Have you ever found yourself looking forward to a day off, an evening with nothing planned, or a long-awaited holiday, only to realise that instead of feeling calm, you feel... anxious? Perhaps your mind won't slow down. Maybe you find yourself thinking about everything you haven't done yet, or feeling guilty for sitting still. Sometimes there's a restlessness that's difficult to explain, or an uneasy feeling that something isn't quite right.

If this sounds familiar, you're certainly not alone.

One of the things I've come to notice through my work as a counsellor is that many people expect anxiety to disappear the moment the pressure eases. They tell themselves, "Once work calms down, I'll feel better," or "Once I get a break, I'll finally be able to relax."

But often, that's not quite what happens.

Sometimes it's in the quiet that we begin to hear ourselves. When we're busy, we're often moving from one thing to the next. There are emails to answer, people to care for, jobs to finish, and responsibilities to carry. We become so used to being "on" that we don't always have the opportunity to notice what's happening within us.

Then everything slows down.

And suddenly the thoughts we've been pushing aside begin to surface. Emotions we've managed to keep at arm's length start asking for our attention. Our bodies, which have been carrying us through, begin to let us know just how tired they really are. I've often wondered whether anxiety during rest is less about rest itself and more about finally having the space to notice what has been there all along. For some people, being busy has become familiar. It's where they feel useful, needed or in control. Slowing down can feel strangely uncomfortable because it's unfamiliar. There can even be a quiet voice saying, "You should be doing something."

Many of us have learned, often without even realising it, to measure our worth by how much we achieve, how much we give to others, or how much we can cope with. Rest can begin to feel like something we have to earn rather than something we need. And then there's another layer to all of this.
Even when we're away from work, the world doesn't stop.

"Perhaps the greatest kindness we can offer ourselves is to stop believing that our value depends on how much we achieve or how much of ourselves we give away."

We continue to hear difficult news. We witness suffering, injustice and uncertainty. Many people carry a deep sense of compassion for others, and with that can come sadness, helplessness or worry. Even if those experiences aren't happening directly to us, they can still leave an emotional imprint. We are living in a time where the world can feel unpredictable and, at times, overwhelming. It makes sense that our nervous systems can feel stretched by that. Sometimes people tell me they feel guilty for being affected by what's happening around them, especially if they believe others have it worse. But emotions don't work like that. We don't have to justify why something has touched us.  I think there's something deeply human about caring. And there's something equally human about recognising that constantly carrying the weight of the world isn't something we're meant to do alone.

 

In person-centred counselling, we don't tend to ask, "How do we get rid of this feeling?" Instead, we might gently wonder, "What is this feeling trying to tell us?" Perhaps it is telling us we're exhausted. Perhaps we've been holding everything together for so long that we no longer know how to let ourselves soften.

Perhaps we've spent so much time looking after everyone else that we've forgotten how to notice what we need.

Or perhaps there isn't an immediate answer at all.

Sometimes what we need isn't another strategy or another thing to do. Sometimes we need a space where we don't have to perform, fix or explain ourselves. A space where we can arrive exactly as we are and discover, often for the first time in a long while, what it's like to be truly heard. That doesn't make the anxiety disappear overnight. But I've seen how powerful it can be when someone begins to meet themselves with curiosity rather than criticism. I think we're often much kinder to other people than we are to ourselves. We'd encourage a friend to take a break. We'd tell them they deserve to rest. We'd reassure them that they're doing enough.

Yet when it comes to ourselves, the rules somehow become different. Maybe part of learning to relax isn't about forcing ourselves to switch off. Maybe it's about gently understanding why switching off feels so difficult in the first place.

If you've recognised yourself in any of these words, I hope you'll know that there isn't something wrong with you. Your anxiety isn't a sign that you've failed at resting. It may simply be telling the story of someone who has been carrying a great deal for a long time.
And perhaps that's something worthy of compassion rather than judgement.