The art of sitting still

Learning to rest without guilt in a world that rewards urgency

Burnout taught me how to stop. But it didn’t teach me how to sit still.

I’m on vacation right now. The intense parts of my job—onboarding, learning a new team, finding my footing—are behind me. I’m not working. There’s nothing urgent waiting for me. And yet, I still feel the pull to check my email, just in case.

Just in case something important is buried there. Just in case someone needs me. Just in case I’m missing something.

But I’ve had to ask myself: what could possibly be important enough to disrupt my vacation? And more importantly—if it really were that important—why would someone email me instead of calling or texting? Why would they quietly hope I’d catch it in the inbox I’m supposed to be ignoring?

It reminds me of vacations I took in the past—when I still had Slack connected, just in case an IT need popped up and I was the only one who could handle it. One time, I got a DM from someone asking a question about a project. No hint as to whether it was urgent. Just a question.

So I answered it.

“Stop working! You’re on vacation!” they said.

But… you just asked me a question knowing I’m on vacation.

“Oh, it was for when you get back!”

Cool. Then why send it now?

This isn’t about urgency. It’s about fear.

Even after burnout, the fear doesn’t disappear. Fear of being forgotten. Fear of being behind. Fear of losing control. When I’m busy, it’s easy to stay present—my mind has something else to latch onto. But when things get quiet, that’s when the discomfort shows up. That’s when I start wondering if I should check in, just to be safe.

These quiet moments are the ones no one really talks about in burnout recovery. We talk about rest, about doing less, about setting boundaries—but rarely do we talk about how uncomfortable it can be to truly do nothing.

Stillness is a skill. And I’m still learning it.