When Do We Know When to Stop?

Clares CHAT
2 days ago
3 min read

I’ve just spent a few days by the sea in my tent with the pup. Walking barefoot, swimming in the sea, being outside, resting, doing very little unless I actually wanted to. And somewhere amongst all of that, I realised something. I had no idea quite how much I needed to stop.

I knew I was tired. I knew life had been busy and there had been a lot going on. But I was still working, still showing up, still making plans, still laughing, still getting things done. From the outside, everything probably looked absolutely fine. And maybe that’s part of the problem. We can become incredibly good at carrying on. So good, in fact, that we don’t necessarily notice how much energy carrying on is taking. Sometimes looking fine on the outside is exhausting.

It made me wonder… do we actually know when to stop? Is it when we’re tired? Because tired can become normal. Is it when we start struggling? Because we can get very good at pushing through that too. Is it when everything starts to feel like more effort than it should? Or do some of us only realise we’ve needed to stop once we finally do? And then there’s another question. Do we really not know, or do we sometimes know and just keep going anyway?

Stopping isn’t always as simple as deciding to take a break. There are things that need doing, people relying on us, work that can’t simply be abandoned and plans already made. Sometimes it feels easier to keep going than to rearrange everything around us. And sometimes we’ve been the person who just gets on with things for so long that it doesn’t even occur to us that stopping is an option. Perhaps we tell ourselves we’re fine because, technically, we are. We’re functioning. Nothing has fallen apart. We’re getting through the days and doing what needs to be done. But I’m beginning to wonder whether functioning is always the best measure of how we’re actually doing, because coping and being okay aren’t necessarily the same thing.

For me, it took a tent, the sea, bare feet on the ground and a few days with very little expected of me to recognise just how much I had been carrying. There wasn’t some huge revelation or dramatic moment. I simply noticed how different it felt not to have to be anywhere, do anything, answer anything or be anything for anyone. And perhaps there’s something in that too. We tend to notice the big signs. The moment something gives way. The point where we physically can’t do any more. But what about everything that comes before that? The little signs we dismiss because we can still manage. The things we put down to being busy, having a long week or simply needing to get through the next few days.

How often do we say, “I didn’t realise how much I needed that,” when perhaps somewhere underneath, we did? Maybe we felt it but didn’t acknowledge it. Maybe we knew we were tired but hadn’t realised quite how tired. Or maybe we simply hadn’t given ourselves permission to stop until there was finally an opportunity to do it.

I don’t think there’s a neat answer to any of this. I’m certainly not coming back from a few days beside the sea having suddenly discovered the secret to knowing exactly when enough is enough. Life doesn’t work like that. But I do think I’ll pay a little more attention to the quieter signs, because perhaps we don’t always need to wait for life to force the decision for us.