Why Rest Feels Like the Enemy: The Truth About Life with ME/CFS & Long Covid

If rest was as easy as everyone says... you’d just do it.

We wouldn’t need to talk about it. You wouldn’t need blog posts, books, or random wellness gurus telling you how to “embrace stillness.”

But if you’re anything like me or most of the people I know who live with ME/CFS or Long Covid, rest is not some cozy invitation. It feels more like a punishment for being sick. And if you don’t get to the root of why, you’ll spend the rest of your life fighting yourself.

So, let’s go there. No platitudes, no “self-care is radical” slogans, just the real, messy, psychological reality behind why people like us can’t stop pushing, even when it’s killing us.

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The Culture of Never Enough: Why We Can’t Sit Still

You want to know why it’s hard to rest? Because most of us were raised in a world where our worth was measured in output. How much you got done. How many people you helped. How few needs you had of your own.

Think back: How many times did you get praised for taking a break, asking for help, or leaving a job half-done because you were tired? I’ll wait...

Exactly.

From the jump, most women get the message that our job is to keep things running... quietly, efficiently, invisibly. It doesn’t matter if you grew up in a house where chores were “just expected,” or if you watched your mom do everything while everyone else coasted. We learn young that stopping means someone (or everyone) will be disappointed, and it will probably be our fault.

This is doubly true if you were a “high achiever” or the “responsible one.” Maybe you even prided yourself on never missing a deadline, being the one people could count on, or always putting others first. That’s not an accident. That’s survival.

The People-Pleaser’s Trap

Here’s a nasty little truth: for a lot of us, rest doesn’t feel safe because it feels selfish. Somewhere deep down, there’s a belief that if you’re not actively doing something for others, you’re letting them down.

So what do we do? We keep moving. We stay “useful.” We make ourselves indispensable. Because the alternative, facing the possibility that someone might judge us, resent us, or (god forbid) not need us is too much to bear.

This isn’t just about “other people,” either. If you’ve internalized these beliefs long enough, you start policing yourself. You judge yourself for even wanting rest. You feel guilty for being tired, angry for being sick, and ashamed for not being able to “just push through.”

When Illness Pulls the Rug Out

Enter ME/CFS or Long Covid. Now, the game changes. The old rules (push harder, suck it up, fake it till you make it) don’t just stop working, they actively backfire.

Suddenly, every attempt to act “normal” is met with a brick wall. You go for a walk? You’re wrecked for three days. You try to keep up with family or work? Crash. Repeat. Nothing about your old life fits anymore, and neither does your old coping strategy.

Let's be honest: This loss of identity is devastating. Not just because you miss the old you, but because you have no idea how to function without being “the one who gets it done.” You’re grieving, not just your energy, but your entire way of being.

And then, right on cue, everyone around you starts saying the same thing: “You just need to rest more.” (As if you hadn’t thought of that. As if you aren’t desperate for relief.)

The Psychology of “Rest Resistance”

Let’s break this down: Why does rest trigger so much discomfort, fear, and even shame?

1. Rest = Loss of Control

When you’re forced to rest, you lose your grip on the things that made you feel valuable, competent, and let’s be real—safe. The world keeps spinning, and you’re benched.

For most of us, busyness feels like insurance against everything falling apart. Rest means giving up the constant vigilance that once kept you (and everyone else) afloat. When you’ve survived by always being useful, staying in motion feels like armor. Letting go? Feels downright dangerous.

2. Rest = Proof of Failure

For high-achievers and people-pleasers, needing rest feels like proof you’ve “failed.” It’s irrational, but it’s real. You start thinking, “If I was strong enough, disciplined enough, or just tried harder, I wouldn’t be here.” Never mind that ME/CFS and Long Covid don’t work that way. The guilt and shame are real, and they run deep.

3. Rest = Social Threat

Humans are wired for connection and belonging. When you can’t keep up, or you have to opt out, it triggers primal fears: “If I don’t contribute, will I be left behind? Judged? Rejected?” (And yes, it hurts.)

Brain studies show that social rejection lights up the same pain centers as physical injury, so the fear isn’t just in your head, it’s hardwired into your biology.

4. Rest = Boredom & Unmet Needs

Let’s not forget: a lot of us used busyness to avoid sitting with our own feelings. When you rest, you’re left with yourself—and all the stuff you’ve been dodging. Grief, fear, anger, loneliness. No wonder Netflix and scrolling TikTok feel safer.

If you’ve spent years running from discomfort, true rest isn’t relaxing, it’s like being locked in a room with everything you’ve been trying not to feel.

5. Rest = Loss of Identity

This is the big one. When you’re used to being defined by what you do, forced rest feels like an identity crisis. If I’m not productive, who the hell am I?

The world rewards the doers and the fixers, not the ones stuck on pause. When illness steals your ability to “prove” your worth, it doesn’t just take away your old routines, it rips out the scaffolding holding up your entire sense of self.

The Real Cost: Chronic Push, Chronic Crash

You know the cycle. You rest just enough to feel “sort of okay,” then immediately do too much to make up for lost time. Cue: crash. Repeat until your baseline drops lower, and lower, and you forget what it ever felt like to be “well.”

It’s not just exhausting. It’s demoralizing. And every time you crash, it reinforces all those old beliefs:

• “See? I can’t be trusted to slow down.”

• “I’m not strong enough.”

• “Resting just makes things worse.”

This is the internal war—not the illness, but the shame, guilt, and fear about what rest “means.”

Your Nervous System is Wired for Survival (Not Rest)

If your brain doesn’t feel safe, your body can’t rest.
We’re talking about the autonomic nervous system, your body’s fight, flight, freeze, or faint response. If you spent years on high alert (because of trauma, stress, or just being a woman in the 21st century), your nervous system literally doesn’t know how to downshift.

With ME/CFS and Long Covid, this is amplified. Research (see Dr. Jarred Younger, Dr. Nancy Klimas, etc.) shows that neuroinflammation, immune dysfunction, and a frazzled nervous system are all tangled up in the illness. When your brain gets the signal that “something is wrong,” it pumps out chemicals to keep you hypervigilant. It’s not your fault. It’s biology.

But the only way to heal—literally, the only way—is to teach your body that rest is safe. Not just physically, but emotionally and psychologically.

Rest is the Work

Rest isn’t what you do so you can “get back to work.”
Rest is the work.

This is true for everyone, but it’s essential for people with ME/CFS or Long Covid. Your job now is not to produce, fix, or please. Your job is to create safety for your brain and body. That’s how you stop the crash cycle. That’s how you start to heal.

The Permission Slip You Never Got

I wish someone had told me this sooner: You’re not lazy. You’re not weak. You’re not “giving up.” You’re doing the hardest work of your life—unlearning years of survival mode and teaching your body it’s finally safe to rest.

It’s not about letting go of ambition, drive, or purpose. It’s about redefining what “success” looks like. It’s about shifting from “How much did I do today?” to “Did I treat myself like someone who matters?”

How to Make Rest Safe: Practical Steps (That Actually Work)

Alright, enough theory. Here’s what I’ve learned—personally and professionally—about making rest feel safer, more productive, and, dare I say, meaningful.

1. Call Out the Bullshit Beliefs

Get honest about the scripts running your life.

• “If I rest, I’ll fall behind.”

• “People will judge me.”

• “I’m only valuable if I’m busy.”

Write them down. Say them out loud. Then question them. Who benefits when you believe these things? Spoiler: It’s not you.

2. Redefine Success

Instead of measuring your worth in checked boxes, try this:

• Did I listen to my body today?

• Did I stop before I crashed (even if it felt pointless)?

• Did I treat myself with even a shred of kindness?

If yes, you’re winning. If not, you’re human. Try again tomorrow.

3. Set Boundaries Like Your Life Depends On It

Because it does.
Protect your energy the way you’d protect a friend’s.

• Say no (even if it feels weird).

• Ask for help (even if it feels impossible).

• Cancel plans (even if people are disappointed).

You don’t owe anyone an explanation for taking care of yourself. Full stop.

4. Create a “Rest Ritual”

Make rest something you look forward to, not something you dread.

• Cozy blanket, cup of tea, noise-cancelling headphones.

• A short meditation, breathing exercise, or body scan.

• Permission to do absolutely nothing.

Signal to your body: “We’re safe now. It’s okay to let go.”

5. Process the Grief

This is heavy, but necessary. You didn’t choose this. It’s okay to mourn the old you, the missed opportunities, the things you wish you could do.

But you don’t have to get stuck there. Give yourself space to feel it, then keep going.

6. Find Your People

You need at least one person who gets it—someone you don’t have to explain yourself to, who doesn’t try to fix you or guilt-trip you into “trying harder.” Online, in person, wherever. Find your safe harbor.

7. Give Yourself Permission (Again and Again)

This isn’t a one-and-done thing. The world will keep telling you to do more. You’ll keep feeling the itch to prove yourself. When that happens, pause and remind yourself:
Rest isn’t selfish. It’s survival.
You’re allowed.

The Ongoing Practice

This isn’t a lesson you learn once and nail forever. This is daily work. Some days, you’ll crash and hate yourself for it. Some days, you’ll rest “perfectly” and still feel sick and like you’re failing. That’s okay.

You are doing the bravest thing imaginable—learning to value yourself, not for what you do, but for who you are.

Every time you choose rest, you’re not giving up. You’re breaking the cycle. You’re doing the work your body actually needs. And that, in a world that rewards burnout, is real rebellion.

Final Word

This stuff is hard. Not just because of the illness, but because of the world we live in. It’s not weakness to struggle with rest. It’s not failure to want to be useful. But you are useful, even on your worst days. You are valuable, even when you can’t lift a finger.

Rest isn’t the enemy. The real enemy is the belief that you have to earn your right to exist.

So, permission granted: Take the damn rest. Again and again. The world will wait.