I stopped.
Not because I was lazy,
but because I was done bleeding for things
that never fed me.
I silenced the alarms,
let the world spin without me,
and for once—
I didn’t chase it.
I rested.
And that was my rebellion.
Because somewhere between
“grind culture” and “girl boss,”
we forgot what peace costs.
We forgot that survival
shouldn’t feel like sprinting.
My to-do list begged for mercy.
My phone blinked like a needy child.
But my soul?
She whispered, “enough.”
And I listened.
I took a nap instead of a meeting,
I said no instead of sorry,
I logged off instead of explaining.
That’s not weakness.
That’s wisdom.
That’s healing in real time.
See—rest isn’t retreat.
It’s repair.
It’s how you remind your body
you are not a machine.
It’s how you remind your mind
you’re allowed to be still
without being stuck.
Some won’t get it—
they’ll call you unmotivated,
selfish, or dramatic.
But those are the same people
running on fumes
and calling it ambition.
So today, I’m not chasing peace.
I’m protecting it.
I’m reclaiming what the world tried to monetize—
my energy, my attention, my worth.
This is my quiet protest.
My gentle riot.
My revolution wrapped in blankets.
I rested.
And that was my rebellion.
