the silent cost of overwork
On Christmas Day, a German doctor named Jens Foell was walking along the Welsh coast when he slipped on a stone, broke his leg, and lay in excruciating pain. In that moment, he realized this wasn’t just misfortune—it was the outcome of months of overwork that had slowly drained his memory, coordination, and concentration. His accident was not an isolated event but a warning of what happens when we push our minds and bodies beyond their limits.
We are living in the midst of a global work pandemic. Research shows that working more than 55 hours a week leads to 745,000 deaths annually from strokes, heart disease, and respiratory conditions—a staggering 29 percent increase since 2000. Behind these numbers lies a deeper truth: the human brain is not designed to be perpetually “on.”
As neuroscientist Joseph Jebelli explains in his book The Brain at Rest, our minds operate through two opposing networks. The executive network—the “work brain”—handles focus, problem-solving, and decision-making. It’s like the CEO of our mental life. But it is finite. When overused, the prefrontal cortex physically shrinks, the amygdala grows more reactive, and stress chemicals erode our neural wiring. The result is a frightening transformation: we become anxious, exhausted shells, incapable of clear thought or sustained learning.
The default network—the “rest brain”—is equally vital. It comes alive when we step away from tasks, enabling creativity, reflection, memory consolidation, and future planning. In other words, our best ideas often emerge not in the boardroom but on a walk, in the shower, or during quiet moments of idleness. Yet our always-on culture keeps us locked in executive mode, depriving the default network of the oxygen it needs to function.
Technology deepens this trap. Scrolling endlessly through feeds or consuming rapid bursts of digital content feels like relaxation, but it only keeps the executive network humming. Instead of resting, we overstimulate our brains, becoming addicted to novelty and dopamine hits while neglecting the true restoration our minds crave.
The lesson is clear: if we want to protect both our health and our humanity, we must reclaim genuine rest. That means taking breaks without screens, embracing silence, and allowing the default network space to work its quiet magic. Rest is not laziness—it is the foundation of resilience, creativity, and a life lived well.
