires immediate reorganisation. That’s okay. You’re not trying to become good at doing nothing. You’re simply allowing twenty minutes of your life to exist without demanding anything from them.
What I’m Leaving With Summer
Perhaps this is what autumn is quietly reminding me this year. Nature doesn’t seem particularly embarrassed about letting things go. Trees don’t apologise for becoming quieter. They don’t look at an empty branch and think: I really should be producing something.. They simply enter another season. And maybe we are allowed to do that too.
Not stop dreaming. Not stop creating. Not become smaller or less ambitious. Just loosen our grip a little. Maybe I don’t need to carry every idea across the bridge. Every plan, every expectation, every should.
Some things can stay with summer. There is something comforting about that. Because slowing down doesn’t mean life has stopped moving. Sometimes slowing down is how we notice that life is moving.
One Last Little Thought
There will always be something we could be doing. Life isn’t going to reach one magical afternoon when every responsibility is finished, the inbox is empty, everybody is happy and someone arrives at the door with a certificate: Congratulations. You may now rest.
I’m beginning to suspect that certificate isn’t coming.. So perhaps we stop waiting for it.
Don’t rest because you’ve earned it. Don’t even rest because it’ll make you better tomorrow. Every now and then, let nothing come from you. Let the tea go slightly cold while you stare through the window. Let the walk lead nowhere useful. Let an evening pass without turning it into anything. Because those moments aren’t stealing time from your life. They are your life.
And maybe that’s the question I’m carrying with me into autumn:
Can I allow a moment of my life to have value even when it produces absolutely nothing?
I’m going to try. The clipboard lady may have objections. She’ll survive.
Thank you for sharing a little of your day with me.
With love,
Eva x
Stay a Little Longer
If this little letter left you thinking about your own relationship with rest, you’re welcome to stay with me a little longer.
Put your earphones in. Take me on a walk, curl up somewhere comfortable, or simply do absolutely nothing - which, after everything we’ve just talked about, might be rather appropriate.
In my latest Quiet Places for Tired Minds reflection, Why Is It So Hard to Do Nothing?, I explore this question a little more deeply - why rest can make us feel guilty, why we’re so quick to make our quiet moments useful, and whether we really need to earn the right to stop. Listen to the reflection:
No homework afterwards. Promise.
The reflections, meditations, and content shared here are offered for general information, inspiration, and personal reflection only. They are not intended to replace professional medical, psychological, or therapeutic advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Nothing on this website creates, or is intended to create, a medical or therapeutic relationship. If you have questions about your health, mental wellbeing, or any medical condition, please seek guidance from a qualified healthcare professional you trust. Always consult a licensed professional before starting, changing, or stopping any form of treatment, medication, or wellness practice. Please listen to your body, move at your own pace, and take what feels supportive - leaving the rest behind.
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