Journal

Can’t relax? Why stillness feels hard and how you can learn it

Relaxing is a skill you can learn. Three minutes on the floor show where restlessness comes from and how to pause at your own pace.

If you find it hard to relax, it’s usually because over the years your nervous system has learned that it’s safe only while it’s doing something. Stillness feels unfamiliar to it, sometimes even unsettling. Relaxing can be learned, gradually and in small doses, at your own pace and with the freedom to end the pause whenever you like. That’s exactly how I work with people in my somatic sessions.

Before you read on, a small challenge.

Lie down on the floor. You don’t need a mat; a rug is fine. Set a timer for three minutes. There are only two rules: you don’t pick up your phone, and you don’t do anything. You don’t meditate, you don’t breathe “properly,” you don’t try to relax. You just lie there.

If you like, try it now and come back afterward. If you’d rather not, just imagine how it would go. That works too.

What will probably happen

The first thirty seconds or so are usually fine. The floor is solid, the ceiling is where it always is, and you may even think this is easy.

Then it starts. Your thoughts drift to everything waiting for you: an unanswered message, the groceries, yesterday’s conversation. Your right leg wants to move. Your jaw tightens for no reason. Your hand reaches for the pocket where your phone would normally be. You look at the timer and see that only one minute has passed. A thought shows up: this is silly. Or the opposite happens, and sleep suddenly pulls you under.

If the three minutes went by calmly, great. If they didn’t, you’re in good company.

Stillness is hard for almost everyone

In a well-known study, psychologist Timothy Wilson and his colleagues at the University of Virginia left people alone in an empty room for six to fifteen minutes, with no phone and nothing to do. Many found it difficult and unpleasant. In one part of the study they could press a button and give themselves a mild electric shock. Earlier, they had tried the shock and said they would pay to avoid feeling it again. Many pressed the button anyway. For them, a small, unpleasant jolt was easier to bear than the quiet. The researchers concluded that most people find it so hard to be alone with their thoughts that they will do almost anything else instead [1]. So if you get restless after the first minute on the floor, you aren’t doing anything wrong.

More than forty years ago, psychologists Frederick Heide and Thomas Borkovec described something they called “relaxation-induced anxiety.” Some people learning relaxation techniques grew more tense during practice, the opposite of what everyone expected [2]. Later research by psychologist Michelle Newman and her team offers one possible explanation: some people stay on alert because a sudden drop from feeling relaxed into fear or sadness is harder for them than steady, familiar tension [3]. For them, tension works as a kind of shield.

That makes the restlessness on the floor easier to understand. While work, conversations, or scrolling keep your attention busy, uncomfortable feelings stay in the background. When you lie down with nothing to do, that protection falls away, and whatever has been waiting its turn comes up: worry, sadness, thoughts that have piled up all day. So the body does what it knows best and looks for something to do. A leg wants to move. A hand reaches for the phone.

Calming down is a skill you learn

In somatic work, you practice settling down the way you once learned to ride a bike or play an instrument: gradually, and with as little effort as possible.

Moshe Feldenkrais, the physicist who developed the Feldenkrais Method, wrote that finer perception comes only when effort goes down. When you do something at full strength, you can’t feel small differences [4]. That’s why the movements in his lessons are small and slow. Slowness has a clear purpose there: it gives you time to notice the difference between one way of moving and another. He also believed that speed comes later, on its own, once the nervous system has found an easier way [5]. If these movements seem too small to change anything, that’s a common first thought. But the small effort is exactly what lets you notice the difference.

For a start, it’s enough to learn to pause briefly, notice what’s happening, and then choose what to do next.

Practice: a second try on the floor (about 5 minutes)

This time the rules are different. You may move, you may open your eyes, you may stop whenever you like. All the movements are small and slow, always within a range that feels clearly comfortable, and if even the smallest movement doesn’t feel good, just imagine it.

  1. Support. Lie on your back, bend your knees, and place your feet on the floor about hip-width apart. If your head tips back, put a folded towel under it. Your eyes can stay open.
  2. Your own pace. Let both knees tip a little to the right together while your feet stay on the floor, then bring them back to the middle. Repeat a few times at your usual pace, without slowing down.
  3. Half. Do the same movement once at half the speed and half the size, then go back to your own pace. What was different?
  4. Three breaths. Bring your knees back to the middle so they point up toward the ceiling, and pause for three breaths. Just three, then go on. During that time, notice one thing: where your back touches the floor most clearly.
  5. When restlessness shows up. Notice where you feel it in your body and let it be there. If it’s too much, let your knees tip a few times a little farther and a little faster, and see what happens.
  6. Quick, to finish. Let your knees tip left and right faster, in whatever way feels good. How does the movement feel now, compared with the beginning?

Five minutes is plenty for today.

Why it’s easier this time

In the second try, calm comes in small doses, with a clear end: three breaths, and then you carry on. A pause with a known end is much easier to accept. I work the same way in my classes and sessions, where movement and rest take turns. Instead of being told to “relax,” your attention gets a concrete question: what changes when the movement is half the size, and where does your back touch the floor? The restlessness is allowed to stay. When you notice it and give it a little room, it often settles on its own. Buddhist teacher Gil Fronsdal offers similar advice to people who struggle with restlessness in meditation: feel it in the body and let it be, instead of fighting it [6].

The quick movement at the end is a small reward. After the slow part, many people find that the fast movement is lighter and softer than at the beginning. That’s how you can tell the slow part did its job. It fits with a study of Feldenkrais group classes by Kerr, Kotynia, and Kolt, which found that state anxiety dropped after a single lesson, in both beginners and experienced participants, and that after ten weeks the drop was larger in those who had just started [7].

The next time you lie down on the floor and a leg asks to move, you can give it a small movement, pause for three breaths, and see what is different now. Stillness is learned like anything else, a little at a time.

Where to go from here

If you would like to explore this together, we can work one to one, online. In my 1:1 somatic sessions we work with movement, breath and what comes up when you stop, at a pace you choose. It starts with a free 20-minute call, where you can ask questions and see whether this way of working suits you.

If you prefer to learn in a group, see the upcoming workshops and retreats.

Frequently asked questions

Why do I feel restless when I try to relax?

Because your nervous system is used to activity, stillness registers as an unfamiliar state. Psychologists have described this since the 1980s. It helps to practice calm in short, predictable doses, with the freedom to move.

What if I can’t meditate?

That’s fine. Many people find it easier to be present while moving than while sitting still. The somatic work I do starts with movement, so it’s a good way in if meditation hasn’t worked for you.

Is it normal to fall asleep during the practice?

Yes. When the body shifts from alertness into rest, drowsiness is common, especially at first. With practice, it gets easier to relax without drifting off.

How can I relax before bed?

Give your attention a small task instead of ordering yourself to fall asleep. Lying on your back, slowly roll your head a little to the left and right on the pillow a few times, and notice how the touch of the pillow on the back of your head changes. As the movement slows down, the rest of you tends to slow down with it.

How do I relax my body when I’m stressed?

Reduce the effort in whatever you’re already doing. If you’re sitting, notice where your feet touch the floor and let your shoulders and jaw work a little less. One slow movement, half its usual size, usually settles you more than telling yourself to relax.

How long does it take to learn to relax?

Often less time than you’d expect. Many people notice a first difference after one short lesson. For stillness to feel familiar, give it a few weeks of regular practice, a little every day.

Sources

  1. Wilson T. D. et al. (2014). Just think: The challenges of the disengaged mind. Science, 345(6192), 75-77.
  2. Heide F. J., Borkovec T. D. (1983). Relaxation-induced anxiety: Paradoxical anxiety enhancement due to relaxation training. Journal of Consulting and Clinical Psychology, 51(2), 171-182.
  3. Kim H., Newman M. G. (2019). The paradox of relaxation training. Journal of Affective Disorders, 259, 271-278.
  4. Feldenkrais M. (1972). Awareness Through Movement. Harper & Row.
  5. Feldenkrais M. (1980). Learn to Learn (booklet). ATM Recordings.
  6. Fronsdal G. The Hindrance of Restlessness and Worry. Insight Meditation Center.
  7. Kerr G. A., Kotynia F., Kolt G. S. (2002). Feldenkrais Awareness Through Movement and state anxiety. Journal of Bodywork and Movement Therapies, 6(2), 102-107.
Nikola, Feldenkrais practitioner and somatic coach

I am Nikola, a certified Feldenkrais practitioner and somatic coach, with about nine years of somatic work. Here I write about different approaches to the body: how to understand it better, how to learn new ways of using it, and how to build a more holistic relationship with your body and with life.

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