I’ve been having trouble getting my old laptop to connect to the new wifi we have at home and it's been really making me swear in frustration. But in true IT dept. fashion and in the worlds of Anne Lamott , author of Bird by Bird, (which I can recommend).
“Almost everything will work again if you unplug it for a few minutes… including you.”
This did actually work for my laptop and it's working for me too.
When I thought about the IT dept ‘s solution to most tech issues it reminded me of this quote again recently, and it hit me square in the chest. It’s such a simple idea, really. But how often do we actually do it? How often do we truly unplug - not just from our phones or our inboxes, but from the relentless pace, the overthinking, the feeling that we have to keep going, keep doing, keep producing? Having dealt with the impact of not resting enough, I still find myself drawn to the "hamster wheel of continuous expectation" and need to remind myself to take a step back occasionally.
Last week, I did just that. I properly unplugged. And I want to tell you why that time, that pause, that breath, was so needed, and how it’s changed how I’m looking at the summer ahead.
Family First: Steak, Laughter & Seamus’ Birthday
The kids were home last weekend as it was Seamus’ birthday - how quickly my eldest baby has reached 26 is totally beyond me. But both he and Orla, his sister, were back - albeit briefly. The house was full of noise, Olive was over excited and we shared some proper belly laughs. It’s easy to forget how healing that kind of chaos can be. In my day-to-day rhythm, balancing marketing, teaching, designing, answering emails, prepping workshops - I can sometimes get so caught up in the “doing” that I forget the “being.”
But that weekend, I was just Mum. We sat around the table in the garden until almost midnight. Remnants of Seamus’ birthday supper request of steak and chips - Charlie's equivalent mushroom notwithstanding, lying discarded on almost empty plates, listening to the kids’ news and telling stories that everyone’s heard a dozen times before - but that still make us laugh.
And I realised, as I leaned back and listened to them tease each other and share their plans and dreams, that this is the fuel. Not the work. Not the output. But the connections that bring us home to ourselves.
Elbow in the Park: Sound, Sky and Stillness
The weekend before Charlie and I went to see Elbow play in St Nicholas Park in Warwick. It was one of those golden summer evenings. The kind where the sky turns the softest blue and the air feels like it’s holding you. You know what I mean?
Standing on the grass, surrounded by lots of other people of all ages, the music rolled over us like a wave. Songs I’ve loved for years - “Build a Rocket Boy” is one of my favourites and "One Day Like This" always bring tears to my eyes as we played it at our wedding. It suddenly sounded different, not because they’d changed. But because I had.
I wasn’t thinking about my to-do list. I wasn’t worrying about the next diploma’s course content or what Instagram post I hadn’t scheduled. I was just… there. Present. Unplugged. Softened.
There’s something powerful about live music. It grounds you, it lifts and connects you at the same time. And in that moment, I wasn’t a business owner or a teacher or a planner. I was just part of something bigger, held in shared feeling, under an open sky with other people revelling in the joy Guy Garvey’s voice can bring.
Why We Need to Stop to Start Again
Anne Lamott’s words stayed with me all week. "Unplug it for a few minutes… including you."
We expect our phones and laptops to run constantly. Until they overheat. Freeze. Crash.
Sound familiar?
We do the same thing to ourselves. Push through. Squeeze in just one more task. Scroll while eating. Reply to emails at bedtime. Fill every gap. But we weren’t built for constant output. I know this to my cost. I know this at my core - but I still find myself revving up to an almost untenable pitch and have to consciously bring myself back down to an almost audible hum.
Sometimes, the kindest, wisest thing we can do for ourselves - and for those around us - is stop. Step back. Let our inner systems reboot.
Because when we come back to the work, to the relationships, to the world - we’re not coming back frazzled. We’re coming back restored.
And that’s the difference between burnout and balance.
What This Means for Me (and Maybe for You Too)
This idea of rest, of active pausing, is something I’ve been gently building into The Cloth Cutter too. Yes, I teach. Yes, I create. Yes, I plan and make and fit and adjust. But none of that works if we’re running on empty.
That’s why the studio is calm. That’s why there’s always time for cake and a proper chat. That’s why I encourage people to stop and breathe - yes people do need reminding, especially if it is their first time on an overlocker, especially when something isn’t quite working. Because often, the solution comes when we stop staring at the problem.
And it’s why I’ve started blocking out time; actual, ring-fenced time - I never work on a Sunday now - for stillness. For a walk without my phone, usually with Olive. For reading something with no “use.” For doing absolutely nothing productive and letting that be enough.
I used to feel guilty for that. I don’t anymore.
Because I’ve seen what happens when I rest. My ideas get better. My patience increases. My teaching deepens. I laugh more. I listen better.
And isn't that the goal? Not to squeeze the most out of every minute, but to show up for each one with a full heart and a rested mind?
An Invitation to Pause
So, this is your gentle nudge - from me, and from Anne Lamott.
Unplug.
Just for a little bit.
Close the laptop. Let the inbox wait. Sit under a tree. Watch the clouds. Listen to music that makes you feel things. Bake something slowly. Or don’t bake at all - just lie in the grass with your eyes closed and let the world turn without your input.
The work will still be there. But you will return to it more fully yourself.
And if you need help giving yourself that permission - come and join me. At the studio, at a workshop, or just in spirit. We are allowed to rest. We need to rest.
Rest is not a reward for productivity.
It’s the foundation for a meaningful life.
What about you?
When was the last time you properly unplugged? What would rest look like for you right now? I’d love to know - pop me a message or come along to something gentle and grounding this summer. Let’s all get a little better at pressing pause.
Jules x
Image credit of course goes to my lovely husband - Charlie Budd ❤️
Charlie
You are so right, of course, and I was going to write about unplugging in next weekend’s Five Good Things!