A few years ago, I was in a horrible car accident. We were struck twice, and our car was totaled. My injuries were so bad I couldn't move or walk without help. Because I had a concussion, I couldn't think straight enough to finish the book I was working on. And because I couldn't drive, I had to stay in one place.

My body was a wreck, and I was in excruciating pain, but what I remember most about that accident is the bliss of the weeks that followed it. They were like the snow days of my childhood when I was free to make snow angels or read Nancy Drew books all day.

After the accident, life was suddenly mine again. I couldn't believe I hadn't noticed the riot of colors in the garden or the way the amber paint in the hall changed colors at different times of the day.

More From Prevention

preview for Prevention Watch Next

But mostly, being forced to slow down made me aware of how much time I spent tearing from one thing to another, believing that running myself ragged was the only way I could earn the right to stop. It was as if I believed that only people who were on the verge of collapse were allowed to rest--just as I once believed that only thin people were allowed to find pleasure in food.

It's Rest, Not Sleep

Rest is a basic human need, like food and sleep and touch. And if we won't give it to ourselves willingly, we'll find a way to get it anyway--like bingeing or collapsing. Rest is different from sleep. Rest is different from collapsing. Rest is taking a time-out before you collapse.

One of my workshop students said recently: "I don't understand why I use food the way I do. I know I need to do a project, but instead of doing it, I eat. I procrastinate and then I get into a kind of numbed, dazed state. The project takes three times longer because I keep taking time out to clear my mind from the haze I've gotten it in."

I said, "Assume that bingeing is giving you something you need. What would that be?" "Nothing," she said. "It drives me crazy." Then she thought again. "Oh--it stops me from working so hard. If I didn't eat, I'd keep going until I exhausted myself."

In bingeing, she gives herself what she won't allow herself any other way: downtime. [pagebreak]

Become a "Steady Rester"

When I was in nursery school, I had a wonderful teacher named Mrs. Bolendonk. She had shiny red cropped hair and a space between her front teeth. When nap time came around every day, I didn't want to stop drawing or close my eyes. But Mrs. Bolendonk would point to the cots and say, "Time to nap. Time to be a steady rester."

A steady rester is someone who regularly incorporates "breaks" into her life, who doesn't wait, as I sometimes do, until she's worn to a frazzle and is forced to spend days in bed, taking naps.

It's better than what I used to do, which usually involved pints of ice cream. Here are a few ways to tell if you need to become a steady rester:

• The only break you take in your frenetic life involves coffee and pastry. • The computer screen in front of you has been blank for an hour (or all day). • The simplest decision--matching a blouse to your slacks--seems like a life-or-death matter. • You have one nerve left and everyone is getting on it.

Being a steady rester means stopping the effort to do something, to be someone, to accomplish something that is worthwhile or important. It means being still, being quiet, relaxing, puttering, or taking a break. It means taking your life back, and not having to use a bowl of ice cream or running yourself into the ground to do it. When you give yourself permission to rest, you discover again and again that the world will not fall apart if you don't hold it up.

What a relief.