The Sacred Art of Rest & Receiving: How to Stop Doing and Start Allowing

Stepanka Kuralova
Jul 7
6 min read

You can either listen to this episode of the Inner Glow Podcast on Spotify, Apple, Amazon Music, Audible, or your favourite platform (Episode 12, Season 3) or read it below as a full blog post. However you choose to receive it, may it land gently and powerfully where it’s needed most.

It’s been a little while since I’ve shared something long-form here on the blog, and I’ve missed this space. But truthfully, I’ve been in a tender, beautiful season, one that’s been full not just of work or projects, but of sensory nourishment, grounding, and quiet transitions.

Behind the scenes, I’ve been completing projects, running programmes, supporting my clients, and continuing to share pieces of my writing and soul over on social media.

This is also our very first summer in our new home, and I’ve been relishing the slower pace it’s brought. There’s something special about letting a space settle into you while you settle into it.

I’ve found myself drawn to nourishing, earth-based rituals:

✨ Growing herbs, tomatoes, and edible flowers

✨ Making tea blends from dried calendula blossoms

✨ Playing with arts and crafts

My nervous system has been softening in ways I haven’t felt in years. There’s a deeper exhale moving through my days, yet it has also brought something up, which is exactly why I felt inspired to write this post for you.

When Rest Creates More Tension

Lately, I’ve noticed something really interesting about my relationship with rest.

On some days when I’ve intentionally slowed down, not coaching, not recording, not creating, my body feels more tense than it does during my busiest workdays.

It’s as if my system doesn’t quite know how to settle. I sit down to rest, and within minutes I find myself thinking about emails I forgot to send or feeling guilty about not doing the dishes.

Even when I’ve made space for rest, a part of me resists it .And I wonder… have you ever felt that too?

Have you ever looked forward to an evening off, or carved out some sacred time just for yourself, only to find that when it finally arrives, you can’t fully relax into it?

Maybe you feel the urge to fill it with something productive. Maybe you think:

“I should at least finish that module.”

“I could get ahead on that thing.”

Maybe you start doing chores, checking your phone, or even reach for a to-do list without meaning to.

Maybe, without even realising it, you are trying to earn your rest instead of receiving it freely.

For so many of us, especially those who hold space for others, raise children, build businesses, heal their bodies, or constantly multitask, it can feel like there’s never truly a moment that is fully ours.

And even when there is, we often bring a heavy layer of expectation into it.

Rest as Sacred Rhythm

You have likely heard this idea before, that to manifest more, to receive more, to align with your feminine energy, you need to slow down.

You need to rest. That doing more is not always the key to getting more. But here is what shifted something deep inside me: I started looking at rest not just as a biological need, but as a spiritual commandment.

Something sacred. Something holy. And not in a rigid or religious way, but in the most expansive, soul-anchoring sense.

Nearly all spiritual traditions honour rest. Not just as a luxury, but as an essential rhythm of life.

In Judaism, the Sabbath is a 25-hour sacred pause, a time where work stops completely and attention turns to family, reflection, ritual, and being. There are even 39 categories of work that are traditionally avoided to protect the stillness of the day. Some Jewish communities avoid electronics, cooking, or even writing during this time, choosing instead to sit with what is and to honour presence.

In Christianity, we see a similar thread, the idea that even God, who is infinite and beyond the need for physical rest, paused after creating the world. Not because He was exhausted, but because He was modelling a truth: completion needs space. That rhythm, that pause, that sacred breath at the end of a cycle truly matters.

Islam honours Friday as a day for prayer and togetherness. In Buddhism, there are days set aside for deep contemplation and stillness, where the focus is not on doing, but on being.

This is not about following one religion or another. It is about seeing that, across cultures and lineages, sacred rest has always been part of how humans connect with something greater.

What Neuroscience Reveals About Doing Less

And if you prefer the science-based view, rest is not laziness in the brain either.

During rest, the Default Mode Network in the brain becomes active. This is the part of your mind that lights up when you daydream, reflect, and access deeper creative insight. Neuroscientists have found that over 40 percent of breakthroughs, the really powerful ideas, arise not during intense focus but during moments of downtime. Shower thoughts, walks in nature, quiet afternoons, even staring into space — these are the spaces where your most aligned ideas are born.

Nature also supports this. Research shows that walking in natural environments can boost creativity by up to 60 percent.

Why? Because nature engages us in soft fascination, a term used in environmental psychology. It gently holds our attention without demanding it, giving our minds room to rest and expand at the same time.

When Distraction Masquerades as Rest

But here is something we do not talk about enough: dysfunctional rest. Sometimes, we do not listen to our need for true replenishment until we have reached a state of depletion. We ignore the signs, push through, bypass our fatigue, and then suddenly we hit a wall. At that point, we collapse onto the couch and spend hours binge-watching, scrolling, or numbing.

But the relief is temporary. We are not truly restoring ourselves; we are just escaping.

There is nothing wrong with a Netflix night or zoning out sometimes. But there is a difference between intentional, sacred rest and distraction dressed up as self-care. One renews your spirit. The other delays your burnout.

This is why I believe we must make a conscious, devoted practice out of rest. A ritual. A spiritual anchor. Something we commit to not only when we are drained, but especially when we are not.

Creating Your Own Sabbath

A few years ago, I read a blog post written by a mother of five. She was not religious, but she shared how she had created her own version of a Sabbath. One day a week, sometimes only for a few hours, she unplugged. No electronics. No errands. No tidying the house. Just space. Sacred space. She described how her body started to feel safer in stillness. Her children started honouring the quiet too. It changed her whole relationship with time.

I was deeply moved by her story, and it inspired me to claim my own version of that. For me, it is currently Wednesdays. I do not do housework that day. I plan ahead so I am not distracted by laundry or groceries. If possible, I prep food the night before, or we order a takeaway and eat it somewhere in nature. It does not have to be perfect. But it is intentional. It is chosen.

On that day, I focus on my spiritual connection, on journalling freely, on reconnecting with my creative flow. I allow myself to be without needing to produce anything. And it is a practice. Because I was conditioned, like many of us, to believe I must do more, be more, know more to be worthy.

Your Invitation to Receive More

So now, I want to invite you to reflect.

What would it look like to honour a sacred rest practice of your own? What commitment can you make, not from pressure, but from devotion?

It could be a whole day each week. Or just a few hours. A screen-free afternoon. A walk without a destination. A tea ritual that you treat as sacred. A window of time where you stop striving and start receiving.

Because here is the truth: You cannot receive fully while in fight-or-flight. You cannot open to joy, abundance, intuition, or clarity when your body is bracing. Receiving begins with softening. And softening begins with rest.