I Forgot to Rest… Again- but its ok because I have a crown.

I talk about self-care a lot. I encourage it in the women's groups I run. I design sessions around it. I post about it. I remind people, lovingly and firmly, that they deserve rest and nourishment.

But lately? I’ve been absolutely terrible at doing it myself.

Here’s the truth: I’m a mum. I work for myself. I run community groups. I mentor others. I’m managing ADHD and perimenopause. I have a high-energy puppy and a brain that doesn’t come with an off switch. And somewhere in the middle of doing everything for everyone else… I forget to check in with myself.

I don’t notice I’m burning out until I’m already charred at the edges.

And then I crash. Not in a glamorous, Instagrammable, bubble-bath kind of way, I crash onto the sofa with a packet of crisps, 3 different drinks, my scratchy cushion (stimming tool) socks and shoes strewn about, wrapped up in a blanket because I haven’t realised how cold I am and then I consume six hours of Netflix I didn’t plan to watch. My brain says “let’s just get comfy for a bit,” and suddenly I’ve blinked and its midnight. I haven't eaten properly; my legs are restless and flicking about like octopus tentacles from tension I didn't notice. Life just goes on around me and I don’t even notice, my husband and kids come home from work, they take one look at me and realise I am not worth talking to and they go on about their evening. I'm emotionally flatlined, zoned out.

Sound familiar?

ADHD + Burnout = A Sneaky Spiral

One thing I’ve learned about ADHD for me is that energy management isn’t just about “doing less.” It’s about noticing when I’m doing too much, which is hard when hyperfocus kicks in and I feel like I’m flying.

But the crash always comes.

And when you’re neurodivergent, running on empty doesn’t always look like “rest.” Sometimes it looks like zoning out. Doom Scrolling. Avoiding. Cancelling plans. Dissociating a little bit. Not because we’re lazy, but because our nervous systems are fried, and no one ever taught us how to truly unwind in a way that works for us.

So, What Helps?

I don’t have a perfect answer, but here’s what I’m experimenting with, in my real, messy life:

• Micro-rests. I’ve stopped waiting for a whole day off. I’m trying to build tiny rests into the day, five minutes of laying in my new garden chairs. A hot cup of coffee without multitasking. Letting myself do nothing while the kettle boils.

• Body check-ins. I’m asking myself a few times a day: How am I feeling? Where does it ache? Have I had water? It sounds basic, but I forget if I don’t ask.

• Scheduled nothingness. I’m putting rest in my calendar like a meeting. “Stare out the window at 3pm” is now a valid appointment.

• Permission to flop. If I end up on the sofa with Netflix, I do not shame myself for it. Sometimes, that's all I have to give. And that’s okay. It doesn't undo all the good I've done elsewhere.

• Compassion > productivity. I’m learning (slowly) that resting isn’t “wasting time.” It’s essential maintenance. I can’t pour into others if I’m bone dry.

• Wear the crown. I ordered an actual crown during a hyperfocus moment and honestly? I think it looks amazing. I plan to wear it around the house just to remind myself that rest is not just allowed, it’s royal. I deserve to feel cared for, too like a Queen.

You’re Not Lazy. You’re Overdue for Rest.

If you’re reading this and nodding along, I see you. You might be holding a million invisible threads together. You might be so used to pushing through that you don’t realise how loud your body is whispering: slow down. Mine now screams at me and its usually shows up as pain, having no words to speak, and anger.

Rest isn’t indulgent. It’s medicine. It’s sacred. It’s the thing that allows us to keep being the carers, the creatives, the leaders, the mothers, the mentors.

And yes, I’ll probably still forget. I’ll overdo it. I’ll get sucked into something exciting. I’ll push past tired until my puppy is the only one with any energy left.

But I’m working on it, not perfectly, but with kindness to myself. One crown wearing moment and deep breath at a time.