Karly

A few months ago, I was catching up on Instagram stories, just mindlessly tapping through, when I landed on a particularly well-known creator sharing what she called an “Anti-Brainrot Day.”

She had spent the morning reading cognitive science papers. She had revised over 200 German vocabulary items, gone to class, reached out to organisations she admired, and squeezed in some writing just for fun. The tone was cheerful, but the subtext felt loaded. The whole post seemed less like a personal win and more like a public declaration of productivity. As if to say, here is how not to rot. Take notes.

And I just stopped. Not because I’m against learning or writing or spending your time in intentional ways. I love all those things. But there was something about the way this was shared that didn’t sit right. It felt like another shiny performance of hyper-functioning. And for those of us who are just trying to get through the day without crying into a bagel or ignoring another email, that kind of content lands with a thud.

Because the truth is, sometimes you are going to rot. And sometimes that rot is exactly what you need.

When I lived in Edinburgh, I rotted a lot. I did not read cognitive science in cafés or memorise German vocab for fun. I sat in bed. I walked aimlessly. I stared at ceilings and rain and deadlines I could not meet. I went to get my nails done and spoke with Holly, who was essentially my therapist for the first half of 2024 (and, I must add, the best nail artist in Edinburgh). I let the quiet settle. I felt messy and slow and not particularly interesting. And I don’t regret it. That season of stillness helped me make sense of things I had been pushing down. It gave my mind a rest. It made space for softness.

And yet even now, when so many of us are craving rest, the internet is full of people telling us how to maximise our time. How to optimise every free moment. How to use rest as a tool for productivity, rather than as something sacred in its own right.

I don’t think that’s fair. I don’t think that’s kind.

Because not everyone feels good every day. Not everyone is operating at 100%. Not everyone can wake up and choose action and engagement and progress. Some days, taking a shower is the achievement. Some days, making a cup of tea is the win. Some days, the most loving thing you can do for yourself is to stay still.

And yes, if rotting is becoming a constant state and it no longer feels like care, if it is starting to weigh heavily and make you feel stuck or numb, then that is something worth exploring with a therapist or support system.

But that does not mean every slow day is a problem. That does not mean you have failed because you did not learn 200 words in a foreign language before lunch. That does not mean you are wasting your life because your idea of a good afternoon is lying on the floor listening to music and thinking about absolutely nothing.

Rest is not laziness. Rotting, when it is chosen and not forced by despair, can be a form of softness. A kind of spiritual pause. A reset. A way of telling your body and your mind that they do not have to earn love through labour.

So if today you are resting, I hope it feels like a warm bath for your brain. If you are doing nothing, I hope you can do it without guilt. If you are in your rot era, I hope you know that you are still good and worthy and enough.

You do not need to perform wellness in order to deserve care. You do not need to fill every moment with proof of your value. You are already valuable. Even when you are soft. Even when you are still. Even when you are not producing a single useful thing.

This is your gentle reminder that slow days are not wasted days.
You are allowed to rot.
You are allowed to rest.
And you are allowed to come back to yourself at your own pace.

While we are at it, do let me know what you do on your “rotting days”. In an ideal world, I would stay in bed all day, but I’m already at an age where my back complains if I do so…