Why can’t I just relax?

You’ve cleared your diary. The house is quiet. You finally sit down with a cup of tea and… your mind starts racing. The guilt creeps in. The urge to “just do one more thing” kicks up. The silence feels too loud. And you wonder: Why can’t I just relax?

The real roots of restlessness and why it’s not your fault

If this sounds familiar, you’re not alone. So many people arrive in therapy carrying this same question, heavy with shame. They tell me about the podcasts they’ve listened to, the mindfulness apps they’ve downloaded, and the yoga classes they’ve tried. And when none of it seems to work, the internal narrative doubles down:

• “I must be doing it wrong.”
• “Other people manage to switch off. What’s wrong with me?”
• “I just need to try harder.”

But what if the problem isn’t you, it’s the pressure cooker you’ve been living in? What if your difficulty relaxing isn’t a weakness, but a sign of how adaptive and alert your nervous system has become?

Let’s explore.

Restlessness isn’t a personal failing; it’s a nervous system response. Our bodies are wired for survival, not stillness.

If you’ve spent years (or decades) in a state of high alert, whether because of trauma, anxiety, chronic stress, or undiagnosed neurodivergence like ADHD, your nervous system has learned to stay ready. In these cases, stillness doesn’t feel like safety. It feels like exposure. Vulnerability. Like something must be wrong.

This is what we call nervous system dysregulation. It’s not a character flaw. It’s not a lack of discipline. It’s your body trying to protect you in the only way it knows how, by staying in motion, staying alert, staying busy.

And when we don’t understand this, we end up blaming ourselves. We think we’re failing at rest. But really, our bodies are just doing their best to survive with the tools they’ve been given.

Overthinking, fidgeting, constant busyness: Symptoms, not shortcomings

When your system doesn’t feel safe at rest, you might notice:

• endless to-do lists that never get completed
• a need to multitask, even when it’s inefficient
• scrolling your phone or checking emails while “relaxing”
• feeling anxious on holidays or weekends with no structure
• replaying conversations or future scenarios endlessly
• starting multiple tasks and struggling to finish any of them

Within counselling, we view these not as bad habits but as coping mechanisms. Your mind is trying to stay one step ahead. Your body is trying to stay prepared.

This kind of high-functioning restlessness is common among people who’ve been forced to self-regulate without much support, people who had to grow up too quickly, mask their neurodivergence, or perform competence in order to stay safe or accepted.

It’s especially common in high achievers, those who look like they’ve got it all together from the outside, but are quietly running on fumes. Rest doesn't feel like an option. It feels like a threat to the very identity they've built to survive.

If this is you, you’re not alone.

You’re in good company. Counselling can help people who are skilled, self-aware, articulate and still feel completely unravelled by rest. The fear of “not doing enough” lives in their bones. It’s not just mental; it’s visceral.

This internal restlessness often gets misread as anxiety, laziness, or even a lack of gratitude. But underneath is often a very different story:

• Maybe you grew up in a home where rest was shamed, and being busy made you feel worthy.
• Maybe you live with undiagnosed ADHD and have been masking for years.
• Maybe your body remembers a time when stillness wasn’t safe –when quiet meant danger or neglect.
• Or maybe you’re just burnt out by a culture that confuses exhaustion with success.

Whatever the root, it’s not your fault. And it’s not permanent.

The "shoulds" are part of the problem

A lot of clients tell me they feel like they 'should' be able to cope like everyone else. That they should be able to just relax. That they’re tired of being so tired, and guilty for being unable to make it stop.

And this word – should – does a lot of harm. It implies there’s a norm you’ve failed to live up to. It sets up a false comparison against some imaginary version of life where other people float through their evenings with inner calm and empty minds.

But here’s the thing: that version doesn’t really exist. Even the calmest-seeming people are carrying things you can’t see. Even therapists (me included) have sat on the sofa feeling like our brains are running sprints while our bodies are begging for rest.

Instead of asking why you can’t be more like other people, the more helpful question might be: 'What do I need to feel safe enough to slow down?'

You don’t need to “try harder” to relax. You need a different way in. Trying to relax by forcing your body into stillness can feel like trying to make a scared animal sit still by shouting, “Calm down!” It doesn’t work. And it’s not kind.

If your body has learned that rest isn’t safe, the key isn’t discipline; it’s gentleness. It’s learning to regulate, not suppress. And it starts with creating tiny pockets of safety.

Here are 3 simple ways to begin:

1. Grounding exercise: The 3-3-3 pause

When your mind is spiralling or you feel detached from your body, try this:

• Name 3 things you can see: textures, colours, light/shadow.
• Name 3 things you can feel: the weight of your feet, the temperature of your mug, or your jumper against your skin.
• Name 3 sounds you can hear: even the hum of a fridge or a distant bird.

Repeat slowly. This isn’t a trick to “fix” you. It’s just a gentle re-entry into the present moment.

2. Try active stillness

If stillness makes you squirm, try moving gently instead of forcing yourself to sit. Slow walking, swaying, stretching, or doodling can all help regulate the nervous system through movement.

There’s no prize for being able to sit cross-legged in silence for 30 minutes. There’s wisdom in listening to what your body needs.

3. Unpack the guilt

If you notice guilt rising when you try to rest, don’t push it down; get curious.

Try journaling:

• “What does the guilt say?”
• “Where did I learn that message?”
• “Whose approval am I trying to earn?”
• “What would I say to someone else who felt this way?”

Often, guilt around rest isn’t logical. It’s inherited. And when we bring those messages into the light, they start to loosen their grip.

Rest is a skill, and like any skill, it can be (re)learned.

If you weren’t taught how to feel safe in your body, how to regulate your nervous system, how to move from alertness to rest, then of course, relaxation feels foreign.

That doesn’t mean you’re beyond help. It means you’re human.

Rest is not a reward for productivity. It’s not something you have to earn by suffering enough first. It’s a basic human need. But for many of us, it’s also a practice, one we have to unlearn our way back to.

This is where therapy can help. Not by giving you more tools or strategies to perform rest “better,” but by helping you understand the patterns underneath. By offering space for your story to be heard. By permitting you to show up exactly as you are, even if that means anxious, overwhelmed, or unable to sit still.

Your restlessness is not a flaw. It’s feedback.

If your system is still on high alert, it’s likely because, at some point, it needed to be. The problem isn’t that you’re failing at being calm. The problem is that you haven’t yet felt safe enough to stop bracing.

Therapy is one way to begin shifting that.

But so is kindness.

So is saying no.

So is noticing your breath, taking a walk, or crying when you need to, without apologising for it.

So the next time you find yourself asking, “Why can’t I just relax?” Maybe ask instead: 'What has my body been trying to protect me from? And how can I thank it, even as I learn to rest again?'

You’re not wired wrong. You’re wired to survive.

Now let’s help your body believe that it’s finally safe to exhale.