Rest as Resistance: Why Rest Is the Rebellion We Didn’t Know We Needed
We live in a world that tells us to do more, be more, prove more.
And many of us—especially women—have answered that call our entire lives.
We’ve been praised for being high-achieving, selfless, always available, and productive. We’ve been rewarded for over-functioning and over-delivering, all while neglecting our own rest, creativity, and connection to self. Somewhere along the way, rest became a luxury instead of a birthright.
But what if I told you that rest—true, intentional, unapologetic rest—is actually one of the most radical things we can do?
As a boudoir and fine art photographer, and also as a mother, a nurse, and a woman walking her own journey of healing, I see this deep exhaustion show up all the time. Clients arrive at my sessions carrying so much—overwhelm, burnout, disconnection from their bodies, their creativity, their softness.
They say things like:
“I don’t even recognize myself anymore.”
“I haven’t done anything for me in years.”
“I feel guilty just being here.”
That guilt? That disconnection? That’s not personal failure. That’s conditioning.
We’ve been shaped by a culture that prioritizes productivity over presence, perfection over pleasure, performance over peace. And the cost? Our bodies, our joy, our aliveness.
Rest isn’t just about sleeping more or finally getting that weekend off. It’s about remembering that we are not machines. We are cyclical beings. We’re allowed to ebb and flow. We’re allowed to have seasons of deep rest, softening, creativity, and ease.
When we rest, we reconnect to our intuition.
When we rest, we create space for our imagination to return.
When we rest, we rebel against a system that thrives on our depletion.
Rest is resistance. Rest is healing. Rest is a way home.
Rest might look like…
In my work with women through boudoir and storytelling photography, I’ve seen what happens when we allow ourselves to pause and be seen—not for who the world wants us to be, but for who we actually are. That moment of stillness in front of the camera becomes a kind of rest. A remembering. A reclamation.
I’ve been dreaming lately about creating a space—not just in front of the camera—but a real, physical, sacred space where we gather and rest.
Together.
Intentionally.
Creatively.
I don’t have all the details yet. But I know this: rest doesn’t have to be solitary. And we weren’t meant to heal alone.
So I’m asking—what would a gathering rooted in rest look like for you?
Would you come? Would you lie on the floor with other women and breathe deeply and reclaim softness? Would you create? Dream? Just be?
Tell me. I want to know.
And in the meantime, give yourself permission to rest today—even just a little.
You don’t have to earn it.
You already deserve it.
With love,
Kristen