Ok, enough chit chat. What’s today’s question?
Why do I feel guilty when I relax now that I finally have time?
That guilt is real.
And strangely common.
A lot of us spent decades treating relaxation like a reward you earn only after you’ve proven your usefulness to society. You sit down, and some invisible supervisor inside your chest clears his throat.
Back when work ran the calendar, rest had edges. Weekends, vacations, the occasional Tuesday afternoon that felt vaguely illegal. There was a structure to “off,” and you didn’t have to invent it yourself.
Retirement removes the referee.
So you take a nap and feel like you’re skipping class. You sit on the patio and think, Should I be doing something? You fold laundry you didn’t plan to fold. You “just check email” like you’re still on the clock.
That isn’t laziness. It’s habit.
The body can sit still long before the mind stops reporting for duty. And the mind, bless it, doesn’t know what to do with freedom other than try to manage it like a project.
What helped me was noticing the difference between rest and hiding.
Rest restores you.
Hiding numbs you.
They can look similar from the outside, but inside they feel different.
Relaxation isn’t a moral issue. It’s a human one.
Over time, the guilt softens. You start to understand that the point of having time isn’t to fill it like a suitcase. It’s to finally have room for your own pace.
Some days you’ll do a lot.
Some days you won’t.
And the world will continue spinning either way, which is both humbling and, oddly, comforting.
What if the guilt is just the sound of an old life shutting down… and a quieter one booting up?
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