By Jennifer G

Busy is not a bad word, but it is one that many of us wear like a badge of honour. If we are not busy, we are not doing our best. Our society has glamorised hustle culture, made it synonymous with being good, better, best. Rest is synonymous with laziness. 

Last year, I was ordered off work by my physician to rest. I was advised to relax. For many of us that sounds ideal, and we instantly picture a spa robe and cucumber slices. This was not the case. While speaking to a therapist, I told her I found it a near-impossible challenge to relax. I felt lost, lazy, and like I was failing for not doing enough in my day. She told me what I was feeling was the dreaded G-word: guilt. 

It seems guilt and busyness have a clandestine relationship. I was so busy that I burnt myself out, but now that I was ordered to rest, I felt guilty for not filling every minute with a task. I was struggling to read a book (a favourite pastime of mine) without having a running script of the productive things I could be doing dancing across the pages. 

So, I did what any busy boss babe would. I read every self-help book I could get my hands on. I decluttered like a mother, paring down my wardrobe to thirty-three pieces, holding items to my chest, feeling foolish, questioning if they sparked joy. In the height of my ‘decluttered house, decluttered mind’ rampage, I pared my family down to four spoons, donating, among many other utensils, the turkey baster (which my partner said I would regret). A minimalist kitchen would help me feel more relaxed, right? 

I did it all, except rest. It was just another way to keep myself busy. As a woman, taking care of myself was the least productive thing I could do. Others needed me. Friends, family, pets, the neighbour. I was not cheating the doctor's orders, only myself. 

I started to read about the slow living movement that focuses on less consumption, being intentional with your time and being mindful of your daily choices. I had an uncomfortable realisation: it wasn't my Tupperware collection or my closet that was suffocating me, it was that I'd forgotten to nurture myself. 

Joy sounds intimidating and hard to achieve when it's simply a short word for feeling happiness and pleasure. Did I stop feeling guilty for making my joy a priority? Not a chance, at least not at first. I'm working on not treating myself like a task rabbit. We can't change how our culture idolises hustle culture, but we can change our relationship with it. We can unsubscribe. 

Rest is not just something we should get when we go to bed. Even there, sometimes we lose sleep counting off lists instead of sheep. We do not need to earn rest. Rest is a right. The hustle culture is toxic; it celebrates non-stop grinding. We are so busy doing that we are neglecting to live. We no longer have ‘free time’, and that is costing us. 

I didn't start a meditation practice or embark on my own Eat, Pray, Love saga (I have pets to feed). But I started finding the joy that had been buried under such a bogged calendar that it couldn't breathe. I began writing gratitude nightly. I didn't think this would make a difference, but it helped me appreciate simple joys in my day. 

I made the act of being intentional and present in my free time a tribute to taking care of myself. I limited my scrolling and replaced that with things that nourished me instead of comparing. There's a joy to be found in clean sheets and a skincare routine that wasn't just sold to you by an influencer. This wasn't a radical lifestyle change, but it was a radical shift in my thinking. 

It's time we nurture ourselves as well as we do our loved ones. Joy needs to be sustained and cultivated. It is not found on our smartphones or at the bottom of a checked-off to-do list. Busy will not sustain us. Just like a sugar high, we will eventually crash. 

I returned to work after Thanksgiving with a newfound understanding of the toxicity of hustle culture and a relationship with myself where I'm committed to making my joy and downtime a necessity. I'm also a proud new owner of a turkey baster and many more spoons. I found no joy in telling my partner he was right, but there is much joy to be found when I always have a spoon for my coffee routine.