Permission to Pause: What Teaching 850 Brilliant People Taught Me About Being Human
Imagine standing in front of more than 850 people.
Engineers. Designers. Receptionists. Customer support teams. Executives. Leaders. Creative thinkers. Problem-solvers.
People who spend every day helping others do their work better.
Now imagine asking them to do something radically different.
Not produce.
Not perform.
Not solve another problem.
Just...
pause.
Breathe.
Move.
Smile.
Notice the person beside them.
A few weeks ago, I had the extraordinary privilege of leading mindfulness and movement experiences at the Jane company retreat.
I expected laughter, connection, and perhaps a few people who felt a little hesitant about dancing.
I didn't expect what happened next.
Within minutes, the room changed.
People who had arrived carrying the invisible weight of deadlines, responsibility, caregiving, and constant productivity began to soften.
Shoulders dropped.
Breathing slowed.
Faces brightened.
People who had never met were suddenly laughing together, moving together, and cheering one another on.
There was music.
Movement.
Joy.
And something even quieter beneath it all.
Relief.
Throughout the retreat, people found me between sessions, during meals, and in the hallways.
One person laughed and said,
"I'm obsessed with you."
Another quietly shared,
"I didn't realize how much I needed this."
Someone else simply hugged me with tears in their eyes.
Again and again, I heard the same message in different words:
"I feel like myself again."
Those moments stayed with me—not because they were about me, but because they reflected something I have witnessed for more than twenty-five years as a psychotherapist.
Even the brightest, kindest, most capable people become exhausted.
Every week I sit with extraordinary human beings.
People who care deeply.
People who lead.
People who love generously.
People who hold families together, run companies, care for patients, teach children, solve impossible problems, and quietly carry burdens no one else can see.
From the outside, many appear to have everything together.
Inside, they're often wondering how much longer they can keep going at this pace.
Somewhere along the way, many of us learned that our worth is measured by how much we accomplish.
So we answer one more email.
Take one more meeting.
Solve one more crisis.
Push through one more day.
We tell ourselves we'll rest when things calm down.
But life has a remarkable way of filling every empty space we leave it.
As I looked out at hundreds of people dancing together, I found myself thinking the same thing I've thought for more than two decades of teaching.
Beneath our job titles...
our accomplishments...
our responsibilities...
our carefully curated calendars...
we are all simply human beings longing to feel alive, connected, and enough.
That longing doesn't disappear because we're successful.
If anything, success can make it easier to forget that we, too, need rest.
Need beauty.
Need music.
Need play.
Need one another.
Jane reminded me of something I never want to forget.
People don't simply need better time management.
They need permission.
Permission to breathe.
Permission to laugh.
Permission to move.
Permission to be imperfect.
Permission to remember that they are human before they are productive.
When people are given that permission—even for a few minutes—something remarkable begins to happen.
The nervous system settles.
Creativity returns.
Connection deepens.
Joy becomes possible again.
Five reminders I brought home from Jane
1. Rest is not something we earn.
It is part of being well.
2. Movement changes us.
Sometimes one song can accomplish what hours of overthinking cannot.
3. Joy belongs at work.
It isn't a distraction from meaningful work—it often makes meaningful work possible.
4. We heal in community.
There is something profoundly comforting about realizing you are not the only one carrying invisible weight.
5. Tiny pauses matter.
We don't always need a weeklong retreat to reconnect with ourselves. Sometimes one mindful breath, one walk outside, one favorite song, or one genuine conversation is enough to change the direction of a day.
A small invitation.
Before answering your next email...
Before checking your phone...
Before solving someone else's problem...
Pause.
Stand up.
Stretch.
Take one slow breath.
Put on one song you love.
Dance in your kitchen.
Walk outside.
Notice the sky.
Smile at someone.
Your nervous system isn't asking for perfection.
It's asking to remember what it feels like to be alive.
I left Jane deeply grateful—not simply because I had the privilege of teaching, but because more than 850 remarkable people reminded me of something I hope never to forget.
Life isn't waiting for us on the other side of the next project, promotion, vacation, or milestone.
It is unfolding quietly in this breath.
This conversation.
This ordinary Tuesday.
This song playing in the background.
These may very well be the days we someday look back on as the good old days.
My hope is that we don't wait twenty years to realize how beautiful they were.
May we notice them now.
May we move through them with a little more presence.
A little more gratitude.
And may we give ourselves—and one another—the greatest gift of all:
Permission to pause.
Rachel Fleischman, LCSW, REAT is a psychotherapist, speaker, and founder of Dance Your Bliss®, an experiential approach that blends movement, mindfulness, music, creativity, and expressive arts to help people reconnect with joy, resilience, and themselves. She teaches nationally, including at Omega Institute and Rancho La Puerta, and maintains a private psychotherapy practice in San Francisco.