The days when “It’s okay to rest” didn’t save me, and the days when it did

“It’s okay to rest.”

There have been times when those words made me feel distressed.
Even though they should have been kind words,
I just couldn’t accept them.


If I rested, that work would eventually come back to me.
It would end up burdening someone else.
In the end, I would be the one carrying it later.

When nothing had changed, being told “It’s okay to rest”
was just empty words, and if anything, a little cruel.


Back then,
I knew full well the “reasons why I couldn’t rest.”
But I didn’t even have the energy to put that into words.


On the other hand, there is another day I can’t forget.
When I was at my wit’s end,
and thought I couldn’t go on anymore,
“It’s okay to rest.”
When I was told that,
I burst into tears.



Furthermore, when the systems were in place and I could rest knowing things were being handled reliably,
it wasn’t just that my body felt lighter,

it felt like “the weight I had been carrying had vanished.”
Even though the words were the same,



why were they so different?
Perhaps what was different wasn’t the words or the person, but



what was “behind” those words.
Having a system where things keep running even if you rest.



Being able to feel that it’s okay to leave things to someone else.
Being able to stand tall again when you return.
“It’s okay to rest”



only has meaning when those things are in place.
I think there are stages to respite as well.



Rest where you let go of things a little.

Rest where you entrust part of your role to others.
Rest where you step away completely.
These are not all the same kind of “rest.”

But



sometimes “It’s okay to rest” is lumped together with “It’s okay to do nothing.”
As a result,
the work I missed while resting comes back to me,



or the burden shifts onto those around me,
and in the end, I’m the one carrying it again.
And finally,
it ends with “Well, it can’t be helped.”

That wasn’t “rest.”
That was what I found most painful.
Being told “It’s okay to rest” while having to accept the reality that I couldn’t.



But, in truth, that’s not right.



It’s not something that “can’t be helped.”
I think it’s just that it wasn’t designed properly.



What is needed is
neither just words nor just systems.

Both words and structure.



Words to share what kind of rest it is.
A system that allows you to step away with peace of mind.

Of course, sometimes,
there is also the kindness of just being by someone’s side without saying a word.



Even in the small society of a family,
it was the same.
If the balance is lost,
someone will end up pushing themselves too hard.



It’s the same when receiving support.

Even the slightest misalignment
can lead to either peace of mind or anxiety.


To adjust that misalignment,
words and structure are necessary.



My family is a bit unique.

That is precisely why
I have valued respite and systems.



Being able to “rest”
doesn’t just mean stopping.
It means having the peace of mind that you can return.



And there is one more thing I think about.
What kind of rest do I need for myself?
I think knowing that
is also very important.



Do I want to let go of things a little?
Do I want to entrust things to someone else?
Do I want to step away completely?



That differs from person to person,
and even for the same person, it differs depending on the time.



That is why
you need a “strategy meeting” for yourself.


Before you reach your limit.
Before you become unable to put it into words.



What kind of rest would allow me
to come back again?



I think knowing that
also becomes a power to protect yourself.

But, in the first place,
“I don’t know what kind of rest I want.”
I think there are times like that too.



Because the more distressed you are,
the harder it is to see yourself.


At times like that,
you don’t have to try to find the answer alone.



Try consulting with those around you.
Try out a few different ways of resting.



Try stepping away for a bit.
Try leaving things to someone else.
Try stopping what you are doing, even for just a short time.



Only after trying it,
you might realize, “Oh, this isn’t it,”
or “This might be a little easier.”



Perhaps you even need practice in how to rest.


Because I know all of it—
the me who wasn’t saved that day,
the me who was saved,
and the me who didn’t know what to do.