I'm Finally Giving Myself Permission To Do The Minimum - Here's Why

When your system is saturated, subtraction becomes an act of wisdom, not laziness

Photo by Ellie Ellien on Unsplash

I’ve spent much of 2025 quietly subtracting. Reducing advice, expectations, momentum, creative pursuits.

I didn’t understand why at first. I just knew I was retreating and not resisting it anymore.

Yesterday morning, during a quarterly group art-based coaching supervision call, I finally faced some of the avoidance.

We were asked: What are you resisting right now?

I felt waves of discomfort fritter across my body contemplating it.

And the answer surprised me.

Because it wasn’t some big emotional revelation. It was simple.

Everything.

Doing. Planning. Performing. Even imagining the next step.

I don’t feel overwhelmed or burnt out.

I feel… saturated.

After years of relentless intensity - full-time work, side business experiments, art-based coaching training, grief, illness, life admin, pushing through - I’m just full.

I want quiet. To be less productive for a while.

To find new anchors and reignite my curiosity naturally, not force it.

The achiever in me feels uncomfortable about narrowing my focus.

But after creatively exploring more deeply, I realised how urgently we all need a “Do The Minimum” phase.

The curse of the productivity game

In my work and business, I’ve always wanted to improve, iterate, develop, and grow.

Productivity advice is available everywhere, so it’s easy to get sucked into the hamster wheel of doing more to feel useful.

Protocols. Guides. Worksheets. Videos. Articles and on and on.

The information and messages we get are relentless.

Do X to improve your life but better, faster, smarter.

I contribute to it myself.

But sometimes we must pause and go into a holding pattern.

Take time to reflect and decide if what we’re doing is still what we want.

To challenge the signals we get from others.

Give space to listen closer to what’s really needed from within.

It’s why I’ve been so frustrated by solutions and reminders of what works.

Resistance reappears because I know logically what works. I just don’t want to.

Maybe you’ve been there too? Knowing exactly what helps, ignoring helpful advice from loved ones, and yet resisting all of it.

It feels like quiet rebellion at times.

For example, I stopped booking my monthly trips recently.

They’ve been wonderful explorations, and I learned a lot.

Naples in March was fascinating but kicked off intense health flare ups.

A reminder my body needs different management after being recently diagnosed with hEDS.

I last went away in April, to Bath for a long weekend, and it was beautiful.

But I kept yearning for home. And each time I’ve been away, I’ve wanted to be back home with the cats, comforts, and foxes.

I’ve booked time off, but don’t want to go anywhere.

No train stations, no airports, no itineraries.

Just home.

And I’ve finally given myself permission to enjoy just that.

The invisible weight of survival mode

When you’ve been living on edge for too long, navigating loss, illness, stress, work politics, all while trying to stay “functional,” your body eventually hits its limit.

And when it does, it stops letting you pretend you can maintain intensity forever.

You start craving stillness.

You back out of plans.

You find yourself doing less… not out of laziness, but necessity.

You start to feel more like a homebody, even if you used to crave movement.

As an introvert with high curiosity, I need quiet, true restorative time, and have always been able to occupy myself.

But it’s not always popular.

For others, it can be disorienting. Confusing. Worrying.

Especially when the world is constantly moving on, but you’re craving quietness in an extended pause.

When your mind and life feel saturated, subtract

I finally went to my parental home yesterday after 18 months.

I’d been avoiding that too as it’s so connected to my dad, but mum wanted me to visit for Eid.

In the spirit of facing what I’m resisting this week, I finally went.

It was strange. Familiar enough, but that big, dark hole of a missing, loved parent loomed.

On the rainy walk back to the train station, it hit me.

The ache I’d been holding at arm’s length, whilst it’s been grasping for me intermittently.

The tears I hadn’t meant to cry were still there, then.

Dammit.

Grief doesn’t vanish. It waits for quiet, and then it speaks.

It’s often why we don’t want to slow down. It’s uncomfortable.

But what’s been evident this year, is a part of me needs to lean in and not lean away.

To realise I still miss him. It still hurts. Even after all this time. Even when I thought I was “doing better.”

So maybe that’s why I’ve been subtracting.

Accepting I have nothing to prove right now.

Subtracting, so I can restore deeply and reconnect to what really matters in this next phase.

To create much needed space for emotional recovery and rebuilding energy and focus.

A quiet creative prompt (if you’re in it too)

If you’re also in one of those strange, quiet seasons, the ones where the world feels too loud and your system wants to disappear for a while, here’s something small you can try to give it space.

It worked for me; it’s low energy and effort, and it’s pure expression.

• Take a piece of paper and grab some mark-making tools (e.g. pen, crayon, pencil etc).

• Set a timer for 5 or 10 minutes.

• And just… scribble.

This isn’t to make art.

It’s not to create something worthy.

It’s to let your hand move the way your mind can’t in the real world.

Make curves, lines, chaos, order, monochrome, or multi-colour.

It doesn’t have to mean anything, or it could mean everything.

But when you’re done, take a look at what you’ve created without judging.

Just ask yourself:

• What in me needed to come out?

• Where do I feel this in my body?

• What might this image be holding for me?

What I’ve found through experience, working with clients and the research, is sometimes the art says what your words or thoughts can’t.

Key takeaways

We shouldn’t always be productivity machines. In fact, we can’t sustain peak intensity without real restoration.

Doing less doesn’t mean you’re in decline. It might mean you’re finally safe enough to rest, slow down, and ponder what really matters.

Grief and navigating loss don’t need permission. It arrives when it’s quiet enough to be heard.

If you ignore or avoid it for too long, it’ll give you the alerts and signals until you eventually pay attention.

You can crave stillness without it being stagnation. Because sometimes, it’s exactly what’s needed.

You’re allowed to choose home, choose to pause, and choose nothing for a while.

And if you’re in a season of quiet retreat too, if you’re holding grief, loss, pressure, or the weight of staying strong, just know that taking a step back isn’t failure.

It’s the wisest move your nervous system can make.

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P.S. If you’re in a quiet season like this, where everything external feels like noise and all you want is peace, give yourself permission to subtract. It doesn’t have to be forever, but it will give you the calm you’re craving.