The Fear of Stopping

I often realize that I don’t really know what resting well means. Even when I pause for a moment, I wonder if I’m allowed to stop. No one has ever told me not to rest. Even I whisper to myself, “It’s okay, you can take it slow.” Still, true rest feels unfamiliar.

Sometimes I fear that if I rest, I might lose everything. Does rest mean just standing still? Does it come at a cost too great to bear? While others move busily through life, I question whether it’s right for me to stop.
But when I let go of these tangled fears, I imagine them dissolving into the soil like compost. Where there was once fear, space opens, and in that space, real rest begins to grow.

In the quiet of the autumn forest, rest softens my heart. The calm becomes a small fire, a gentle hearth within me. May that warmth from the fire spread through me and outwards, touching those around me with its gentle light.