How rest is possible in a noisy world: A reflection between breaths
There are days when the world feels like a relentless tide - voices, obligations, and a thousand little pings from machines. And yet, beneath that surface, if we pause long enough, something quieter is always waiting. Rest. Not the absence of doing, but a return to being.
As an artist, I’ve come to believe that rest is a creative act. And perhaps, a revolutionary one. This space - Between Breaths - is where I begin again.
The myth of constant motion
We’ve been taught that stillness is laziness, that silence is a void. But isn’t it curious how some of the most meaningful things happen in the quiet? Growth beneath soil. Healing in sleep. Inspiration in a sigh.
Therapists speak of “emotional regulation” and “nervous system restoration.” As a painter, I think in color and shape. When I feel scattered, I don’t fix - I create. I let the brush say what my mouth cannot. And in that gesture, my nervous system listens.
We don’t need to be therapists to understand what our bodies are whispering. Sometimes it’s simply this:
“You’re allowed to rest. You’re allowed to arrive.”
Between Breaths: A visual invitation
This new series began, not with a plan, but with a breath I hadn’t noticed holding. Soft textures, pale waters, the whisper of pink against slate grey. Each piece became a pause. A place to land.
The artwork is not loud. It doesn’t try to teach. It simply is. And that, perhaps, is its power.
For both creatives and caregivers, rest isn’t passive - it’s a radical act of clarity. Between one inhale and the next, we reclaim the space to choose. To notice. To feel again.
Rest as a ritual, not a reward
So many of us wait until exhaustion before we give ourselves permission to stop. But what if rest was woven into our days like color into thread?
Therapists often encourage grounding techniques - things like breathwork, texture exploration, or guided imagery. Artists, in their own way, already know this. Mixing paint. Shaping clay. Running fingers over canvas. It’s not just sensory - it’s sacred.
One small, visual ritual I’ve returned to is this:
Place one hand over your heart.
Look at a color - any color. Let it speak to you.
Ask, “What am I holding right now that wants to be softened?”
Let that question drift across the page or into your next brushstroke.
No fixing. Just meeting. This is what rest looks like between breaths.
What artists and therapists share
Whether you’re working with paint or people, both art-making and therapeutic holding require the same thing: presence. A deep listening.
Therapists hold space for others. Artists hold space for the unspeakable. And both must learn to rest - so that they don’t hollow out in the process.
What I hope Between Breaths offers is not a solution, but a companion. A place where your own clarity can return gently, without force.
Why rest cultivates emotional clarity
Here’s what I’ve noticed:
When I slow down, emotions become less tangled. They don’t shout over each other. They begin to line up. Grief shows her face. Joy steps forward. Even confusion softens her edges.
This isn’t just poetic. Neuroscience agrees. Slowing down supports emotional clarity. Rest calms the amygdala and invites the prefrontal cortex - the home of insight, compassion, and creativity - back online.
Put simply:
When we rest, we can feel again. And when we feel, we remember who we are.
A gentle offering to start with
If this resonates with you - whether you are guiding others or tending gently to yourself - I’ve created a small gift: 5 art prompts for emotional clarity – designed to be quiet companions to your own reflective practice.
Each prompt is an invitation, not a task. You can use them alone or bring them into a session. They’re yours.
Download your free prompts here
And if you’d like to walk this series week by week, I’ll be writing as we go—each post a breath, each painting a resting place. You’re not alone in this noise. There is stillness to be found.
Between every breath, it’s waiting.
