Somewhere along the way, rest became conditional.
Something you were allowed after you showed up enough.
After you explained yourself clearly.
After you reassured, responded, accommodated.
You learned — quietly — that love was tied to output.
How present you were.
How available.
How much you could give before needing anything back.
So when exhaustion arrived, rest didn’t feel like relief.
It felt like something you had to justify.
You waited for the “right moment” to slow down.
You minimized your needs so they wouldn’t feel like too much.
You apologized for being tired — as if your body were doing something wrong.
But love was never meant to be transactional.
Rest is not a reward for good behavior.
It’s a requirement for sustainability.
And yet, many of us carry the belief that we have to earn it —
especially in relationships.
We push through fatigue because we don’t want to disappoint.
We ignore signals because someone else’s comfort feels more important than our own.
We give until there’s nothing left, then wonder why resentment appears.
That’s not love failing.
That’s a system that never allowed rest in the first place.
You are not less loving because you need recovery.
You are not withdrawing affection because you pause.
You are not selfish for honoring your limits.
Rest doesn’t take anything away from love.
It protects it.
It keeps care from turning into obligation.
It keeps generosity from becoming self-erasure.
It keeps connection from being fueled by guilt.
When rest is allowed without explanation, love softens.
It becomes less performative.
More honest.
More human.
And maybe this is the shift that changes everything:
Instead of asking, “Have I done enough to rest?”
What if you asked, “What does my body need to stay?”
Because love that requires exhaustion to prove its existence
isn’t asking for devotion —
it’s asking for depletion.
You don’t need to earn rest in love.
You’re allowed to have it simply because you’re human —
and because love was never meant to cost you your health.

Leave a comment