Today I woke up with these words echoing in my mind:

You have nothing to earn, prove, or achieve.
You are loved for who you are, not what you do.

Important words for a recovering productivity-aholic.

There are still many days when I feel frustrated, less than, or somehow lacking if I don’t meet a certain quota of productivity—some invisible standard I invent and then hold myself hostage to.

I often feel the pull to prove my worth, my belonging, by how much I contribute or what I can offer. As if love must be earned through output. It’s an exhausting way to live.

So today, those words felt like a gift.

Not permission born from laziness, but permission rooted in truth:
that I belong to God.
that I am already loved.
that my worth was settled long before I lifted a finger.

Rest, then, becomes an act of trust.
A quiet declaration that I am not what I produce,
that I don’t have to strive to secure what has already been given.

So today, I received the invitation.

Permission to rest.
Permission to read.
Permission to play.
Permission to linger.
Permission to eat leftovers.
Permission to enjoy the day with no obligations.

Not because nothing matters—but because I matter to God, even when I do nothing at all.