On Taking a Rest Day

I’m not good at rest. Not actual rest – I LOVE a good nap, and sleep is quite possibly my most favorite thing – but acknowledging that my body or my mind needs a break is not my strong suit. I’m the sort of person who thinks, Hey, I’m running four days a week, why not seven? And then I get hurt and there is no more running for weeks. At work I push through sickness and exhaustion and burnout while telling the people who work with me that they should do the opposite.

It's not because I think I’m better than other people, or superhuman. I know, academically, that we all need to take a break from time to time. But there is something wired deep inside me that goes back to childhood, some kind of weird Protestant work ethic that echoes in my brain, “You didn’t work this hard just to get this far.” And, “People are counting on you, you can’t let them down.” In my work life, I lecture people on the importance of goalsetting for forward progress and success.

But I also know that none of us can operate like that at all times if we truly do want to be successful, no matter what we’re doing.

As someone who works in higher education, the end of a semester (and the end of the year, especially) often feels like a slog. Everyone is burned out and exhausted, just trying to get to the break. And by everyone, I mean everyone: students, faculty, and staff. This year feels particularly rough.

For me, the end of the semester tends to be when my motivation lags the most. You would think that, with the end in sight, I would be more motivated to see things through. But it’s a funny thing. When I’m running, the moment when I most want to quit is when I make the turn and can see the finish line. It’s like all that work to power through catches up to me and my body says, that’s enough.

A number of years ago I figured out that trying to “power through” when I’m not feeling well (and let it be noted, in these post-COVID times, I’m not talking about spreading my germs to others) accomplishes nothing but extending the sickness. But if I take a day or two and truly rest I usually can stop it before it really starts. The same goes for burnout, for exhaustion, for running, or anything else. We all need to take a rest day (or more) now and again.

One of my closest friends and colleagues likes to say, “This institution has been around since 1834. It’s going to survive you taking a day off.” It’s a reminder we all need, myself especially. Despite what I might think, and I do believe that I am good at my job and that it is important, I am not that important.

My to do list (again, that Protestant work ethic thing) is almost impossibly long. I could work seven days a week – and generally do – and not get through it. But this weekend, I sat on my patio in this glorious North Carolina spring weather. I went for long runs and walks. I did some writing. I finished reading one novel and started another. I napped. And tomorrow I will begin again. Maybe not fully reenergized, but better.

The work matters, as it should. But so does the rest. What if we applied our work ethic to that with equal measure?