“I don’t care who you are, the pressure is to go onto the next task immediately.  What happened to the days of hanging out in the hammock all afternoon?” [James Brolin]

Today, the pressures of moving on to the “next thing” appears to plague many people.  I see this with clients, in friendships, and witness it happening with family members who are continuously moving.  For many people it’s hard to imagine ever taking a break.  And if you’ve followed me for any stretch of time, you know the idea of setting up intentional rest is a recent development in my own life.  We face many societal/cultural/familial/intrapersonal expectations to “go, go, go.”  However, the value of rest has proven itself to me, tenfold, each time I exercise it.

And I’ve wondered, what exactly is the struggle all about?  The challenge of surrendering and slowing down? 

From some, I hear such narratives as, “a lack of productivity means that I’m lazy.”  Permission to rest at all makes it difficult for them to feel like they’re fully showing up in personal or professional roles.

“What if you began with a simple boundary?” (I suggest).  A boundary could be an actual break during your lunch hour (e.g. going for a walk or using the extra conference room for a short nap).  Such as ceasing email communication past 8pm.  A boundary of staying home this Sunday rather than participating in the company fundraising event.  It might be choosing to take yourself for a walk in the woods, instead of collecting the dogs/the children/the picnic basket for an entire afternoon affair.

Though I can empathize that the very suggestion of boundaries can trigger anxieties or insecurities.  As if the opportunity of placing one’s mental health as priority equates to a sense of mistrust.  Maybe this mistrust – mistrust from others, or of oneself – is the dilemma.

From where does such mistrust originate?

If we take a look at personality or tendency, each one is likely part of a story shaped from prior experiences or relationships.  I’ll look at the tendency of perfectionism for example.  (May as well write about something with which I am familiar!)  Perfectionism meaning here:  rigid construct of doing & doing well, of giving & giving constantly, without much deviation and surely with plenty of self-criticism.  The tendency of creating an impossible situation under which needs are obligated to be met.

Here’s one of my own examples of sought perfectionism – when my daughter saw me typing this post and asked, “What are you doing?”: 

“Writing a blog post.”

(Sweet giggle) “What’s ‘blog‘ mean?”

“It’s a silly name, huh?  It’s when I write about different topics for my website.  Today I’m writing about faith.  Do you know what that is?”

(Shakes head)

“Faith is … like holding a belief in something.”

“So, like Love?”

“It could be Love. … Faith is also … a mysterious kind of ‘knowing’ of something, even when you don’t have proof of it.”

“So, like God?”

“It could be God for some …”

[This went on for a bit.  My rambling and mission of providing a “must-make-sense-while-be-empowering-and-not-prescriptive” kind of response.  Yup – my trusty, inner perfectionist voice was flurrying in the back of my head, as she seemed to scour the depths of my soul with her eyes for a legitimate answer … Well, all right.  You can see how I get a bit carried away in my own psyche about answering an innocent question…]

A perfectionistic mindset stems from mistrust of oneself when not finding that they are delivering enough output (like not giving an ‘exactly right’ answer).  Thus, the suggestion of offering oneself some kind of gentle input (self-compassion, a break, a breath) feels undeserving.  It takes great practice to be kind with ourselves.

So, to give myself a break in my own tendency here, I asked my daughter if she had any more questions for me.  Engaging in this kind of child-development questioning (she’s 6), still often causes me to mistrust my role as a parent (cue: wanting to have all the answers).  As she asked more, I felt like the rambling was coming back at first.  But then with some exhaling and smiling at her very curiosities, I asked more, too.  We went back-and-forth a bit, and it turns out the indirect rambling was the way towards an answer about faith.

Back to interfacing in a client session.  First, we might explore ways the body attempts on a physical level to signal that it’s time to slow down.  Think of the last time that you had a lingering cold, aching back, or unwavering migraine.  “What else was going on for you at the time?  What kind of duress were you under?  Was it easier to assume that you were ‘simply sick’ without allowing for the possibility that it was a physiological response to overwhelm?”

“Can you talk to me about your beliefs?” I ask next.

“My beliefs?”

“Your spirituality, your faith, a greater sense of something or someone that guides you?”

“I hadn’t thought of how that might relate to me needing to take rest.”

“I wonder how your faith may influence the experiences of responding to base needs?  How might you use faith-related practices to support taking pause?”

[‘Faith’ as written for this post, does not necessarily pertain to a specific religious grounding or even God.  For some that may align.  Spirituality otherwise may best describe your own philosophy or theoretical orientation.  Or the very manifestation of your body could allow for trust in your existence.  For the duration of this piece I’ll use “faith” synonymously with the awareness of the various, possible orientations.]

Ultimately, I like to inquire about one’s tendencies along with their faith-based systems, as I find that both pieces inform the healing process.  They may best operate together.  Maybe it is exactly our faith in an unknown presence, along with our tendencies (recognizing that either of which might be cultivated out of personal and familial values), that leads us to a calming feeling of being well-cradled.

Is it possible that in order to help preserve a sense of trust in ourselves and the world, we can learn to rest in our own unique hammock of care, including faith?  What might that look like for you?

Is it possible that in order to quiet the seemingly, relentless ‘need’ for production in our culture, we must generate a stronger inner trust?

Following intuition & faith (like explored in my recent newsletter with Brené Brown’s Gifts of Imperfection Guidepost) is like yielding to a container of what we feel is true for us individually.  Brown researches wholehearted living, and I posit this means that sometimes we rely on a faith-framework to hold us.  Even (or especially) when in doubt or challenged.  To rest more when there is a high standard or pressure by way of our job, roles, and relationships.

And certainly, there are moments when our faith wavers.  External circumstances can sway us:  grief, loss, death, debt, and other such transformations.  Though even when we feel these shifts, if we can place ourselves within our faith (spirituality, prayer, movement, values), can we find safety there?  If a life obstacle causes us to slow down, not “do” anything or “go” anywhere, can we surrender to the idea that rest is one of the most faithful ways of living?

Come with me if you like into a visualization.  Feel free to read this paragraph through, and then implement it with eyes closed if that feels safe and/or useful for you:

Imagine that you’re facing out a screen door into the views of a beautiful, rural landscape.  It might be a lakefront property surrounded by mountains.  Or the endless horizons of a desert sky.  You may be able to walk unto the cool ceramic tiles of a porchside deck facing the ocean.  Find an outbreath, here.

You may feel like the layers of your clothing can wrap ‘round, and then you find a blanket by the doorway.  Placing it atop your shoulders, you walk across the floor to a spruce-green-colored hammock, hanging from the beams.  It’s softly moving.  Ever so slowly, and intermittently, depending on the breeze.

You take your hand and collect its hearty fabric in between your fingertips and your palm.  You press the length of it away from you, and let go – allowing for it to swing back towards you and into your leg.  It halts, and feeling obvious but soft.

With a scurried mind, full of the world’s needs in your inbox, you begin to close your eyes and breathe out again.  You have a choice to lay in the hammock and be cradled by it.  To feel enveloped by its pillow-top end, nearer to the chain that suspends it so.

As you clutch the knit around your chest, you feel the breeze picking up.  It’s a good time to lower your seat, swinging your legs now over the side of the sling.  It moves somewhat, at first.  You’re not sure of your footing, as both feet now have left the ground.  The weight distributes unevenly and you try to correct it.  Finding a center of gravity will help calmness arrive.

The hammock slowly pauses as your body adjusts, and as the hammock adjusts to your body.  Absorbing you.  You give into a kind of surrender to the woven cradle.  It’s like your mind begins to soften as the hammock also rounds you.  In giving to the gentle sway of this support, you sense stronger the beat of your heart, and your breath soothes.

A hammock, you find, can participate in stillness because of its presence.  You feel anchored and floating at the same time.  Your worries and concerns and tasks all blur, without leaving you completely, but you now bask in the temperature of the experience.  Eyes remain closed, and other sounds are present:  kids laughing on the lawn, boats in the water, or cars driving by.  All of it a part of this morning, but not dependent on you – nor are you on any of it.

Just the hammock catches you.  You have a knowing about this rest.  A rest that will drift you into a slumber – if only for a short while – that feels peaceful and intentional.

I hope you too, reader, may rock with your faith.  Allowing for it to nurture your needs for rest and self-forgiveness.