For a long time, I treated Friday evenings like a frantic race to a finish line that didn't exist. I’d be staring at my laptop screen, my eyes stinging from blue light, trying to squeeze out one last email before the weekend "technically" started. My "rest" usually consisted of collapsing onto the sofa, scrolling through Instagram for three hours, and waking up on Saturday feeling just as drained as I did on Monday morning.
I was surviving, but I wasn't becoming. I was busy, but I wasn't rising.
Everything changed when I stopped looking at the Sabbath as a religious "to-do" and started seeing it as a "to-be." I traded the rigid rules for a romance with stillness. I discovered the concept of Menuha.
In Genesis 2, we read that God finished His work and then He rested. But in the original Hebrew context, this wasn't because He was tired. (I mean, He’s God, He doesn’t get the 3 PM energy slump). He was creating Menuha.
Menuha isn't just the absence of work; it’s a positive, created reality of tranquility, joy, and harmony. It’s the feeling of finally being "at home" in your own soul. When we practice a Sunset Sabbath, we aren't just following a command from an old book; we are accepting a gentle invitation from a Father who wants us to find sanctuary in the middle of our storms.
For those of us on a healing journey, rest can feel like a threat. We think if we stop, the memories or the pain will catch up to us. But I’ve found that when I use my self care journal to document these sacred pauses, rest becomes the very container where healing happens.
The ritual begins the moment the sun starts its descent. In many cultures, including my own Zimbabwean heritage, the transition from day to night is a sacred boundary.
How I manage this is simple: I physically "clear the deck." I tidy one small corner of my home, usually my writing desk or my bedside table. I’m not talking about a deep clean (we aren't trying to win any "Housewife of the Year" awards here). I’m just moving the clutter out of my immediate line of sight.
Action Item: Light a candle. As you strike the match, say it out loud: "I am stepping out of doing and into being." This small act signals to your nervous system that the "fight or flight" of the work week is over.
You cannot find Menuha while your phone is pinging with notifications about things you can’t change until Monday.
I’ve learned the hard way that my manifestation journal works best when I’m actually present in my own life, not watching someone else’s curated highlight reel. I put my phone in a drawer. Not on the counter. In. A. Drawer.
If the idea of being "unreachable" panics you, remember: the world managed to spin for thousands of years without you checking your DMs every twenty minutes. You are allowed to be "off the grid" for your own sanity.
This is where the magic happens. I pull out my Still Rising journal. This isn't the time for a grocery list; it’s the time for soul-work.
I use a rooted approach to my writing. I ask myself:
Writing these things down on physical paper is a way of "externalizing" the burden. Once it’s in the journal, it doesn't have to live in my head anymore. If you’re looking for a tool to help you navigate these reflections, our journals and digital resources are designed exactly for this kind of intentional pause.
Sabbath is meant to be delightful. In Jewish tradition, the Sabbath is compared to a bride, someone you prepare for with joy.
For me, this means a "feast" that requires zero stress. Sometimes it’s a simple bowl of hot stew, other times it’s just a really good bar of dark chocolate and a cup of Rooibos tea. The point is to savor it. Eat slowly. Taste the spices. Feel the warmth of the mug.
When we rush our food, we tell our bodies we are still in "survival mode." When we linger, we tell our bodies they are safe.
To close my Sunset Sabbath ritual, I practice a moment of surrender. I sit in the dim light of the candle and I bless my own week. I acknowledge that I didn't get everything done, and that is okay.
I often look back at my Becoming Light journal to remind myself that transformation is gentle. It’s not a violent overhaul; it’s a slow unfolding.
My Closing Prayer: "Thank You for the gift of this day. I release my mistakes. I release my anxieties. I receive Your peace. I am enough, even when I am doing nothing."
If you are navigating a difficult season, your brain is likely stuck in high-alert. A Sunset Sabbath is a "resilience methodology" that helps rewire your spirit for hope. It reminds you that you are a daughter of the King, not a slave to the grind.
When you give yourself permission to write your own story, one that includes rest, you stop being a footnote in your own life. You start to rise.
If you’re ready to start your own Sunset Sabbath ritual but don't know where to begin, I invite you to explore our Journal Hub. Whether you need the structured prompts of "Still Rising" or the blank space of our premium notebooks, these tools are here to be the catalyst for your transformation.
And hey, if you need someone to come and speak to your community about reclaiming their identity through the power of journaling and rest, I’d love to connect. You can find more about my speaking engagements here.
Let’s find our Menuha together. The sun is setting. It’s time to come home to yourself.
