On Rest, Resistance, and Redefining “Productivity”
Burnout isn’t a badge of honor. Rest isn’t a reward; it’s our birthright.
I used to believe that rest was something I had to earn.
If I finished the to-do list.
If I showed up for everyone.
If I was productive enough.
Then—and only then—could I exhale.
But the truth is, the list never ends. The goalposts move. The world rarely says, “You’ve done enough.” And I spent years trying to outrun an invisible measure of worth that was never mine to begin with.
Then I became a parent—and everything I thought I knew about time, identity, and energy unraveled.
The Myth We Inherited
In the systems most of us were raised in, particularly those shaped by capitalism, patriarchy, and white supremacy, productivity is equated with value.
Do more. Be more. Achieve more. And then you can rest.
In my experience as a mother, this myth deepened.
There is no paid time off from parenting.
There is no applause for the emotional labor.
No one sees the cognitive load of remembering snack days, therapy appointments, permission slips, and the exact way your child likes their strawberries cut when they’re overstimulated, overtired, and just over it.
Motherhood is relentless and sacred, invisible and demanding. And if you are also holding multiple identities, like so many of us are, it becomes painfully easy to forget that you are more than the sum of what you hold for others.
Rest as Resistance
Rest, I’ve learned, is not weakness.
It’s not quitting.
It’s not a failure of commitment or care.
It is care.
It is how I remember that I exist outside of what I do for everyone else.
And it is resistance—especially for mothers who have been told that martyrdom is the pinnacle of love. That to be tired and selfless is to be good.
I reject that now.
I want my children to see a mother who rests. I want them to have the example of parents that center their own needs, not at the expense of them, but in order to be able to care for them fully.
A mama who says, “I need a minute.”
A mama who doesn’t crumble when she’s asked for more than she can give.
A whole human that shows them that love does not equal depletion.
Redefining Productivity
I used to define productivity by what I could check off.
Now, I try to measure it by what I can feel.
Was I present today?
Did I nurture something that matters—including myself?
Did I honor my capacity?
Some days, productivity looks like a lecture written or a session held.
Other days, it looks like not folding the laundry (this happens a lot at our house).
It looks like laying on the floor while my children play around me.
It looks like taking the long way home in silence, just to remember what it feels like to breathe deeply.
Productivity, redefined, is aligned with aliveness, not depletion.
A New Rhythm
This is still a work in progress.
There are days I fall back into the old rhythm, where I shame myself for needing rest. Where I confuse urgency with importance. Where I whisper to myself: You should be doing more.
But I’m learning. Slowly.
To listen to my body.
To trust the quiet.
To believe that tending to myself is part of the work, not a pause from it.
To anyone reading who is tired of being tired, especially mothers:
You don’t have to earn your rest.
You don’t need to prove your exhaustion.
You are allowed to feel whole even when you are doing nothing at all.
With gentleness and solidarity,
Sahar