This post has been a struggle to write. Not just because it requires a lot of vulnerability, though that's part of it. And it's not just about finding the right words. Most of the struggle has been fatigue. It's hard to find the energy to open my text editor and when I do, my brain feels like mush.

Most of my life revolves around productivity. This is typical for Americans. From a young age, we are steeped in productivity culture. We are always doing something, running from boredom. But lately, I've fallen ill, and I'm forced to rest.

Fatigue sets in

I don't know when I'll be better. We don't even know what's going on yet¹. I'm working with specialists now.

A few months ago, pain appeared. It was sporadic, and then became constant. Constant pain brought with it fatigue, brain fog, and nausea.

The first week of my fatigue was the hardest in some respects. This last week was the hardest in others. At first, I was absolutely crushed because I couldn't do my usual activities. No woodworking, no physical play with the kids, no deep discussions with coworkers. This week, I've learned how to manage it, and instead it's the indeterminate duration that's crushing.

Between the first week of the fatigue and now, I've had to recalibrate. I've had to learn that I can't power through this and just be active. There is no amount of sleep that will make me "normal" right now, unless this is the new normal. Instead, I have to reduce what I do and adjust my (and others') expectations.

My ability in almost everything is impaired. I'm not as available and capable as I'd like in my roles as mom, partner, friend, or engineer. And I have to be really careful not to overdo it. If I go for too long of a walk, I might have stronger fatigue for days after.

I'm starting to accept my current condition. With acceptance, I'm better able to lean into rest instead of resisting it, and I'm approaching a steady state. I know how much rest I need (a lot), how much work I can do (a little), and how much I can chat with friends (too much and not enough, at the same time).

We're not taught how to rest

We rest to give ourselves time to heal and recover, physically and mentally. Rest is characterized by absence. If you were doing manual labor, resting requires an absence of physical activity. If you were writing code, resting requires an absence of that mental effort. Right now for me, resting requires both: shutting off my body and my mind.

In childhood, we take naps because our body demands it. We shed naps gradually as we get closer to school age. As we go through school, into college, into adult life, our responsibilities grow. Demands on us intensify through our lives, always added, never subtracted. As you get more capable, you get more burdens to shoulder².

We are taught a lot by our teachers, parents, and mentors. We're shown how to ride a bike, and tie our shoes, and ask someone to a dance. We're taught how to solve for x, and check our sources, and write an essay.

But we're not taught how to rest. How to deliberately take a break from doing things to recover. Rest is built into our daily structure, but it's imposed on us, rather than something we're taught to practice and cherish.

Creativity as an act of love

Being ill has forced me to examine what's important to me. I've been asking myself why being forced to rest is so hard.

What it comes down to is that for me, creativity and making things is an act of love. In some ways this is directly visible. One of the main ways I care for those I'm close to is by cooking nutritious, delicious food for them. In other ways it's less visible. My creative pursuits (writing, woodworking, coding) are acts of self-expression and of love for every person I share the result with.

With my new limits, I am unable to perform the acts of love that I'm used to. It's too draining to stand and cook a nutritious meal for my family every day. It's too draining to do all the code reviews and design docs my team is used to. It's too draining to go work on a project in my workshop. This is a painful reduction in my ability to care for other people, to show them love.

The creative pursuit I've retained throughout this is my writing. I'm taking time to write, because it brings me joy, and joy will help me through this. I've written at least one blog post every single week since September 2022. Being able to keep doing this, and being able to keep having a connection with each person reading it, buoys me throughout this long process. Thank you for being here <3.

"Enjoy your resting!"

I recently had a two-hour long radiology procedure. My arms were pinned to my side, an IV attached, for the duration. At the halfway mark, the nurse administered a new medication and said, "Enjoy your resting!" I was irritated, because it felt like I was doing anything but resting. My whole body was stiff, and I was stuck staring up at mundane ceiling tiles.

But during the scan, I did truly get some rest. There was not a lot of mental effort I could do, because I didn't have the energy or knowledge to keep thinking about my next ergonomic setup. Instead, I had practice some of the ways to rest that I've learned in adulthood. I did breathing exercises, paid mindful attention to my surroundings, performed body scans, and meditated. These got me through the scan, even that one patch with that really bad itch on my forehead.

I got to practice these skills because I was forced to. When we're tired at home, it's easy to turn to devices: light entertainment that's easy, but not really restful. My phone winds up in my hand without a lot of thought when I can't process words well enough to read a book. My eyes go to mindless videos on my laptop when I'm too tired to move and do anything else. But with no other option, I was able to turn inward and rest, and find some peace with it.

What's next for me?

Throughout my illness, I've kept up my weekly writing cadence. Last week was dicey, and I barely got the post edited in time. No one would fault me for skipping a week, but... I will keep going.

I've been writing consistently here since September 2022. Writing this much, this consistently, has surprised me. I didn't know I had this much to say, and I had no idea that so many people would want to read it³.

Writing is an anchor for me. It's my connection to all of you, to the world. And it's a creative pursuit that I can do even when I'm not at my best⁴. When it's hard to open an editor, sometimes, I do it anyway. I do it because it drains my body but it recharges my soul.

My posting in the next few weeks, months, however long this takes... It might change in character. But I'm going to be here. That's a promise to you and to myself.

And I'm going to be resting. Part of resting means accepting that I can do less. That means I'm going to have fewer technical posts, and more personal posts. It just depends on where my brain decides to go and what I have the energy for. But no matter what, I'll be here.

Thank you to Erika Rowland, Dan Reich, and Eugenia Tietz-Sokolskaya for feedback on a draft of this post.