This past weekend, I woke up to that rare, unremarkable silence — the easy kind that doesn’t ask anything of you. The house was still in that way it only ever is when no one is waiting and no plan has yet claimed the day. The dog was asleep, the light coming through the window was gentle, and the hours ahead stretched open without instruction.
I made breakfast and sat down with a book I’d been meaning to read for weeks, assuming this was what rest would feel like when it finally arrived. Instead, within minutes, I was back on my feet, glancing at my phone, moving a half-finished load of laundry, checking where my son was on his college campus map as if he were a small blinking dot in The Sims, his well-being somehow tethered to whether I was actively doing something on his behalf. …
This past weekend, I woke up to that rare, unremarkable silence — the easy kind that doesn’t ask anything of you. The house was still in that way it only ever is when no one is waiting and no plan has yet claimed the day. The dog was asleep, the light coming through the window was gentle, and the hours ahead stretched open without instruction.
I made breakfast and sat down with a book I’d been meaning to read for weeks, assuming this was what rest would feel like when it finally arrived. Instead, within minutes, I was back on my feet, glancing at my phone, moving a half-finished load of laundry, checking where my son was on his college campus map as if he were a small blinking dot in The Sims, his well-being somehow tethered to whether I was actively doing something on his behalf.
It was only then that I noticed the disconnect. I had been craving rest, but now that I had it, my body didn’t quite believe it. The quiet felt provisional, like it might be withdrawn at any moment, and I found myself moving out of habit, the way you do when stillness feels like something you haven’t quite earned.
Sound familiar?
The Familiar Pull of Chaos
We talk easily about wanting peace and quiet—unstructured weekends, inboxes that don’t demand our attention—but when the pace finally slows, many of us feel strangely unsettled. We scroll and reorganize things that were perfectly fine five minutes ago (the spice rack is not the problem, and we know it), looking for something to manage because motion itself becomes reassuring.
Chaos, for all its wear and tear, carries a familiarity that calm often lacks. For some of us, it was the backdrop of childhood in a household that moved quickly or unpredictably enough that staying alert felt like a form of belonging. For others, it was learned later, through caregiving or years of being rewarded for saying “yes” to everything and everyone. Over time, that constant hum of being in motion rewires you. It teaches your body to associate usefulness with safety and motion with worth, until the absence of demand starts to feel less like freedom and more like a warning.
Your Nervous System Isn’t Confused, It’s Trained
What’s happening here is conditioning. Our nervous systems are shaped by repetition (Wilson, 2025), and when you’ve spent long stretches of life anticipating needs and holding things together, your body adapts to that level of activation. It becomes skilled at staying slightly revved. That steady buzz can feel like purpose, especially when the world around you reinforces it.
Calm, by contrast, can feel oddly disorienting, even slightly suspicious.
This is why people sometimes say they miss the chaos they worked so hard to escape. We return because it’s predictable. Psychologists call this intermittent reinforcement, the same mechanism that keeps us checking our phones even when they rarely deliver anything satisfying (Wang & Wang, 2025). Every once in a while, the noise pays off because someone needs you, or something urgent appears and you were able to fix it. You feel briefly important or accomplished, earning you a hit of dopamine, and that moment is enough to keep the pattern alive (Bromberg-Martin, et al, 2010).
When Busyness Becomes a Stand-In for Worth
Busyness works the same way. Saying “yes” one more time or filling one more open space in the calendar, can offer a fleeting sense of relevance that covers the quieter discomfort underneath. When the noise fades, what often surfaces isn’t serenity but boredom, or the unsettling question of who we are when nothing needs to be fixed.
This shows up especially often in people who have been praised for being capable and endlessly available—particularly women, caregivers, and perfectionists (Lv & Zhang, 2024). When usefulness has been the organizing principle, rest can feel like a loss of orientation. If no one needs you right now, who are you?
Learning to Feel Safe Without Urgency
Learning to slow down isn’t simply a matter of deciding to take it easy. It involves teaching your nervous system, gradually, that nothing terrible happens when you stop. Perhaps just as challenging is teaching your mind that your worth doesn’t evaporate the moment you’re no longer in motion.
This kind of learning unfolds in small, almost unremarkable moments where you resist the urge to fill the silence and discover that the world continues to hold. Over time, boredom softens into a transitional space where your body recalibrates and your attention widens. You begin to notice how often the urge to act immediately is a habit, and how much of what once felt pressing can, in fact, wait.
5 Ways to Practice Staying With the Quiet
If you catch yourself missing the chaos you say you hate, it’s worth meeting that moment without judgment. Give yourself grace as your nervous system learns a different way of feeling safe. Here’s what has helped me:
- Notice when you’re stirring the pot. When you catch yourself checking your phone or filling the silence, pause long enough to register what’s happening. That moment of awareness, without shaming yourself, already begins to loosen the grip of the reinforcing chaos-loop.
- Try micro-rest. You don’t need a weeklong escape or a perfectly designed morning routine to create a sense of calm. Try three slow breaths before standing up. Sit with a cup of coffee without scrolling. Take a short walk without headphones. These small doses help your body learn that calm doesn’t require vigilance.
- Make friends with boredom. Boredom often shows up right as your nervous system begins to downshift. Instead of treating it as a problem, let it do its work. Boredom is often the doorway to something quieter.
- Talk back to urgency. When your mind insists Do it now, ask: What happens if I wait five minutes? Most things can wait longer than they claim.
- Choose company wisely. Like any emotional state, calm is contagious. Spend time with people who let you exhale, who don’t need you to perform, or who simply make room for quiet without rushing to fill it.
There will be other quiet mornings. The quiet will keep offering itself; the work is learning to stay.
References
Bromberg-Martin, E. S., Matsumoto, M., & Hikosaka, O. (2010). Dopamine in motivational control: rewarding, aversive, and alerting. Neuron, 68(5), 815–834.
Lv, J., & Zhang, Y. (2024). The Impact of Praise on Cooperative Behavior in Three-Player Public Goods Games and Its Gender Differences. Behavioral sciences (Basel, Switzerland), 14(4), 264.
Wang, J., & Wang, S. (2025). The Emotional Reinforcement Mechanism of and Phased Intervention Strategies for Social Media Addiction. Behavioral sciences (Basel, Switzerland), 15(5), 665.