When Relaxing Feels Impossible — A Guide for the Restless Mind

What Does “Relax” Mean to You?

When you think about the word relax, what comes to mind? And more importantly, what do you feel in your body? ( Don't panic if that feels empty or ridiculous to you right now)

Is relaxing, to you, a treat? Something you earn after a long day of being “good” and getting everything done? Is it something that only happens when you’re finally falling asleep? Or is it that quiet scrolling trance, the one that looks like rest but doesn’t actually soothe you? If you struggle to relax, this is probably for you. Honestly, I think most of us do.

We live in a world that constantly whispers (or screams) more. More productivity, more self-improvement, more comparison.We can see everyone else’s highlight reel in seconds, so we subconsciously measure ourselves against it and find ourselves coming up short. We’re overstimulated, under-rested, and always a little “on.” No wonder our bodies can’t find the off switch. Even our idea of “relaxing” has become inflated, it’s something we save for holidays, spa days, or after we’ve checked off every single thing on the list. The bar for rest has been set so high that everyday ease feels indulgent.

A note for those thinking, “WTF do you mean?”

If, when I ask “What do you feel in your body?”, your first thought is “What kind of woo-woo garbage is this?”  please stay with me for a moment. I get it. For many people, especially those who’ve experienced trauma or who live with a more activated nervous system (like in ADHD), the idea of “feeling into your body” can sound either absurd or impossible. You might not feel much at all, or you might feel too much. Without an explanation, it can seem like the person suggesting this is living in fairyland while you’re just trying to survive.

So here’s the thing: when I talk about “feeling your body,” I’m not asking you to conjure some mystical state. I’m talking about noticing the small, physical cues that your nervous system sends, the tight jaw when you’re bracing for something, the flutter in your stomach when you’re anxious, the warmth in your chest when you see someone you love. This isn’t fluff; it’s data. It’s your body’s way of speaking before your brain has the words. And when you can start to notice those cues gently, without judgment — you begin to rebuild the bridge between your mind and body, a bridge that trauma and chronic stress often tear down. You can read more on this here.

Relaxation Isn’t a Luxury — It’s a Nervous System State

Relaxing isn’t something you achieve — it’s something that happens when your body feels safe enough to soften. It’s a moment, a physiological shift, not a moral victory.

Think of a time you felt truly relaxed, maybe that early-morning haze before you get out of bed, or that half-sleepy state when you’re drifting off. What sensations were there? Warmth, heaviness, comfort, maybe even a gentle hum of quiet? That’s your body in parasympathetic mode; the rest-and-digest state where healing, connection, and creativity can actually happen. The challenge is: many of us don’t live there very often. Not because we don’t want to but because our nervous systems are wired for activation.

When Relaxation Feels Unreachable

If you have ADHD or a trauma history (and often, they overlap), this is especially true. Your nervous system might not easily downshift, it’s used to running on adrenaline or hyperfocus, on constant motion and stimulation. For some people, “relaxing” can actually feel uncomfortable or even threatening. Stillness might bring up old memories, sensations, or self-judgment. The body might associate rest with danger because somewhere along the line, pausing wasn’t safe. So when you try to relax, you might find yourself reaching for your phone, cleaning the kitchen, or re-planning your entire life instead.That’s not failure, that’s your body trying to stay safe through movement and engagement. In somatic language, this is called an activation response. Your body saying, “I’m not ready to be still yet.” and that’s okay. You can learn to coax the body toward safety, rather than demand it.

How to Begin Finding Everyday Calm

To truly relax, we first have to learn the language of our body, to rebuild trust that it’s okay to soften. Start small. Notice sensations in micro-moments:

• How do you feel when you wake up?

• What happens in your body when you see your child or best friend?

• What shifts when you sit in sunlight, or hear a song you love?

These aren’t trivial, they’re somatic breadcrumbs leading you back to yourself. Every moment of noticing builds the neural pathways of safety and presence. Over time, your body learns that it’s allowed to exhale. The goal isn’t to force stillness or replicate a spa day.It’s to create moments of felt safety — moments where your system whispers, “I’m okay right now.”

Maybe that’s a deep breath with your hand on your chest. Maybe it’s swaying side to side, or walking slowly outside. Maybe it’s catching yourself mid-scroll, exhaling, and noticing your feet again. Relaxation isn’t found at the end of your to-do list. It’s hidden inside the smallest gestures of presence. It’s what happens when your body finally believes that you’re safe enough to stay.

If you find yourself reading this and thinking, “I don’t even know where to start,” please know that you don’t have to do this alone. Reconnecting with your body, learning to feel safe enough to relax, these are not simple tasks. Especially if your nervous system has spent years in survival mode. Sometimes we need a steady, attuned other to help guide that process. If this resonates with you, consider reaching out to someone like myself who understands the language of the body, trauma, and the nervous system. Together, we can help you begin to build that sense of safety, one small, grounded moment at a time. Reach out here.