Learning to Rest // Learning to Heal

Separating my worth from what I produce, and seeing rest as a kind of revolution.

I spent most of my twenties completely outside of the world I live inside of now. I was convinced I’d never be a writer— I didn’t have the education. I wasn’t talented enough. I knew no one, was connected to no one who financially supported themselves as a writer. Instead, I spent the majority of my time nannying, fighting forest fires, partying, and telling myself I’d eventually go back to school.

That I am living the life I have always dreamed of doesn’t go unnoticed by me for any period of time. Being able to get up and sit at my desk (when my body allows me to sit) and write to pay my bills feels like I’ve won a kind of lottery. My work day isn’t dictated by anyone’s demands but my own, and my work load increases and decreases depending on how much I take on.

Yet, there was something easy about getting up and going to a job where I was required to arrive on time and did not have to use a significant portion of the intellectual part of my brain.

I’ve always loved manual labor. Ma…