How Do You Press Pause?

On the ache to rest, the art of slowing down, and the fragile joy that hums beneath the surface.

For anyone who’s ever promised themselves rest “once everything’s done” — this one’s for you.

Some weeks, it feels as though everything sits too close to the surface — the noise, the worry, the anxiety, even the joy.

This is me trying to listen to what my body has been whispering all along: pause.

A body caught between the pull to do and the need to rest. Because life is full of contradictions and we aren’t just one or the other, we are multifaceted human beings who can enjoy the quietness of a walk in a forest but also find energy in the buzz of a city. We can have a love for cinnamon buns but also enjoy a green smoothie. Wanting a simple life but also enjoying luxurious things too. I want to have things planned and make the most of every spare moment but then I want to go to bed and not leave the house.

I’ve spoken a lot about wanting to slow down — to hibernate, to prepare to winter.

But I’m also someone who loves to plan, to have things to look forward to.

Someone who isn’t very good at listening to what her body is trying to tell her, or taking her own advice.

Lately, I’ve felt a deep pull to stop. To press pause. To spend a day in bed doing nothing.

To let go of planning and give myself weekends of nothing — just me, my pyjamas, a book, and some trashy TV.

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But how do you actually do that?

When there is always so much “to do.”

I tell myself that once I’ve caught up — once I’ve done the things on my list — then I can stop and enjoy a guilt-free day of rest.

When the niggling anxiety quiets down, then I can relax.

But there’s never a perfect day when you reach that point. Never.

My office will always need sorting. There will always be admin that needs doing.

There’s always the stuff in the loft that needs organising.

My house is never as clean and tidy as I would like.

I’m yet to start the craft projects I’ve promised myself, or take the exercise class I keep meaning to book.

So how do you turn down the volume of your mind, and tune into your body instead?

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I learnt a new phrase today: “à fleur de peau.”

It literally means “at the skin’s surface,” but is used figuratively to describe heightened sensitivity.

Like many French phrases, it makes the emotions sound far more beautiful than the reality often is.

As someone who feels everything acutely, I love the image of my emotions bubbling just below the surface — my skin the barrier keeping them in.

It’s how I physically feel them: buzzing, humming beneath.

And yet, I often feel as though my skin is paper thin, because I care too much about what others think of me.

It’s another reason I struggle to relax, to fully surrender to rest.

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Last week, my emotions slipped through the surface and came pouring out — in floods of tears that left me empty and exhausted.

I arrived at my facial the next morning after crying all night, and I cannot tell you how magical it felt to be held and looked after in that moment. Sometimes we are the scared little girl who just needs someone to mother us back to ourselves again. Someone who creates a safe space for us to let go.

Unsurprisingly, only days later, I started to feel physically unwell — my stomach tight, a nauseous hum beneath the surface.

I don’t know whether it’s another bug or just the byproduct of anxiety, but I do know this:

I need to get better at switching off my mind and resting, because I feel on the edge of burning out.

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Last weekend I went to visit my best friend, and I crashed the moment I arrived.

I felt lucky to be in the safety of her company — to just be myself, to fall asleep on the sofa, to go to bed at 8 p.m.

Still, I felt guilty for being a rubbish friend and guest, for not being fully in the moment because I felt so utterly spent.

(There’s a rather “delightful” photo of me asleep on the sofa — but sorry, Claire, I’m not sharing it here. Thank you though for always being my safe space to fall apart in.)

On Monday morning, I pushed through work and was rewarded with the most beautiful walk in the forest —

sunlight beaming through the trees, spotting toadstools on the path.

a quiet reminder that joy has a way of sneaking in when we need it most.

A small spark to reignite my fire.

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Maybe the pause isn’t something we plan, but something that happens when we finally let go —

when the body says enough, and the world, in its quiet way, holds us still.

Perhaps it isn’t a single act, but a series of small surrenders —

choosing not to tidy the room, not to answer the message, not to fill the space.

Maybe joy lives somewhere in that surrender — quiet but fierce, waiting beneath the noise for us to notice it.

I’m starting to think pressing pause isn’t about stopping everything,

but about softening into what is.

Letting the world blur for a moment,

remembering that joy — fragile, fierce joy — still hums beneath the surface,

à fleur de peau. Perfectly imperfect.

Until next time,

P.S here’s a quick list of the things bringing me joy this week and are great accompaniments to slowing down!

Listening to this song on repeat;

Reading; Ros Huxley’s debut novel “Kendal Acts Up”. Which I’m really enjoying and have found myself laughing out loud to several times.

Listening to; I love Greg James and his book so far is brilliant.

Watching; I’m a life long fan of Victoria Beckham (she lived ten minutes away from me as we grew up and I was always Posh Spice when we pretended to be Spice Girls!) Also a huge David Beckham fan!! (He just gets better with age!) So I am very much enjoying this, so far;

And leaving you with this;