Why Your Brain Needs Rest
I want to offer you something today that’s rarely given without apology or justification:
Permission to stop.
Permission to rest.
If you’ve read my newsletters before, you’ll know how much I love a good story. So let’s start with one.
The Bow and the Archer
A man once boasted that he kept his bow always drawn tight, ready to fire at any moment. He believed this made him strong, prepared, superior.
An older archer walked over, gently loosened the string, and said:
“If you keep a bow constantly bent, it will break when you need it the most. Only when it is unstrung can it regain its strength.”
So let me offer you something, in the same spirit of that elder archer:
Rest is not a reward.
Rest is not earned.
Rest is a biological requirement.
An Ancient Brain in a Modern World
Our ancient brains are designed to pause, to rest, to stop.
I think we have forgotten that, or we talked ourselves out of it, or even pathologised it.
But our brains - remarkable, complex, capable - need rest. They were shaped by the rhythm of activity and rest:
pursuit and pause,
hunting and returning to the fire,
travelling and then stopping under trees,
working the soil and then sitting in the shade.
The stopping was never a reward; it was part of the rhythm.
Somewhere between notifications, inboxes, artificial light, and expectations to perform at every hour, we preserved only one half: the pursuit.
No wonder so many people tell me:
“I feel tired and wired at the same time.”
“Even when I stop, my brain just thinks of 1000 more things to do.”
“Rest makes me fidgety, guilty, or behind.”
In modern culture, rest is often experienced as laziness, indulgence, failure - pick your label - but in biological terms, it is oxygen.
A Simpler Way Back to Rest
Daily unstringing.
This is the rest that fits into the seams of the day:
three quiet breaths before you open a message
standing at the kettle without also checking the news
Sit with a cup of tea without adding a podcast or a scroll.
Look out of a window long enough for your exhale to lengthen.
Walk without headphones, agenda, or pace.
Your nervous system cannot reorganise while sprinting.
Your mind cannot integrate while bracing.
Even creativity needs quiet to assemble.
And yes, there will be chapters when rest is scarce.
A newborn.
A house move.
A deadline that swallows the month.
A grief that pulls at every hour.
Some seasons are not balanced, and pretending they should be only adds shame to exhaustion.
But what those chapters do demand is compensation: Periods of intensity require periods of recovery.
Your body will keep the books more honestly than you do.
If Rest Feels Uncomfortable
Many people assume rest will feel soothing. Often, especially at first, it feels agitating.
If any of these land, you’re in very human company:
“If I stop, I’ll fall behind.”
“I haven’t earned rest yet.”
“Other people cope; why can’t I?”
“Stillness feels like failure.”
“If I slow down, my feelings might catch up.”
These are common internal rules built from culture, survival, responsibility, and habit.
They can be unlearned. More gently than you think… with the right support.
A Final Note (and Permission, Again)
Before you click away, return to work, or step back into the noise of the day, I want to offer you the same thing I began with:
Permission to stop.
Just… stop.
For a minute.
For a breath.
For the length of time it takes to notice the light in the room or the quiet between sounds.
Let the bow loosen.
And if rest feels foreign, frightening, or simply unfamiliar - and you want help learning a rhythm that doesn’t rely on tension alone - reach out.
I help people unlearn the internal rules that make rest feel dangerous, and relearn a way of living that isn’t powered solely by tension and grit.
You don’t have to do that alone.
Warmly,
Matt
