Which, for most adults, apparently means sitting down for eleven minutes without checking your phone and then feeling strangely guilty about it.
A while ago I announced to people I was taking two weeks off.
No laptop.
No work phone.
No meetings.
Honestly, the reactions were fascinating.
Some people looked genuinely concerned, like I’d announced I was moving into the woods to communicate only through interpretive dance and herbal tea.
Others immediately asked:
“But what if somebody needs you?”
Exactly.
Somewhere along the way many of us started believing being permanently available was a sign of importance.
As if exhaustion is now some kind of professional status symbol.
“I’m shattered.”
“I’ve not stopped.”
“I’m flat out.”
Modern adulthood basically became one long competition to see who can neglect themselves most efficiently.
I understand it because I’ve absolutely done it myself over the years.
Especially when you genuinely love your work.
When work gives you purpose, identity, connection and stimulation, it becomes very easy to blur the line between passion and permanent availability.
You tell yourself:
“It’s fine.”
“I enjoy this.”
“One more call.”
“One more email.”
“One more thing to sort.”
Then suddenly you realise you’ve spent months emotionally living inside your laptop.
Poor sleep.
Low patience.
Brain fog.
Feeling tired but weirdly unable to properly relax.
That’s not laziness.
That’s depletion.
For years I’ve talked about managing energy rather than just managing time, and the older I get the more true that feels.
Because your energy affects everything.
Your thinking.
Your patience.
Your creativity.
Your relationships.
Your health.
And unlike modern technology, humans do not recharge fully by plugging themselves into a wall beside the bed whilst scrolling social media until midnight.
Although many of us seem committed to testing that theory.
The strange thing about self care is people often reduce it to bubble baths and cucumber slices over your eyes while whale music plays in the background.
Nothing wrong with that if that’s your thing obviously.
But real self care is often much less glamorous.
Rest.
Sleep.
Saying no.
Turning your phone off.
Taking a walk instead of another meeting.
Listening when your body quietly says:
“I need a break.”
That last one is harder than it sounds for many people.
Because high performers often confuse slowing down with failure.
I know I have.
There’s a part of me that still occasionally believes if I stop moving everything will somehow collapse around me.
Which is both irrational and apparently deeply human.
Rest is not the opposite of productivity.
Recovery is part of productivity.
Athletes understand this brilliantly.
They train hard, but they also recover deliberately because growth happens during recovery, not constant exertion.
Emotionally many adults still haven’t learned that lesson.
We just keep going until the body starts filing formal complaints.
One thing holidays genuinely give us is perspective.
The moment you step away from routines, noise and constant stimulation, something interesting starts happening mentally.
Your nervous system softens slightly.
You think differently.
Breathe differently.
Notice things again.
Food tastes better.
Conversations slow down.
You suddenly realise sunsets exist and your inbox is not, in fact, the centre of the known universe.
Phones especially.
Most people can no longer sit quietly for five minutes without instinctively reaching for a screen.
Lift.
Queue.
Toilet.
Traffic lights probably if we’re honest.
Constant input.
And the nervous system never fully settles because there’s always more information, more noise, more emotional stimulation arriving.
That’s why unplugging matters so much.
Not forever.
Just occasionally.
Long enough to hear yourself think again.
Some of my favourite moments on holiday are genuinely boring by normal standards.
Coffee in silence.
Walking.
Watching the sea.
Laughing with family.
Sitting outside doing absolutely nothing productive whatsoever.
And somehow those moments feel richer than half the things we rush around chasing all year.
Not the consultant.
Not the manager.
Not the leader.
Not the parent trying to hold everything together.
Just you.
A human being who occasionally needs rest, laughter, sunlight, good food and a nervous system not permanently vibrating with notifications.
The biggest thing I’ve learned though?
Self care is not selfish.
You are not more valuable because you’re exhausted.
And constantly sacrificing yourself for work, responsibility or productivity eventually leaves you with nothing meaningful left to give anyone else anyway.
So these days I try much harder to protect moments of recovery before burnout forces the issue for me.
Not perfectly.
I still drift back into bad habits sometimes.
But I notice sooner now.
And honestly, there’s something deeply satisfying about putting your phone away, ignoring the outside world for a while and remembering that life is supposed to be experienced…
not just managed.
