Believing I Deserve Rest

Or, a reflection on the Substack I was *supposed* to write

By my usual standards, I owed you a new piece today.

I have a bunch in the works—ones I’ve been writing in my head for weeks, jotting down notes and sentences here and there. Last night, I was *supposed* to sit down and write one of them.

But I didn’t. Instead, after one of my most stressful weeks, I laid on the couch and watched Instagram Reels—laughing until I had a coughing fit, and sending the best ones to my besties (curated to their unique tastes, of course.)

Photo by Curtis Thornton on Unsplash

And it felt mostly good. I’ll admit, the guilt nagged at me. Not just for the Substack piece: I also should have been reading a book I’ve been asked to write a blurb for; I should’ve done some dishes (sorry, babe); I could have spent a little time on the elliptical in the basement. Should, should, could, supposed to, supposed to—shame, shame, shame.

I didn’t do any of those things, and I have to remind myself that it’s ok.

Most of my posts are about busting myths about homelessness—one of the biggest ones being that people who experience it are lazy and don’t deserve support. But that myth doesn’t just come for unhoused people—it comes for us all.

The same mindset that says unhoused people only deserve what they produce says the same about us—that rest and play are wasteful, that we are only what we accomplish. It’s a lie, the central one that drives our marketplace of scarcity, and we should work hard to squash it whenever and wherever it shows up.

This weekend, I hope you take some time to do something that brings you to life—even, or especially, if it has no value to the marketplace.