When Rest Feels Unproductive

There was a time when rest felt uncomfortable to me, even when I technically allowed it. I didn’t label it as guilt back then. I just felt an urge to do something useful with that time. Sitting still, doing nothing, or simply being felt oddly incomplete, as though time was slipping away without justification.

I noticed this most clearly in the small choices I made. When I went for a walk, I rarely walked just to walk. I listened to audiobooks or podcasts, usually on learning or productivity. If I decided to watch television, I found myself hula hooping at the same time, turning it into movement rather than rest. While driving, I played something educational in the background, convincing myself that at least the time was being “used well.” Even my reading habits slowly shifted. I read far more about productivity, improvement, and effectiveness than I did purely for leisure.

None of this felt extreme. In fact, it felt responsible. I told myself I was being efficient. I was optimising time. I was learning, growing, staying engaged. And yet, when I looked more closely, I realised something important: rest was only allowed if it came disguised as productivity.

Somewhere along the way, I had learned that time had to be justified. That movement, learning, or output made an activity worthy. That stillness, ease, or doing something purely for enjoyment needed an explanation.

This belief didn’t appear overnight. It was shaped quietly through years of appreciation for busyness, admiration for discipline, and subtle praise for “making the most of time.” We are often encouraged to optimise every moment, to improve continuously, and to feel slightly uneasy if we are not moving forward in visible ways.

Over time, rest begins to feel unproductive, not because it is unhelpful, but because it does not fit the framework we’ve been taught to value.

What makes this tricky is that many of these habits look healthy on the surface. Walking while listening to something informative, combining entertainment with movement, or choosing educational content over leisure reading are not wrong choices. They can even be enriching. The issue arises when these become the only acceptable way to rest. When slowing down feels wasteful. When silence feels uncomfortable. When pleasure needs to be paired with purpose to feel legitimate.

I began noticing how rarely I allowed myself to rest without layering it with improvement. How quickly I reached for something to learn, process, or consume, instead of simply being present. And how deeply this pattern was connected to my sense of worth and responsibility.

Almost everything will work again if you unplug it for a few minutes — including you.
— Anne Lamott

Rest, in its simplest form, asks for nothing. It doesn’t produce, prove, or perform. It simply restores. And perhaps that is why it feels unfamiliar — and even threatening — in a culture that values output so highly.

Questioning this belief was not about abandoning growth or discipline. It was about noticing how tightly I had tied my value to constant usefulness. It was about recognising that rest does not need to earn its place in my life. It is not a reward for productivity, nor a luxury to be indulged in occasionally. It is a basic requirement for sustainability.

Slowly, I began experimenting with softer choices. Walking sometimes without audio. Watching something without turning it into exercise. Reading without an agenda. Allowing moments that served no purpose other than quiet enjoyment. These shifts were subtle, but they revealed how deeply conditioned my discomfort with rest had been.

When rest feels unproductive, it is often not because we dislike rest itself, but because we have learned to measure our lives through usefulness. Undoing that belief takes time, patience, and gentleness. It begins not with doing less, but with noticing more.

Noticing when we add productivity to moments meant for recovery.
Noticing when stillness feels uneasy.
Noticing when rest needs justification.

Perhaps the real question is not whether rest is productive, but whether a life without genuine rest is truly sustainable — and what small shift we might begin to make today if we answered that honestly.

With warmth,
Anitha