The first morning of my vacation last week, I slipped away to an infrared sauna by myself. (Oh how I love being slow roasted in a tiny oven).

A few years ago, I probably would’ve spent that hour thinking about work outside of work (dreaming about my side business while slugging through my full time job). Wondering what emails were waiting for me. Feeling guilty for taking time away from my family. Convincing myself I should be doing something more productive.

This time was different though. I sat down, closed my eyes, and realized that I didn’t need permission to rest anymore. That actually surprised me.

After years of recovering from burnout and chronic people-pleasing, I’d finally reached a place where taking time for myself didn’t feel selfish. It didn’t need to be justified. It felt…normal. It was allowed.

What surprised me even more, though, was realizing that my nervous system hadn’t caught up yet. It still took several days before my body noticed the shift.

I was sleeping more deeply. Checking my phone less. Feeling more creative. More patient with my girls. More present in conversations with my family. My body stopped anticipating the next demand before it even arrived.

Vacation didn’t “change” me. But it did give my nervous system enough time to remember what it felt like to exhale.

Permission Isn’t the Same Thing as Capacity

One of the things I see most often in my work with AuDHD adults (especially those with demanding careers) is the assumption that once we understand the importance of rest, we’ll naturally be able to do it. Unfortunately, our nervous systems don’t work that way.

Knowing you deserve rest and actually feeling safe enough to experience it are two different things.

Many AuDHD folx spend decades adapting to environments that require constant monitoring, masking, performing, and anticipating other people’s needs. We become exceptionally good at staying “on.”

We solve problems before anyone asks. We notice everything. We carry invisible mental checklists that never seem to end. Sometimes we become so skilled at functioning under pressure that functioning under constant pressure starts to feel like our normal operating speed.

Then, when life finally slows down, our minds may be ready to rest…but our bodies are still waiting for the next emergency.

High Performance Can Become a Survival Skill

Productivity often becomes more than ambition. It becomes proof that we’re capable. That we’re enough. Proof that no one will discover how hard everything actually feels behind the scenes.

Many AuDHD folx have spent years hearing reinforced feedback like: “You’re so organized.” “You’re so reliable.” “I can’t believe how you do it all!”

When you take a look behind the curtain, what people don’t see is the amount of energy required to maintain that image.

They don’t see the sensory recovery that’s needed after a full 8 hour workday. The mental rehearsal that’s on loop before a difficult conversation. The constant self-monitoring and scanning.

Eventually, productivity stops feeling like something we do.l, and actually evolves into something that makes us feel safe.

So if productivity creates safety, then rest feels very scary.

The Myth of “Perfect Rest”

I also think it’s important to acknowledge that vacation with two young kids isn’t exactly a silent retreat.

There were still snacks to make, and pack in the diaper bag. The 7th time hearing “Mom!” before I’d finished my first sip of coffee. Sunscreen to apply and reapply. A toddler wanting to break from the grasp of my hand and run fearlessly into the ocean. Bedtime delays. Nighttime wakings.  More tantrums from the weird foods and lack of routines. And of course…sand everywhere.

It wasn’t perfect.

But that’s actually what made the experience meaningful. Our nervous systems don’t require perfect conditions to benefit from moments of genuine rest. Sometimes they just need enough moments of safety strung together that the body finally believes them.

Healing Looks Different Than I Thought It Would

For a long time, I imagined healing as “arriving” somewhere. A place where I would never feel overwhelmed again. Where burnout would be permanently behind me. Where I would always know exactly what I needed.

Now, healing looks more nuanced than that. More complex. It shows up when I notice my nervous system is asking for something before it starts screaming.

It’s recognizing the early signs that I’m carrying too much. Trusting myself enough to respond. I don’t have to reach burnout to allow rest. I don’t have to earn the break. Restorative rest is a necessary part of the routine. 

Listening to my nervous system is an essential part of staying well. After a long time of thinking the goal was to never need rest, it turns out that the goal was to become someone who no longer needed permission.