→ View in browser

Not long ago, I found myself on bed rest for a few months. At first, the slower tempo felt almost luxurious; but by the end, I was counting ceiling lines like rosary beads. When I told a friend about it afterwards, he blinked and asked: “But what did you do with all that time?” The question - half care, half culture - stayed with me. We still struggle to imagine not doing as something other than an absence of productivity.

Since COVID, I’ve seen people hold two truths at once: rest is universal, and rest is a resource. If you have sick pay, savings, or a manager who genuinely means “log off,” you can stop. If you don’t, recovery looks like Slack messages between naps. Even our language shifted: burnout is now formally listed as an occupational phenomenon - a label that makes exhaustion recognisable at work without necessarily making rest easier to claim.

Historically, recovery looked different. Convalescence once meant time in sanatoria, “taking the waters” (drinking or bathing in medicinal waters) and slowly re-entering daily life. Over the last century, antibiotics, shorter hospital stays, and hustle culture compressed that arc: the expectation shifted from back in your rhythm to back on your feet. In obstetrics, routine bed rest was common well into the late 20th century; guidance has since reversed because benefits are unclear and risks - clots, deconditioning - are real.

And when rest is enforced, the body doesn’t treat stillness as neutral. NASA’s head-down bed-rest studies, used as analogues for spaceflight, show rapid physiological changes: muscle loss, cardiovascular shifts, dizziness on standing. In other words, “doing nothing” is still a physical event.

Post-pandemic habits added a new layer. Remote tools made working-while-ill easier and expected. Calendars softened with telemedicine and flexible hours, yet boundaries thinned (“I can still join the call”). Policies expanded, then rolled back. Masking norms shifted. Illness became a negotiation. Long-tail recoveries - long COVID, post-viral fatigue - challenged the binary of sick/not sick and required time off that doesn’t fit standard leave structures. The result: more ways to be present, fewer ways to fully step away.

The interior life of sick time follows its own logic. Hours stretch, attention narrows, and the day gains an unusual precision. Small rituals become anchors. There’s often quiet pressure to “use the time well,” even when your world has shrunk to a room. Social lines also appear more clearly: the colleague who can sign off versus the freelancer who can’t; the moment a manager decides someone is ready to return; the way childcare shifts; the way a diagnosis becomes email subjects and status updates. Sick time moves through jobs, households, and screens before it becomes recovery.

Looking back on those three months, I don’t think of blankness. I think of a different pace, less like a plan, more like weather. Rest didn’t pause life; it changed its tempo. And the question that remains is simple: what kind of time does recovery actually require and who gets access to it?

Estelle

Some numbers

Read between the lines

	No rest — Alicia Puglionesi, Aeon (2020) A look at how past “rest cures” shaped cultural expectations around recovery, idleness and the value placed on productivity.
	Notes on Bed Rest — Anna Russell, The New Yorker (2025) An account of long-term bed rest, and how being confined to a room changes routines, attention, and the structure of daily life.
	The Other Four-Letter Word: Rest in a World That Won’t Slow Down — Talisha Matheson, InHabit Magazine (2025) Why slowing down feels difficult in a system built around constant pace and productivity.

Rest as resistance

Rest isn’t just recovery, it’s also a stance. In this collection of initiatives, conversations and phenomena, we look at rest as an act of rebellion against burnout culture and constant productivity, as well as a gesture of care and repair. Together, they raise the question of what it means to rest with intention, and who gets the right to do so.

The Nap Ministry — Tricia Hersey A project that frames rest as a social justice practice, highlighting how overwork disproportionately affects marginalised groups.

Can Slowness Save Us? — Critics at Large, The New Yorker (2024) A discussion on who can actually slow down and how structural factors shape access to rest.

Bed Rotting Explained — Vox / YouTube An analysis of the “bed rotting” trend and what it reveals about stress, overstimulation, and limited rest environments.

Rest arrives in different ways: through the body, through the mind, or through circumstances we didn’t choose. When life slows, even temporarily, the world gains new outlines. We asked some of our readers to look back on those moments and answer one question: what did you learn about yourself when you finally had to pause?

Gaia

Gaia works as a restorer; her work depends on the precision and endurance of her hands. Living with an autoimmune condition has meant navigating periods where her body, not her schedule, sets the tempo.

It is not easy to answer this question, just as it was not easy to live through the period when I was forced to rest. It was the height of summer, a wonderful time when everything seemed to be going smoothly: friends, love, work - everything was perfect in my first summer away from home as an adult and independent person. Then, unfortunately, my illness forced me into bed, interrupting this happy flow.

From the very first week, I fantasized and hoped for a speedy recovery, but after two months I was forced to give in and allow myself some rest. It wasn't easy to accept that I needed rest and needed to take care of myself at the age of twenty. Even today, my illness has not completely healed and will never heal, but from these months of living with it in its acute state, I am learning a lot about myself, week after week. For example, it may seem trivial, but I have learned that getting up early in the morning to give myself time to wake up, have breakfast, and do some stretching exercises is good for me both physically and mentally.

Getting back up after an episode like this is not easy. I think I have discovered that I am strong, because it takes strength to start again, and thanks to the people who have been close to me, I have realized that I have this strength, even if I need to rest from time to time.

Luca

Luca has always been a sports-driven person. Physical activity shaped not only his goals, but also his social life and sense of place. After years of dealing with a persistent injury, the decision to undergo surgery forced him into a pace he had never chosen.

A long-term sports injury is an experience that goes far beyond physical pain. At first, there is the frustration of not being able to practice your passion, of feeling that connection with your body that seems to be fading away. Every day becomes a new challenge, not only for the body, but also for the mind. You face moments of loneliness, while your friends continue to compete and progress, leaving you feeling isolated.

On this journey of forced recovery, you learn to look at things from a new perspective. You realize how important resilience and inner strength are. Every day of physical therapy becomes a lesson in patience and determination. The real challenge is not only to recover physically, but also to stay motivated and not lose sight of your goals.

During these moments, you discover new passions and explore other dimensions of life, creating a balance that you thought you only knew through sport. You approach a level of introspection that can be surprising, teaching you the importance of listening to yourself and taking care of your overall well-being.

In the end, when you finally return to the field, you return not only as an athlete, but as a person enriched by an experience that has taught you the value of perseverance, self-care, and the joy of every single step taken toward recovery.

Flip through

A set of books that approach rest from different angles: physical, emotional, and everyday. From classics to contemporary accounts, these titles look at what rest demands, how recovery unfolds, and why slowing our rhythms matters. A small shelf for anyone interested in understanding rest not just as pause, but as part of how we live.

On Being Ill — Virginia Woolf (1926) A classic reflection on illness, attention, and how the body reorders our experience of the everyday.	Exercised — Daniel E. Lieberman (2021) A scientific look at how humans evolved for bursts of movement, and what that means for modern ideas of rest.	A Still Life: A Memoir — Josie George (2021) A memoir about chronic illness, pacing, and building a meaningful life within limited energy.
My Year of Rest and Relaxation — Ottessa Moshfegh (2018) A novel following a woman’s attempt to escape her life through a year-long, medically induced hibernation.	Fever — Jonathan Bazzi (2022) A narrative exploring illness, vulnerability, and the social dimensions of being unwell.	Recovery: The Lost Art of Convalescence — Gavin Francis (2022) A look at the often-overlooked process of convalescence, and why recovery deserves more time and structure.

Enjoying NOC? Your friends, family, community and colleagues might too. Here is a link for you to share this edition with them.

Through art

My Bed — Tracey Emin (1998) A landmark installation that presents the bed as evidence of emotional and physical strain, reframing rest as part of lived experience.
A Space for Lingering — Kirsten Spruit (2019) A design exploration of what environments require to support pausing, slowing down, and sensory recovery.
The Empire of Sleep — Musée Marmottan Monet (2024) An exhibition tracing how sleep and rest have been represented across centuries through art, domestic life, and medical history.

Stories from bed

Each of these illustrated works unfolds from the same place: the bed. A setting for recovery, reflection, or reckoning, it becomes a world of its own - where illness meets creativity, and rest takes on new shapes.

Notes from a Sickbed — Tessa Hulls (2021) A graphic memoir documenting illness, family history, and the emotional landscape of long recovery.

The Mental Load — Emma (2017) A visual investigation of invisible labour, rest, and the unequal distribution of cognitive burden in daily life.

I’m Not Here for You — Lena Nicolajsen (2023) An illustrated narrative exploring boundaries, burnout, and the need to step back from constant availability.

NOC is a constant work-in-progress. We want to hear your thoughts, recommendations and ideas—reply to the newsletter via email or write to us on social media (LinkedIn or Instagram). Your input will help shape where we go next!

You can browse past editions on our website.

Was this email forwarded to you? You can register to our newsletter here.

One ask from us: to avoid our newsletter landing in your spam inbox, add our email address as a contact.