Welcome to the third blog in our Reimagining Wellbeing in the Refugee and Migration Sector series, part of the Insight to Action collective support programme. In this deeply resonant reflection, our brilliant facilitators from Makani Cambridge guide us into the radical power of rest—not as a break from justice work, but as its foundation.
There’s a kind of silence we rarely touch in the refugee and migration sector, a silence not of apathy or disengagement, but of deep exhale. A silence that comes when we stop, even for a moment, to ask: When was the last time I truly rested?
In the third session of Reimagining Wellbeing in the Refugee and Migration Sector, we stepped together into this question, not as a luxury, but as a political act. Titled Rest as a Radical Act of Resistance, this session asked us to confront the systems: colonialism and capitalism, that have conditioned us to see rest as something to earn, rather than something we are inherently worthy of.
The urgency in our sector is palpable. We feel it in our inboxes. In the stories we carry. In the deep grooves of exhaustion carved into our days. And often, we wear that exhaustion as proof of commitment, because the stakes are high, because the work matters. After all, people’s lives are on the line.
But what if urgency is not the only way?
What if the revolution requires naps?
Rest as Remembrance, Rest as Resistance
Together, we explored:
What systems, stories, or internalised expectations make rest feel difficult or undeserved?
What does rest mean to us beyond sleep?
How have our communities practised rest, even under pressure?
What are our bodies’ stories of exhaustion or restoration?
We remembered our ancestors, those who held rest in ritual, who passed on lullabies, prayer, and stillness. Many of us come from cultures where rest was woven into the day, not earned at the end of it. Where rest wasn’t an individual reward, but a communal rhythm.
We used somatic practices to listen inward, tracing where burnout lives in our bodies, and where a whisper of restoration might still be found. In a world that demands we override our signals, reclaiming our body’s wisdom became an act of repair.
And then we dreamed together.
Rest Looks Like Sovereignty
When asked, “in a world where your rest is sacred, protected, and communal, in one word or image, what does rest look like?”
Participants answered with offerings like:
Breeze. Shortsleeve. Softness. Connection. Floating. Satin. Sofa. Looking into Someone’s Eyes. Breath. Being Held. Nothing. Just Full. Sovereignty
That last one—Sovereignty—lingered like a prayer. A reminder that rest doesn’t have to be grand, it has to be embodied. It can be just enough space to shift a muscle. Take a breath. Loosen a jaw. It can be a moment. A whisper. A pause.
So we co-created a collective menu of 1-minute rituals to reclaim rest:
- Holding a baby, especially baby nieces and nephews
- Screen-free time, conscious breathing
- Standing barefoot and feeling the ground
- Brewing coffee, savouring chocolate
- Closing our eyes and switching off
- A moment of being fully present
- A prayer, a meditation
- A breath in the garden
- Box breathing (4-in, hold, 4-out, hold)
- A minute of quiet reflection
- Checking in with our body and stretching
- Gratitude
- Acceptance affirmations with breath: I accept myself, I accept this moment, I accept the past, I accept the present, I accept I feel restless, I accept I feel sad, I accept I feel joy, I accept I feel nothing.
None of these required a retreat. None of them demanded we earn our rest. They were rooted in accessibility, intention, and care.
Rest, we realised, is not separate from justice work; it is justice work.
It is how we protect what we love.
How we refuse to become tools of the very systems we’re trying to dismantle.
The guilt we carry, the guilt for stopping, for needing time, for saying no, is not our guilt. It was placed there by systems that see our exhaustion as efficient. That rewards burnout and badges it as dedication.
But we are choosing another path.
We are remembering that our bodies are not machines. That our worth is not tied to our productivity. That we deserve to exhale.
And perhaps, in choosing rest together, we create a new rhythm. One where wellbeing isn’t the opposite of justice, but its foundation.
Photo by Joshua Woroniecki on Unsplash
