The Dreamer's Pen

I’ve spent years carrying weight that wasn’t mine—stress, expectations, unspoken grief, the silent demands of a world that never stops moving. I’ve pushed through exhaustion, convinced that rest was something to be earned rather than something I inherently deserved. But last night, as I lay on the massage table, feeling the deep pressure of hands working through knots I didn’t even know existed, something shifted.

It wasn’t just my muscles releasing tension, it was my body reminding me of something I had long forgotten: rest is not a luxury. It is survival.

Deep tissue massage isn’t gentle. It forces you to face the tension you’ve ignored, to acknowledge the way stress has woven itself into your body. There were moments when I wanted to flinch, when the pressure pushed into something beyond muscle, something emotional. It’s strange how the body remembers what the mind tries to forget.

Acupressure was different. It was precise, intentional, almost spiritual for me.  Pressure applied to one part of my body sent relief to another. It was a reminder that everything is connected – pain, healing, exhaustion, restoration.

When I walked out, I didn’t just feel lighter. I felt seen. My body had spoken, and for the first time in a long time, I had listened.

So today, I rest. Not just by closing my eyes, but by being still in a way that feels almost rebellious. I let the quiet settle in, resisting the urge to check my phone, respond to emails, or prove my worth through productivity. I let the world spin without me for a while, trusting that it will be there when I return.

Rest is uncomfortable when you’re used to running. It makes you confront what you’ve been avoiding, your exhaustion, your grief, your unmet needs. But it is in the stillness that we begin to heal.

We carry too much. We cannot pour from an empty cup. We cannot heal what we refuse to acknowledge.

So, I am laying it down today. The weight. The guilt. The need to earn my own rest.

Because I am worthy of stillness. I am worthy of peace.

And so are you.