Sabbath: Regularly Making Space for What Replenishes
“Sabbath time is time off the treadmill of production. It is time to rest, reflect, and restore.” – Wayne Muller, Author
Where do you create scheduled space for restoration? If replenishment, as explored in last week's blog, is about restoring what has been depleted, sabbath is about intentionally and regularly creating the space that allows for replenishment to happen. In the rhythms of modern medicine, rest is too often treated as what happens when all the work is finally done or even as a sign of weakness or lack of dedication. Sabbath invites a different posture: rest that is protected and purposeful not just for the sake of being able to “show up” more fully for work, but as an end it itself.
As I’ve reflected on replenishment over the past few months, I began noticing how rarely I truly stepped away from work; not just physically, but mentally and emotionally. Even on days off, my mind stayed tethered to tasks undone, messages accumulating, and conversations delayed. Experimenting with a regular defined period with no work and no productivity goals initially felt strangely uncomfortable. And yet, I noticed that when doing so, my nervous system downregulated and time seemed to slow. It felt like a gift to myself.
Historically, Sabbath took shape as a Jewish ritual practice set apart, named, and protected in time. Yet even in its earliest form, it carried a broader insight: that stepping away from work was a way of remembering one’s humanity. In cultures where survival depended on constant labor, Sabbath became a countercultural declaration that human worth was not synonymous with productivity. That wisdom has only widened over time. A recent study, and my own experience, echo the same truth: when people intentionally disengage from work, emotional wellbeing and quality of life improve. Rest, it seems, is not an escape from being human, but a return to it.
Over time, I’ve also noticed that this experience of sabbath deepens when it is shared. Some of the most restorative moments have come not from solitude, but from including some unhurried time with friends who are also willing to step out of “work mode.” When phones stay pocketed and productivity is no longer the currency, conversations change. We listen more fully. We laugh more easily. In these shared pauses, something settles. We remember ourselves not just as clinicians, but as people. Sabbath, in this sense, becomes a communal act; a small but meaningful resistance not only to the perpetual drive to work, but also to isolation.
Observing a sabbath doesn’t require a full day, a rigid structure, or a religious frame. It begins with intention. This week, consider claiming some sabbath time; an evening walk, a shared meal, meeting for a drink with a colleague. Make it time that is clearly marked and carefully protected from work. Notice what shifts occur. Then schedule something regularly, perhaps weekly, over the next few weeks. In a profession that so easily fragments us, choosing time for rest, not as a reward, but as a rhythm, may be one of the simplest ways we replenish ourselves, and one another.