The Art of Doing Less

Let’s talk about something wildly underrated: rest. Real rest. Not the kind you cram into the five minutes before a Zoom call or the kind you feel guilty for taking because your inbox is overflowing. I’m talking about deep, intentional rest, the kind that only comes when you decide to do less. Not once. Not just on Sundays. But as a way of living.

I used to think rest was something you earned. Like a prize for making it to the end of your to-do list (spoiler: that list never ends). I measured my worth in how productive I was, how many balls I could keep in the air, how often I could say “I’m so busy” with pride. If I wasn’t exhausted, was I even trying?

You probably know how this story goes: burnout came knocking. Not once, but repeatedly. Each time more insistent, more draining. I’d built a life that looked good on paper but felt awful to live inside of. It was all noise and motion and achievement, yet I was rarely present. Rarely rested. Rarely me.

Eventually, I reached a point where I realised something had to change. I could no longer pretend that pushing through was sustainable. That always being available, always saying yes, always “making it work” was healthy or heroic. I had to do less. And not just temporarily. Permanently.

The Glorification of Busy

We live in a culture that celebrates being busy as a badge of honour. Productivity is treated like morality, like the more you do, the more you’re worth. Rest, on the other hand, is often dismissed as laziness or indulgence. Even when we do rest, we’re expected to make it look productive: meditate with an app, stretch while listening to a podcast, journal our gratitude list while lighting the perfect candle.

But here’s the hard truth:

* You can’t heal your exhaustion with more output.

* You can’t find stillness by constantly chasing it.

* And you can’t live intentionally when your life is dictated by everyone else’s urgency.

We are bombarded with messages to hustle, scale, grow, and maximise. But what if the real work is in slowing down, scaling back, and learning to be instead of do? What if the bravest thing we can do is opt out of the race altogether?

Doing less is not failure. It’s wisdom. It’s recognising that your energy is not infinite, and your life is not a project to optimise.

What Doing Less Really Means

Doing less doesn’t mean abandoning your responsibilities or opting out of life. It means becoming discerning. It means creating space, not just in your calendar but in your mind. It means letting go of what drains you and making more room for what nourishes you.

To me, doing less means:

* Saying no to things that don’t align with my values, even if I could technically “fit them in.”

* Not filling every gap in my day with noise or scrolling or productivity.

* Choosing quality over quantity—in conversations, in work, in how I show up for the people I love.

* Allowing slowness, even when urgency feels like the default.

This work is uncomfortable, especially at first. Slowing down brings up things we’ve long ignored. The fears we’ve buried under busyness. The questions we’ve avoided by staying distracted. But once the dust settles? What’s left is a life that feels rooted and real.

My Journey to Rest

Like so many others, the pandemic was my reckoning. When everything came to a standstill, I finally saw how exhausted I was. How performative my life had become. How disconnected I felt from the version of motherhood, entrepreneurship, and womanhood I was trying to maintain.

The pause was uncomfortable, yes. But it was also illuminating. Without all the noise, I could hear myself again. And I didn’t like what I heard at first. I was tired. I was unfulfilled. I was running a life that didn’t reflect my values.

So I began to let go. Slowly. Imperfectly. I gave myself permission to stop tryi