When Rest Becomes Exhausting

Sometimes our yawn isn’t so simple.

You didn’t fail to rest because you were dragging.
Rest failed because of what you were dragging.

We get vacation.
Personal time.
Weekends.

The opportunity to rest.
Relax.
Recuperate.

A strategic pause in our schedule.

That we don’t take.

And when we do?
We’re terrible at it.

Good night’s sleep?
Unattainable.

Energy?
Sitting on empty.

Motivation?
Sitting on the couch.

Traveling?
Checking  work emails and texts.

Doomscrolling in a lounge chair.

The majority of us either googled “snooze day…”

Or taken one.

Not because we’re sick,
because we’re functionally exhausted.

And then we mess it up.

Physically, comfortable.
Mentally, at work.

Emotionally, navigating guilt for taking a day.
Stress, not catching up on our to-do’s.
Worry, about what we’ll walk into tomorrow.

We roll back to the office.
Functionally exhausted.

Still.

_______________________

It’s Not Left or Right Brain. It’s Task or Default.

Sometimes our yawn isn’t from fatigue.

It’s from our words.
Like our brains, they don’t sleep.

Someone once said, “I’ll sleep when I’m dead…”
It’s a true statement.
It’s the only time our brain stops

I have yet to meet the person who googles Endogenous Brain Activity and Inner Speech.
Much less have anyone ask about it.

Or anyone who can say it.

Instead, we google “…why can’t I sleep…”
“Why am I always tired.”
“Is my smartwatch right about my sleep?”

Our brains are still organizing while we sleep.  
The past we’ve lived.
The day we had.
The future we’re planning.

Even in our dreams.

Our brains operate in two distinct modes, like a seesaw.

When we’re focused and goal oriented, the “task positive network” (TPN) is activated.

Work gets accomplished.
Meetings become productive.
Kids get to activities on time.

We may not get everything done we wanted.
There may have been speedbumps.
But we’re in the flow.

The second mode is our default mode network or DMN.
Instead of focusing on our goals and purpose, it has three primary concerns.

Ourselves.
How we see ourselves and how others view us.

The past, our list of “woulda, coulda, shoulda’s.”

Our future, rehearsals and simulations that prepare us for what’s ahead.

Taking notes in a meeting?
TPN.

The random thought about where to go to dinner after the meeting?
DMN.

Maybe the best way to compare the two?

TPN.   What’s happening.
DMN. What isn’t happening.

On average, nearly half our time is spent in default mode thinking about things:

·       That never happened.

·       Aren’t happening.

·       Won’t ever happen.

The highest rates of DMN occur while we get ready.
At work.
On our commute.

Those times we don’t remember the trip home?
Default mode.

When we didn’t hear the question?
Default mode.

When we stopped caring by the time we finished a long term project?
Default mode.

The activity DMN occurs the least?
Sex.

 The control between the two modes?
The prefrontal cortex.

Our “CEO.”

_____________________________

When the CEO Steps Away, Words Step In

It serves as the balance on the seesaw.
It’s deciding which mode to be in.

And it’s struggling.

Heavy use of social media weakens our ability to focus.
Our attention fragments, switching from checking notifications to the task at hand.

And what was cool as kids, balancing the seesaw perfectly.
Is chaos in our brain.

Like driving with one foot on the gas…
While the emergency brake is on.

We fight to focus,  while our DMN is busy writing narratives in our mind.
What we call brain fog or brain rot.

While we struggle, our CEO goes on break.
And our brain piles on.

With words.

We take in nearly 100,000 of them.
Daily.

Internet.
Email and text.
Television and radio.
Video games.
Reading.

Our thoughts add nearly 500,000 more.

Information paralysis.
Analysis paralysis.
Isn’t imagined.

It’s inevitable.

We shift from “deep connections.”
To “shallow processing.”

It becomes easier to understand when we hear:

“You don’t listen…”
“You never remember…”
“You’ve got a temper…”

Words get in the way.
Of words.

When we’re in “the zone.”
TPN is cruising around 4-800 words per minute.
The outside word goes silent.

We’re present.

Meetings turn productive.
Home, laughter and connection.
Obstacles, resolved.

But when we fall into our default?

Words become heavy.
Intrusive thoughts become loud.

Our attention drifts as our mind fills in words.
We land in a dead zone.

From the past,
“Why did I…”

In the present,
“I have to say yes…”

For the future,
“I’m not good enough...”

Meetings go silent.
Productivity stifled.

At home, dinner goes silent.
Slammed doors.

Momentum halted by doomscrolling.
Insomnia caused by ruminating.  

High functioning anxiety runs at 1500 – 2500 words per minute.

Causing decision fatigue.
Burnout.
Quiet quitting.

All while we google,

“Why do I have racing thoughts.”
“Why is my heart racing while I’m laying down.”

“What is wrong with me?”

_______________________________

0 to 60 Without Brakes…Or Even a Road

The moment words do real damage?

When we hit a wall of noise.
In crisis or panic.

Trying to stop our thoughts is like trying to stop a speeding locomotive with our bare hands.

And it can happen anytime.
For me,  in the cafeteria at corporate.
Surrounded by friends.

And at mom’s house.
With family.

Safe spaces.
Where words became dangerous. 

Even though we may face moments and even seasons of feeling shattered…

We aren’t broken.
The words and stories we carry might be.

They’re the weight we’re dragging.

Replaying conversations with people we may not even remember.
Practicing ones for people we may not have met, yet.

Listening to voices in an empty room.

That’s not stress.
That’s wordload.

Wordload (n.) The unseen accumulation of internal and external words that distort identity, drain energy, and disrupt focus.

Wordload shapes decisions, relationships, behaviors, performance and outcomes.

The irony?
We never validate if the words are even true.

TPN?  Workload.
DMN? Wordload.

What may have started as simply as a teacher telling us we’re terrible at math.

In front of a classroom of our peers.
Repeatedly.

Often turns into more math mistakes.
Repeatedly.

And we never become accountants.
Or scientists.
Or engineers.
Or pilots.

The dream of becoming an astronaut?
Stolen.

Because of words.
When we may have just needed to hear it taught differently or had additional help.

As words and stories repeat in our thoughts, experiences, and with peer and environmental pressures, they begin to solidify.

Words turn into actions.
Actions compound.
Becoming identity.

And we may not even remember who said them.

“Why aren’t you more like…”
“You’re just like your…”
“When will you…”

“Why can’t you…”

Turns into:

·       The People Pleaser—"My value is based on how happy I make others.”

·       The Perfectionist—The “never enough” script.

·       The Strong One—The “I don’t need help” narrative.

·       The Hustler—The “productivity=worth” story.

·       The victim—The “why me” text.

Words continue to stack adding more layers.
More pressure.

“You’re not ready…”
“You’re not good enough.”

And sometimes the hardest layer?
A compliment.

“You’re amazing at…”

Expectations put on us by others.
Expectations we put on ourselves.

Pressure layered upon pressure.

That we repeat to ourselves.
Then pass on to others.

Making us spend more time dealing with our Wordload.
Then our workload.

It’s no wonder we’re exhausted.

______________________________

When Words Collide

And when it’s not workload making us yawn?  

It’s time to take the pen back.
Not to add more words.

But to use the ones we have better.

Wordload isn’t hard to spot.

“What was I thinking?”
“Why did I say…”
“Why didn’t I speak up?”
“Why do I always…”

“I know better than that…”

It’s hard to stop

So we begin reaching for solutions.

Positive thinking.
Motivation.
Mindset.

We add more sentences.
The latest systems.
New habits.

More work.
More friction.

More layers.

More noise.

Complexity.
When we need clarity.

New words battling old words.
Old scripts fighting new.
Turns into a civil war in our brain.

“I’m a winner,” runs headlong into “I’m not good enough.”

We don’t walk into the gym, day one, bench-pressing 300 pounds.
We’d break.

Replacing sentences, adding words, works the same.
A big ask.
A heavy lift.

Instead of the firehose of words battling a blaze…
It’s fighting another firehose.

We don’t get better results from doing the same thing.

We don’t get better doing the same things.

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RE| Solutions Before The Storms

We get better moving upstream.

To calm waters…
Before rocks and rapids.

Instead of temporary fixes…
We start with the smallest controllable.

Words.

Instead of rehashing or rehearsing our actions.
We start recognizing  the words deciding our actions for us.

Instead of spending nearly half our time questioning  sentences.
Labels.
Scripts.

We need a pre-fix.
That starts with a prefix.

We need an edit.
In real-time.

Not with an “easy” button.

An interrupt.

That’s where RE| begins.

An R and E.
The prefix meaning “back,” or “again.”

Not a rewind or replay.

A recognition of what we’ve been told.
Hear.
Say.
See.

And the opportunity to RE|author:

·       Past.

·       Present.

·       Future.

Instead of weight.
RE| gives choice.

“…never…”
RE|cognized and RE|tired.
RE|drafted as…
“…sometimes…”

Instead of complexity.
Clarity.

“I’ve always been a perfectionist.”
RE|cognized. RE|viewed.
“I’m re-working that piece of me.”

Instead of ambiguity.
Precision.

“We’ve never done that.”
RE| “We haven’t explored that yet.”

A fraction of the alphabet that turns:

“I’m exhausted…”
“I can’t…”
“I just want to sleep.”

Into.

“I’m becoming…”

An identity edit.
In a fraction of the time.

RE| intersects the flow of what we take in and our thoughts.
The torrent of over half a million words from every direction.

Every day.

It allows a pause.
It establishes space.

Where there was none.

RE| becomes our peace in the noise.

Wordload is the weight of words we carry without even noticing.
RE| is the moment we realize it can be set down.

With RE|, words are intercepted.
They’re redirected in real time.

Before RE|, words piled up building Wordload.
Our Wordload became embedded as identity.

It set the rules for how we should act.
And how we shouldn’t.

It decided who we could connect with.
And who we couldn’t.

It set the bar for our performance.
And made decisions on when to raise and lower it.

Wordload shaped who we are today.
And who we aren’t.

It started differently though.

“I want to be a…”
“I’m going to marry…”
“I’m going to become…”

“I want to create a better…”

We had the ending written.
And it was amazing.

But sometimes…
Even as we were busy writing our bestseller.

The plot drifts.
Writing gets messy.
Locations and characters change.
We might misplace our pen.

Or it could get taken away.

RE| meets you there.

Because the same R and E quieting the noise of words?

Also allows us to rewrite the ending.

We may not be able to re-do some things.
They don’t get a do-over

They also may not need to be re-lived.

Windows may close on others.
Never to be re-opened.

The fact we can’t get a re-do, or re-start opportunities…
Shouldn’t be overlooked.
Ignored.
Stigmatized.
Timed.

It may require reassessment.
Healing.
Deep, sometimes painful grief.

And that’s ok.
Because sometimes we confuse the level of loss of someone we know,

With the grief caused by losing a piece of our identity.
The little boy or girl we were writing endings for?

Sometimes they get lost in the story.
And we need to mourn for them.

RE| is the permission to pause and do just that.
Not to ever replace them.

But to re-work them.

When you’re ready…
RE| shifts.

The same letters that quiet the storms.
Let us create.

RE| took the pen back.
|ER lets us write.

Words.
With purpose.

The strength to get better.
The momentum to be stronger.

The potential to be “more.”

Leader of a team or organization.
Peacemaker at home or church.
Builder of homes or buildings.

It’s your choice.
You have the pen.

Identity revived.
Control restored.

Purpose reignited.

That’s RE|.

Not a fix.
Not a replacement when we need help.

The tool before help arrives.
The tool for home and work.

Instead of demands, choice.

Instead of permission, invitation.

Instead of division, connection.

Instead of escalation, elevation.

RE| lifts the weight of words…
We were never meant to carry.

Workload gets heavy.
Wordload weighs more.        

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KEY TAKEAWAYS

Life isn’t exhausting. It’s the words narrating and shaping it. RE|gain identity. RE|claim choice.

·      We don’t fail at rest – We fail at laying down what we carry inside.

·      Your brain doesn’t sleep—it’s writing.

·      Wordload, the weight of our words and stories, is the hidden driver of exhaustion.

·      Words stop describing, and start defining our lives.

·      Most solutions add noise, not subtract it.

·      RE| moves upstream—Not with sentences or systems—Words.

·      RE| is the interruption of our 500,000 words per day.

·      Small shifts in words result in massive shifts in identity.

·      RE| gives you the pen back.

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My name is G. Scott, and I write about the power…and burden of the words shaping people, organizations, and outcomes. I’ve served over thirty years in the corporate environment scaling operations and sales initiatives and teams regionally and nationally.

I have been blessed with my wonderful wife Alyson, three great kids and my first granddaughter.

The most important part of my work? You.  I hope you share your story!
If this has been tough, please reach out to a trusted friend, pastor, or counselor.