Just Resting My Eyes
A lesson in leadership from mom ...
I was probably three, maybe four. Deep in the weeds of toddler business … you know, big decisions about what Barbie would wear to the intergalactic Star Wars banquet my brother’s action figures were hosting. (Naturally, this was an event of galactic importance.) In the quiet lull between adventures, I’d wander out from under the stairs on the hunt for my mama. (Yes, my playroom was literally under the stairs, like a Southern-fried version of Harry Potter.)
Sometimes I’d find her lying on the couch. The TV wasn’t on, nor was there a book in her hand. She wasn’t quite sleeping although her eyes were closed and everything in the house was still.
Jenn (3yrs) and her mom.
And here’s the thing, in our house, stillness was rare.
We were a full, moving ecosystem. Four teenage boys thundering in and out like a rotating sports team, foots stomping up and down the stairs, bikes skidding in the driveway, screen doors slamming. Me, the four-year-old shadow weaving myself into their games.
And Mama felt like everything was always in motion. She was the hum beneath the hustle, the steady engine that kept the whole thing running.
So what was Mama doing if she wasn’t doing?
I’d tiptoe closer, toddler feet soft against the floor, elbows propped up on the couch cushion, one hand gently resting on her shoulder. I’d lean my little face right up to hers, close enough to feel the quiet, and whisper:
“Mama… what are you doing?”
Without even opening her eyes, she’d answer the same way every single time, with the softest smile:
“I’m just resting my eyes.”
It was her sacred reply. Her secret code. Her way of slowing down time. And sometimes I would crawl into her arms and rest my eyes too.
Now that I’m older, I get it. She wasn’t trying to sleep. She wasn’t checked out. She was claiming a moment to herself.
Strategic stillness.
That pause was her power move.
With five kids (four of them highly active boys), she was a master at designing her day around movement—swim team, school functions, errands. Keeping us busy. Anything that wore us out enough to give her a window of peace. It wasn’t accidental. It was intelligent design. Energetic leadership before I even had words for it.
Because when the house quieted, when the noise and chaos gave her even five minutes …
She took it.
She paused.
She recharged.
She did what needed to be done so she could keep going.
She wasn’t just resting her eyes.
She was claiming her clarity
before the next wave came crashing in.
That memory lives in me now like a quiet little lantern.
A reminder that rest can be:
💛 Sacred.
💛 Strategic.
💛 Smart.
That it can be stitched into the in-between moments.
Not just saved for later.
And sometimes, even now, when the noise fades for a second and the couch is calling, I’ll close my eyes, breathe deep, and think of her.
I’m not sleeping.
I’m not zoning out.
I’m just resting my eyes.
And that, my friend, is
leadership in motion.
She didn’t need to explain it or apologize for it. She knew tending to herself made her more available for all of us.
And here’s the kicker: I don’t think she ever “scheduled” her rest. She made room for it. She built her days around movement, yes, but also left breathing space.
Space to notice what she needed.
Space to choose presence over pressure.
Space to soften without guilt.
Now, as an adult, I see how rare and radical that is.
We’ve been taught that rest comes after.
After the list.
After the deadline.
After the dishes, the inbox, and the performance of having it all together.
But what if rest wasn’t the reward for work?
What if it’s what makes the work possible?
What if, like my mama showed me, we left intentional gaps in our schedules—not to be filled with hustle or self-critique—but to be decided in real time based on how we feel?
So here’s a practice I use now, one I learned not from a productivity book or a burnout recovery coach, but from that living-room couch where I first watched my mama rest her eyes:
The “Just Resting My Eyes” Practice
Rest as a Leadership Strategy
You don’t have to block off an entire day.
You just need to notice the moments when a pause would protect your clarity—and choose it.
Spot the Signal
What’s the first sign you’re veering into depletion?
Irritability? Brain fog? Wanting to scream into a pillow over an unread email? Name it.
Ask the Pause Prompt
What would change if I gave myself 10 minutes to pause right now?
Choose Your Reset
Pick a rest action based on your energy and time. Here’s a little menu:
🌿 Gentle
Lay down for 7 minutes with eyes closed
Make tea and do nothing while it steeps
Sit outside without your phone
🎶 Movement-Based
Loop the block or building
Stretch slowly and breathe
Dance to one full song—no agenda
🌀 Sensory/Soothing
Listen to ambient music
Wash your hands and notice the water
Hand on your heart: in for 4, out for 6
💛 Relational
Send one honest check-in text
Connect with someone IRL
Delegate something that’s not yours to carry
🖊️ Reflective
Journal: “What would rest look like today?”
Revisit your Priority Checklist and move one thing to next week
Use the Acceptance Bridge meditation
Bonus Move:
Leave Open Space in Your Week
Instead of scheduling rest blocks like another task, try this:
Leave open time on your calendar. Label it “Flexible Focus.”
When that time arrives, ask:
“What does my body or brain need right now?”
The answer might be a nap, a dance break, a creative sprint, or clearing those 3 pesky emails so you can actually sign off on time.
That’s rest as rhythm—not reward. That’s capacity-based leadership.
So here’s to the mamas who modeled pause.
To the leaders who leave room to choose.
To the toddlers who learn that lying still on the couch can be just as powerful as a big idea.
And to you …
May your day include at least one moment of just resting your eyes.
Because you’re worth the pause.
And your clarity is too.
