Understanding Why Your Body Fights Against the Rest It Needs
Before we begin: Take a moment, if you’re willing, to notice what happens in your body as you read the word “rest.” Does your breath change? Do your shoulders tense or release? Does a subtle anxiety flutter in your chest, or perhaps a wave of longing wash over you? Whatever arises—or doesn’t—is valuable information about your nervous system’s relationship with stillness.
For many of us driven and ambitious women with histories of relational trauma, the very concept of rest can trigger a paradoxical response in the body.
Rather than feeling like a welcome respite, stillness can feel threatening—like the ground beneath you might suddenly give way.
Your body, despite profound exhaustion, resists the very thing it seems to need most.
If you’ve ever found yourself unable to relax despite desperate fatigue, if you’ve noticed anxiety spike when you finally have a moment to yourself, or if you’ve felt more depleted after a vacation than before it—you aren’t broken. Your nervous system is doing exactly what it learned to do to keep you safe. Especially in environments where downregulation once signaled danger.
In this exploration, we’ll examine why rest can feel like structural collapse rather than restoration, particularly for women whose psychological foundations were formed in relationships marked by unpredictability, emotional neglect, or the need to be perpetually vigilant.
The Relational Roots of Rest Resistance
Elena, a former therapy client of mine (name and identifying details changed for privacy), sits in her office after her last patient of the day, staring at her calendar. It’s 7:30 PM, and she’s been at the hospital since 5:00 AM. Her body aches with exhaustion. Yet the thought of going home to an empty evening fills her with a vague, unsettling anxiety.
“I should be grateful for a break in the evening, right?” She asks me this in our next session, her shoulders tensed nearly to her ears even as she speaks. “I have three hours before bed with nothing scheduled. But instead of relief, I feel this… dread. What’s wrong with me?”
Growing up in a high-achieving South Asian household, Elena’s father maintained exacting standards for academic performance while her mother managed the household with anxious, unrelenting perfectionism. The young Elena learned early that stillness wasn’t safe—it was merely the deceptive calm before inevitable criticism.
Think of your psychological foundation as the concrete, rebar, and support beams that underlie the multi-story house of your life.
Early relationships form this foundation—determining its composition, stability, and resilience. When those relationships were characterized by unpredictability or threat, your foundation may have developed with a structural bias toward vigilance rather than rest.
It’s not that your foundation is inherently flawed.
It developed exactly as it needed to under the conditions present at the time.
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For girls specifically, this foundation is often further shaped by socialization that emphasizes attunement to others’ needs, often at the expense of their own. From an early age, many girls learn that their value lies in their responsiveness to others—being the “good girl,” the helper, the one who notices and addresses others’ discomfort before her own.
In this context, achievement often emerges as both an adaptation and a form of self-regulation. The external validation, clear metrics, and structured demands of academic or professional success can provide a sense of control and safety that was missing in early relationships.
Productivity becomes not just a goal but a survival strategy—a way to regulate an otherwise dysregulated nervous system.
When Personal History Meets Patriarchal Capitalism
Lucia, a coaching client of mine (name and identifying details changed for privacy), runs a successful nonprofit serving immigrant communities, work deeply connected to her own experience as the daughter of Mexican immigrants.
From the outside, her organization’s growth looks impressive—expanding from a staff of three to twenty-five in just six years, with a budget that’s quadrupled under her leadership. Inside, Lucia is running on fumes, caught in a web of internal and external expectations that feel impossible to navigate.
“I know I need rest,” she tells me, her eyes cast down at her tightly clasped hands. “But there’s this voice in me that says: ‘Who are you to rest when your community is still struggling? When your parents never had that luxury?'”
As the oldest daughter in her family, Lucia had been the designated translator, navigator, and emotional buffer between her parents and American institutions since she was seven years old. A part of her learned that vigilance wasn’t just helpful—it was essential for her family’s survival and dignity. Rest wasn’t merely unavailable; it was unthinkable.
The individual nervous system, already primed by relational trauma to resist rest, encounters cultural and economic systems that actively reward overwork and equate human value with productive output.
This creates a powerful reinforcing cycle that can feel impossible to break.
For women, these pressures are further compounded by societal expectations and gender norms. The invisible labor that disproportionately falls to women—emotional management, relationship maintenance, household coordination—creates a foundation where rest is structurally difficult. This work is constant, uncompensated, and largely unacknowledged, yet essential to the functioning of both families and workplaces.
I invite you to place a hand on your heart, if that feels supportive, and acknowledge the weight you may have been carrying. This isn’t about adding self-judgment to an already heavy load.
It’s about recognizing that what feels like a personal failure to rest effectively is actually a predictable outcome of both your relational history and the systems within which you’re operating.
In the upcoming workbook for paid subscribers, I’ll share the specific micro-practices that helped Lucia gradually rewire her relationship with rest—starting with three-minute interventions that allowed her system to experience safety in stillness. Join us to move beyond insight into embodied change.
When Your Body Refuses to Settle: The Neurobiological Legacy of Trauma
Olivia, another former therapy client of mine (name and identifying details changed for privacy), a successful creative director at a prestigious advertising agency, sits perfectly still in our session, her posture almost unnaturally composed. When I ask about her sleep, she responds with precise data from her tracking app—hours, cycles, oxygen levels—but seems disconnected from the actual experience of rest.
“I can tell you all the Oura ring metrics,” she says with a small, self-deprecating laugh, “but I can’t tell you what it feels like to be rested. I’m not sure I’ve ever known.”
Beneath Olivia’s polished exterior lies a complex relationship with stillness. Childhood sexual abuse created a profound disconnection from her body—a survival mechanism that allowed her to endure the unendurable.
Her nervous system learned to oscillate between hyperarousal (intense creative work sessions lasting 12+ hours) and hypoarousal (periods of emotional numbness and creative block).
“When I try to rest, it’s like I’m falling through space,” she explains. “There’s this moment when my body starts to relax, and then panic hits. Sometimes I dissociate instead—I’m technically lying down, but I’m not really there. I’m not really anywhere.”
The shift from sympathetic activation to the beginning stages of ventral vagal calm can feel dangerous to a nervous system that associates downregulation with vulnerability.
It’s as if there’s a missing neural pathway—a bridge that should allow for smooth transition between activity and rest but was never fully constructed due to early developmental disruptions.
For women specifically, this neurobiological landscape is further shaped by gender socialization that often discourages the expression of anger, boundary-setting, and self-prioritization. The result is a nervous system that may have limited experience with the healthy assertion necessary for genuine rest.
Without the capacity to say “no” to external demands and “yes” to internal needs, the body remains in a state of perpetual accommodation to others—a state fundamentally incompatible with deep rest.
From Falling to Foundation: First Steps When Rest Feels Impossible
Anika, a coaching client (name and identifying details changed for privacy), a brilliant data scientist at a leading tech company, sits in a session with me, describing a recent breakthrough.
For the first time in years, she experienced what she calls “actual rest”—twenty minutes of lying in a hammock where her body felt heavy, her mind quiet, and the world temporarily distant.
“It wasn’t perfect,” she says, “I still had moments of anxiety spike through. But there were these… gaps… where I wasn’t bracing for anything. I wasn’t waiting for the other shoe to drop. I was just… in the hammock.”
For Anika, whose childhood was dominated by her father’s unpredictable mood swings and her mother’s anxious attempts to maintain peace, this brief experience of genuine rest represents a profound shift in her nervous system’s capacity.
So what does this healing journey look like in practice? While it’s deeply individual and non-linear, several approaches have shown promise in helping recalibrate the nervous system’s relationship with rest:
Titrated exposure to rest
or those with severe rest resistance, diving into extended periods of stillness can trigger overwhelming anxiety or dissociation. A more effective approach is gradual exposure—starting with brief moments of rest and slowly extending the duration as the nervous system builds tolerance. This is basement-level work, not surface-level quick fixes.
Somatic awareness practices
Gentle movement practices like trauma-informed yoga, tai chi, or qigong can help rebuild the connection between mind and body that’s often disrupted by trauma. These practices emphasize present-moment awareness, breath, and the cultivation of internal safety—all essential foundations for rest.
Relational healing
Since rest resistance often originates in relational trauma, healing often requires new relational experiences. This might include therapeutic relationships, supportive friendships, or communities that validate the need for rest and model healthier boundaries.
Rest resistance that stems from relational trauma won’t be resolved by a weekend retreat or a new meditation app, though these tools may be helpful components of a broader healing strategy.
True restoration requires addressing the foundational issues that make rest feel threatening in the first place.
As bell hooks wrote, “Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare.”
Building a Foundation That Actually Holds
This journey I’ve described—from understanding the roots of rest resistance to beginning to reclaim your right to restoration—isn’t a linear path with a clear endpoint.
It’s a gradual process of reinforcing your psychological foundation. So that it can better support moments of stillness without feeling like structural collapse.
Your body’s resistance to rest is actually evidence of its remarkable capacity to protect you—to keep you vigilant and prepared in environments where that vigilance was once necessary for survival.
The challenge now is to help your nervous system recognize that the landscape has changed—that moments of rest can be safe, that downregulation doesn’t have to signal danger, that you can gradually expand your capacity for stillness without structural collapse.
That’s why I’ve created “Rest as Structural Reinforcement”—a nervous system-informed workbook that guides you through the exact practices that helped women like Elena, Lucia, and Olivia gradually rebuild their relationship with rest. This isn’t about productivity hacks or surface-level relaxation tips—it’s about rewiring the foundation level patterns that make rest feel threatening in the first place.
The workbook isn’t just information.
It’s a guided journey of transformation based on my work with hundreds of women navigating these exact patterns. It’s the next step from the What (what’s happening in my system?) to the How (how do I begin to rewire these patterns?). Paid subscribers will receive the workbook next Sunday.
And then, the week after you receive the workbook, you’ll receive a personal letter from me. Sharing exactly how this theme has shown up in my life and what I’m doing about it. (Hint: it will involve stories of my own rest resistance. And the small practices that have gradually changed my relationship with stillness. One of which is super ridiculous but seems to work.)
Also, paid subscribers, don’t forget that you can submit your questions anonymously all month long so I can address them in the Q&A on the 4th Sunday of every month. Your questions help shape our community’s learning.
Wherever you find yourself on this journey—whether rest feels like a distant impossibility or you’ve begun to experience brief moments of genuine restoration—know that your longing for rest is not weakness.
It is your body’s wisdom speaking, reminding you of a fundamental truth that trauma and socialization may have obscured: you are worthy of replenishment simply because you exist.
Not because of what you produce, achieve, or provide to others, but because rest is your birthright as a living being.
The journey toward rest after trauma isn’t about perfection but possibility—the possibility that stillness might someday feel not like falling, but actually feel really damn good.
Warmly, Annie
Porges, S. W. (2022). Polyvagal Theory: A Science of Safety. Frontiers in Integrative Neuroscience. https://www.frontiersin.org/journals/integrative-neuroscience/articles/10.3389/fnint.2022.871227/full
hooks, b. (1993). Sisters of the yam: Black women and self-recovery. South End Press.
