Am I safe to rest?
The link between a sense of safety and my ability to rest.
It’s Friday evening and I’m on the commuter train home from work. A friend just cancelled our plans, so I’m faced with a few hours of unexpected free time. The atmosphere is tense; a dichotomy of strangers buzzing to let loose and wishing they had not made so many weekend plans. Admittedly, I fall in the latter category and am delighted at the unexpected prospect of a restful evening alone. My field of vision narrows as I zone out and my brain starts to whirr:
“But you can’t spend your Friday night alone with no plans!”
“It’s a Friday night, you’ve got to make the most of it!”
“Text everyone you know and see who you can join; it’s sad to be by yourself on a Friday night!”
“You have so many things on your to-do list, why not use the time to cross a few off?”
As I step off the train, I resolve to put the visceral urge for deep rest (even though I don’t have a clue what that actually looks like) to one side and spend my time ‘wisely’ catching up on my to-do list: replying to the personal emails and texts that have gone unanswered after a busy week at work, sorting the laundry pile that’s now eaten all of my underwear, compiling the ingredients list for a dinner party I’m hosting at the weekend, finishing the book I agreed to read for book club (that holds little to no appeal).
My pace quickens as the tension rises in my chest. Just thinking about these responsibilities makes me want to jump back on the train and stare blankly into the middle distance until the end of the line. Maybe, though, if I crack on with my to-do list I’ll be able to rest another time.
There is always ‘another time’ to rest. And I recognise now that that time never comes around unless I choose it. Being constantly on edge, questioning whether I am spending my time appropriately, worrying that there is something more important, more pressing, more urgent for me to be doing, was my way of (subconsciously) hoping to find the ‘right’ answer that would give me a sense of control over what felt like a chaotic and confusing life.
I see now that putting my desire for peaceful rest to one side and instead filling my calendar with to-dos and ‘productive’ forms of rest that would centre rest as a means to an end (like yoga classes that could allow me rest whilst also sculpting my legs and burning off breakfast) was my way of simulating the sensation of being in control. It fed an endless cycle of needing rest, but not making room for it, pushing through my need for rest, and feeling even more anxious and fraught as a result. By my late 20s I was caught in a near constant state of internal anxiety, reactivity, and rage. I was completely unable to switch off. It got to the point where that feeling became so familiar, that it felt normal. The false sense of control I had created through my hypervigilance made me feel like I was safe. It was all I knew.
But it wasn’t actually safe. Safety, actually, is being free from harm and risk. Not only harm and risk from external threats, but also from internal threats. A chaotic, turbulent, and anxiety-ridden internal world (that is the way it is, for whatever reason) is not a safe place to be. No wonder sitting with myself to rest a while was not an appealing proposition. I would occasionally consider trying to meditate, or have a nap, or make art, but couldn’t move past my internal resistance to be still and quiet. I see now that it’s deeply uncomfortable to shift suddenly into quietness as it forces you to look your uncertainty, anxiety, and lack of self-love in the face.
What if, then, a prerequisite to deep rest is developing a sense of internal safety? A process of learning how to get out of our heads and into our bodies? A journey of letting go of trying to control the future and trust in the safety of the present moment?
I believe that by developing my sense of internal safety I can open up the opportunity for deep rest. Feeling safe in the present moment allows me to make decisions for myself based on my present needs, not the perceived needs of my future self or other people (as my anxious mental chatter would often have me prioritise). Only now that I am experiencing this sense of internal safety (even just a little) can I have compassion for my former self for struggling quite so much with rest - I had absolutely no sense of self, let alone internal safety!
For example, this week I was triggered into an intense state of anxiety by a series of small events that happened whilst I was out swimming at my local leisure centre. I rushed home and immediately burst into tears. The me of 28th March 2022 would have listened to the voice in my head telling me I was overreacting, that I was being ridiculous and to just push through with the plans I had for the day or otherwise take to the sofa and distract myself with work, TV or scrolling. In contrast, the me of today recognised what was happening and endeavoured to provide myself with a safe internal space by validating my feelings, reaching out for support from my partner, and using a few grounding techniques. I now have compassion for myself and acknowledge that what I truly needed in that moment was rest and that in order to access that rest I needed to feel safe within myself by choosing to let go of the mental chatter as much as I could and reaching into my toolbox for some grounding exercises.
Grounding techniques are a new addition for me in my pursuit of internal safety and are layered upon months of counselling that is teaching me how to truly tap into and listen to my needs in the moment. They help me get out of my mind and into my body, let go of the future and focus on the present, and hold space for me to listen to what my needs are in the moment. Often, the need is rest. Rest, after all, is how we heal.
What I am seeing as I learn to incorporate these techniques into my life is that it is a self-fulfilling circle. An increased sense of internal safety allows for more rest, and more rest allows for healing and an increased sense of internal safety. I am currently living a very small and controlled life whilst I recover from burnout, so I don’t know what is in store for me as I start to open my world back up again (slowly but surely). But I do feel strongly that this work I’m doing to feel safe in and of myself is going to be a big part of incorporating rest into my life in a sustainable way. The tools I use may change over time, and the tools I use may differ to other people’s, but the sentiment of being able to come back to a safe home within myself underpins my relationship with rest.
I am experimenting with a few tools (alongside counselling) to help develop a sense of internal safety:
Do you relate to my thoughts in this journal entry? Do you feel safe to rest? Are there anxious thoughts that repeatedly stand in the way of you accessing rest?
You are such a talented writer, Charlie. I was invested in your opening story. I am definitely still in the filling myself with business vs. resting phase, but hoping I can find a better balance in the future. Thank you as always for sharing such a thought-provoking post.
Very true, I find it fascinating to watch how so few of us can cope with quiet or empty space in our days. I still, occasionally, feel uncomfortable with it too, when I've been busy for a few days and my brain got used to constant stimulation. But I know that I only can get ideas if I'm quiet, if I do nothing, so rest and sitting with discomfort is just non-negotiable!