the practice of being mama

I've written before about the reasons why I think it is so important for mamas to meditate. Since I am currently working on recommitting to the practice, I though I would revisit the subject.

The practice of doing nothing

As a mama of two littles and main nest-fluffer of the household, there is something I need to do nearly every moment of every day. Even my own self-care can sometimes feel like a "to-do." Meditation, even if just for five minutes, can be extremely beneficial and refreshing since it is the practice of doing nothing. For whatever amount of time passes between one bell and another on my timer app, there is nothing I need to be doing but just sit there, breathe, and know that I am breathing. I don't need anything; nothing or no one needs me. There is space to just be, a precious and rare commodity.

The practice of placing attention


I love this quote, attributed to Mark Twain: "I've had a lot of trouble in my life, and most of it never happened." He is pointing to one of the deepest truths of Buddhism, which is that most of our suffering is due to unskillful thought patterns. I see this clearly in my life as a mama. Most of the difficulty lies not in having a baby who won't nap, or a toddler who wakes up said baby after he finally falls asleep, but in the thoughts that inevitably arise as a result: I can't believe this happened again. Will this baby never sleep? Will I ever get anything done? When will my life get back to some semblance of normal? I should've never had a baby! Mostly our unskillful thoughts have to do with the past or the future, are riddled with doubt or fear. Very seldom are we preoccupied with what is actually going on in that very moment. If we were, we would see that we have all the resources we need to handle whatever situation is presented to us. The practice of meditation, which asks us to place our attention on the breath, over and over again, trains us to place our attention on what is useful, on what is skillful: our breath, this very moment.

The practice of starting over


We've all blown it, to varying minor or spectacular degrees, and have felt like giving up. I've screwed up, and there's no making it right again. In meditation, it is expected that we will veer of course, that the mind will stray from the breath and follow some random train of thought down the rabbit hole. The success of our practice, if there is such a thing, is measured not by whether or not our mind strays, but by the gentleness with which we bring it back on the right path. It matters absolutely not whether we do this once or a dozen or a hundred times over the course of one sitting period. What matters is the gentleness with which we invite ourselves to start over again. What if that was how we measured our days, too? By the gentleness with which we talk to ourselves? By how we grant ourselves the grace to start over?


Curious about starting your own mediation practice, or returning to the cushion? The Open Heart Project is one of the best resources out there to assist you in your practice. I hope you'll give it a go--if you do, let me know how it goes!

Interview with Karen Maezen Miller, and giveaway winner!

Thanks to all who have  stopped by and commented on my blog post reviewing The Mindful Way Through Pregnancy. The giveaway winner is Ranya! Congratulations! An email is on its way to you. But I feel that everyone's a winner today, because I have a wonderful treat to share with you on this All Hallow's Eve's Eve: an interview with Karen Maezen Miller!

My love of Maezen is well documented on this site. I have lost count of the number of times and circumstances in which she totally saved my sanity. Momma Zen has been my bible since Silas was born. Her wisdom speaks to me so deeply, I find it a struggle sometimes not to quote her in every single post I write! She has been kind and generous enough to answer a few questions for you guys. I hope you enjoy this interview as much as I did.

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I heard you say in a workshop once that, when it comes to spiritual practice, "parents go to the head of the class." Can you tell us what you mean by that?

Forgive me for that self-centered boast. What I mean is that any spiritual practice is grounded in self-discipline, the practice of doing what you don't really want to, over and over again. Much of parenthood consists of the daily tasks, reminders, and devotions that are definitely not what we would rather be doing! So in that way, parenthood is like spiritual boot camp. We have to get over ourselves in a hurry. In spiritual language that "getting over yourself" is called "transcendence."


In your essay in The Mindful Way Through Pregnancy, you address how fear is a prevalent emotion for the expecting mother. Can you say a few word about the relationship between fear and the breath?

In a way, fear is the opposite of breath. Fear strangles breath. But let's make it simple. Fear only exists as a thought in your mind. You cannot identify it outside of your anxious, fretful, panicked thought stream. But breath is not a thought. Breath is the function of life itself. Fear is in the mind; breath is in the body. Fear is in the dark; breath is in the light. Fear preaches death; breath preaches life. Fear is occupied with the future; the breath is always present. That should distinguish the two!

Why focus on the breath? Because your own focus is what amplifies your experience. If you focus on your fearful ruminations, your what-ifs and what-abouts and how-comes, you will scare yourself to death! If you focus on the breath, you will stay completely engaged in the present moment, and handle it beautifully. It's quite a magic carpet ride, that breath. It takes you places you never dreamed you could go, and they are real.

From what I can glean of your life story from your writings, you didn't set out to be either a writer or a Zen priest. Has writing always been a secret passion? How has writing about spiritual practice and motherhood evolve into an occupation for you?

Even as a young girl, I loved words. It was a bit of a secret passion, to tell you the truth. I literally loved the way words sounded and felt, but I never connected that with any ambition. For me, it was more like a song in my heart. Although I studied journalism and worked in business marketing, I never had any desire to write for a living. Even now, I'm not writing for a living. My writing is not an occupation or career. For some, it might be, but not for me. Writing, motherhood, gardening, cooking, cleaning: these are just the way my life presents itself to me. Surrendering to whatever presents itself is my vow as a priest. Thank heaven I'm not trying to be a success at any of it; I would miss the point. I would probably miss a lot of the fun, beauty, and tenderness.

Momma Zen and Hand Wash Cold have been a lifesaving source of inspiration for me--and for many. What have been some of the voices and resources that have guided you in your life as a mother and householder?

That's a very good question. I never really think about it. Literally everything guides me in my life. It might be a poem that appears in front of me, a chat with a neighbor, a question like this! For that reason I am an avid listener. I believe that everything is the truth trying to get my attention. I am deeply awed by poets and writers (and not by advice-peddlers). I find the greatest solace in the most unlikely places, like the signs held up by the homeless folks on the corner that remind me to give even when I feel I've reached my limits. "Anything Helps" the sign might say. It's so true. As I have matured, I have taken comfort in my fading memories of my mother and grandmothers. I finally understand what it takes to care for a family and make a home. It takes your entire life! And it means making your entire life a gift to everyone else. Nothing is more fulfilling.

Would you walk us through a typical day in the life of Karen Maezen Miller?

Oh dear! It's just like yours, literally. I'm the first up and into the kitchen. (I love a quiet house at dawn.) I feed the dog, make a breakfast that my daughter is likely to ignore. I check e-mail, and begin the daylong practice of responding to whatever appears. I quickly make the bed, get dressed, drive my daughter to school, take an exercise class and then I'm home again for the dog walk. I have a grand scheme of what I'd like to do each day, but am usually overtaken by small practicalities and urgencies. Sometimes the big thing on my list is something as little as pruning the azaleas! I do a little bit of writing here and there, sometimes for the blog, an article or something longer. Words sing to me all day long, and every now and then I catch one or two! My daughter is out of school at 2:30, the afternoon falls, I cook dinner, run the vacuum, finish a load of laundry, take my daughter to gymnastics. Before bed I sit on my cushion, and this is how I keep company with all the ancestors who have come before me. Then I let the day be done. I never regret what I haven't done. Even as I write this I am overwhelmed with gratitude that this right here is my life. Who could want more?

Do you have any projects on deck right now that you're excited about? What new offerings from you can we look forward to?

I always have one of those major on-deck projects lurking about and sometimes they don't amount to very much. So yes, I do, I'm letting the song come to me, to rise up into a resounding and unforgettable chorus. Things take time, and I'm not in a hurry. That must mean I've got more time to let it come. We all do. We have all the time we need when we quit chasing it, and let it come to us, like a song on the breeze, a song we already know the words to.

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Thanks so much for sharing, Maezen! Sending safe, warm & bright thoughts to all those affected by Hurricane Sandy. I hope you are well.

book review & giveaway!: the mindful way through pregnancy

The main message I try to pass on to my prenatal yoga students is that mindfulness practices, such as conscious breathing, yoga and meditation, are invaluable in supporting and serving their unique needs as they grow into motherhood. So I was very excited to find out last month that one of my favorite writers and teachers, Susan Piver, has edited a new book, The Mindful Way Through Pregnancy: Meditation, Yoga and Journaling for Expectant Mothers, which includes an essay by yet another favorite, Karen Maezen Miller. I  immediately ordered a copy, eager to see if this could be a resource I would want to recommend to my students.

The Mindful Way Through Pregnancy contains six essays, with topics ranging from Nurturing Your Body With Yoga, to Bonding With Your Baby, to Calming Fear. Coupled with each essay is a specific mindfulness practice, among them Basic Breath Awareness, Journaling, and two different meditation practices. Accompanying the book is a CD of four practices, beautifully led by Susan Piver (whom I love for the wonderful guided meditations she offers through her Open Heart Project.)

In her introduction, Piver writes that "mindfulness doesn't necessarily mean peacefulness. It refers instead to the willingness to be with ourselves as we are from moment to moment, whether that self is the picture of blissful maternity or of something a bit more, say, cranky or fearful. The material in this book is about embracing the experience of pregnancy--and as with all embraces, it begins with an opening, which is a synonym for mindfulness."

This theme of opening up to the experience of pregnancy, whether happy or fearful or just plain miserable, is one that runs through the whole book, and is a message I would have benefited from greatly when I was pregnant with my son. My experience of being pregnant was so far from what I had hoped or expected it would be: I didn't feel blissful or happy, but mostly cranky and achy and struggling deeply to make or feel a connection to the little bean growing in my belly. I wish I had had this book to walk me through my first pregnancy. When I despaired that my experience was far from the deep spiritual one I'd envisioned, I would have loved to read Anne Cushman's words: "What makes pregnancy a spiritual practice is not the kind of pregnancy we have. It's how we open to it, moment by moment, breath by breath."  When I couldn't imagine what our baby would be like and didn't feel a loving connection to our child, it would've been a balm to read that "if we can stop second-guessing ourselves and forcing ourselves to feel whatever we're conditioned to believe we ought to feel, bonding will simply happen," as Celia Strauss expresses. I've underlined several passages from Karen Maezen Miller's essay, Preparing for Childbirth--which is in itself worth the price of the book--and have already been reading them out loud to my students in class. The following excerpt sums up nearly everything I've learned about mindfulness and motherhood:

There is an unexpected end to every pregnancy. The end is birth itself, and whether early or late, easy or difficult, every birth is unpredictable and astonishing. Pregnancy prepares us as all of life prepares us. It prepares us to let go of how we thought it would be, and to focus on how it is. It prepares us to dwell solely on what appears in front of us, instead of on the anxious, fearful ruminations in our head. No matter how you think or feel, you can literally see how prepared you are, and you can trust it.

 I was initially a little disappointed that the book itself was so slim, but I soon realized that its small size is in fact one of its greatest strengths. Being pregnant, especially with your first baby, is an overwhelming experience of learning, researching, and swimming in a veritable sea of new information. Between figuring out how to live in and support the new reality of your shifting and expanding body, to weighing options for the birth of your baby, to trying to decide on which strollers, car seats, and diapers will suit your lifestyle, there you might seem to be little space available to learn how to meditate, especially if it means reading thick volumes on the subject. This is the genius of The Mindful Way Through Pregnancy: with its short essays, and CD of guided practices, it will fit nicely into the whirlwind, and provide a safe place to land, find some grounding, and begin to develop those mindfulness practices that will serve you as birth draws nearer, and once your babe is in your arms.

Holding this book in your hand, you will have all the foundation and guidance needed to get you started with several different mindfulness practices, specifically geared towards expectant mothers, which will serve and nurture you through your pregnancy and beyond. I am so grateful that this book is out there, and I highly recommend it.

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I am so thrilled to have a copy of the book to give to one lucky reader! Please leave a comment below to be entered in the drawing! I will leave the comments and the contest open until 11:59pm, Central Time on  Monday, October 29th . I will reveal the winner on Tuesday, October 30th, when I'll share a very special treat with you: an interview with Karen Maezen Miller!


Disclaimer: Shambhala Books is providing the giveaway copy, at my request. I purchased my own copy of the book. My opinion is, now and always, entirely mine.

mama mantras

Remembering what we already know is, I think, a unique challenge of motherhood, and also the key to finding grace and ease in the midst of our difficult, ordinary, blessed days. Too often in my tenure as mama the wisdom I possess, my own strength and intelligence, were obscured, buried under a landslide of sleeplessness, confusion, anger. But just as the sun doesn't shine any less brightly for being covered by clouds, so, too, our deep inner wisdom is always available to us, even when it appears to be hidden and, therefore, non-existent. One tool I have consistently relied on, and found relief in, are mama mantras.

I didn't come up with this concept: in fact, there is a whole book dedicated to it, a book which I own, and is excellent. And working with slogans, or lojong, is a well-established Buddhist practice. But over the months I have come up with my own string of pith sayings and comforting utterances, gleaned from the writings of those teachers who keep me afloat--the usual suspects of Karen Maezen Miller, Pema Chodron, Mary Oliver. They do not necessarily speak exclusively to the life of a mama, but boy, they've pulled me out of the muck on many an occasion.


Here is a random sampling of favorites:

This moment is the perfect teacher  This one currently graces the chalkboard in my kitchen. It serves to remind me that if I slow down, pause, and take notice, each moment I find myself in contains the exact teachings I need in order to wake up to my life. It's just a matter of allowing said moment to be exactly as it is, and of allowing myself to be exactly as I am in that moment.


Lower your standards, and relax as it is  This is a favorite, from Pema Chodron, which I wrote about before. If motherhood had a theme song, this would be it for me. To expect less of myself, of others, of circumstances, and to allow things to be just as they are--that is the secret to fully inhabiting the moments of my life, and to look around with the eyes of love.


Remember to pause  I will never find the peace I am looking for in the moment if I do not slow down to realize it is already there. But the frenetic pace of our busyness is so seductive! There is an almost irresistible urge to hurl ourselves headlong into whatever difficulty lies ahead, as if by speeding up, we can hurry through the tough parts, as though we were fast-forwarding the scary parts of the movie. But this moment it all we ever have, and if we can let it, it has a lot to teach us. (See above.) Also, by remembering to pause, we give ourselves a chance to breathe, to relax, and to start over.


This is it   This one from Jon Kabat-Zinn. "When we let go of wanting something else to happen in this moment, we take a profound step towards being able to encounter what is here now." I have no other life than this one. Furthermore, I don't want another life--I love my family, my home, my friends, my work. Too often though, I find myself wishing for another moment, for another reality. This mantra reminds me that I am right where I need to be, and that there is nowhere to escape to. Better to abide deeply in what already is.


I can stand this  This one comes our of Mommy Mantras, and has helped me on more than one occasion. How often have I found myself saying or thinking, "I can't stand this", or "I can't do this"? Recalling this mantra, changing my self-talk from negative to positive, has reminded me again and again that I have the wisdom and strength I need to rise to the challenge of the moment. As it turns out, almost every time, I can stand it, and I'm already doing it.



The main way I like to use these mantras is to write them down, over and over and over, in my regular journal or small Moleskine, or somewhere I can see them, like on my kitchen blackboard. Writing is the best way I know to commit something to memory, to learn it by heart, and therefore to have it available and ready when I need it to be.

Certain favorite poems serve a similar purpose--this is why I rarely go more than a few days without re-reading some favorite lines by Mary Oliver, whose words "to pay attention, that is our endless and proper work" is my life's mission statement and main anthem. And a whole separate post could be devoted to songs that have that same effect: to pull me out of my misery, recall me to myself, and point me to something brighter.

But wherever they might come from, this remains true: words are magic, words bring comfort, and words remind me of what I already know, so that I can carry on. And on, and on, and on.


Do you have mantras, cherished sayings, worn lines of poetry that serve a similar purpose for you? What is the theme song of your life? I'd love for you to share in the comments.

there is no cure for hot and cold

"The way to resolve our resistance is to meet it face-to-face.

When we feel resentment because the room is too hot,

we could meet its heat and feel its fieriness and its heaviness.

When we feel resentment because the room is too cold, 

we could meet the cold and feel its iciness and its bite.

When we want to complain about the rain, we could feel its wetness instead.

When we worry because the wind is shaking our windows,

we could meet the wind and hear its sound.

Cutting our expectations for a cure is a gift we can give ourselves.

There is no cure for hot and cold. They will go on forever.

After we have died, the ebb and flow will still continue.

Like the tides of the sea, like day and night--this is the nature of things.

Being able to appreciate, being able to look closely,

being able to open our minds--this is the core of maitri."

-Pema Chodron, When Things Fall Apart

(emphasis mine)

doing something different

This week I've added a new small practice to my mornings, now that Silas wakes up--oh glory of glories--somewhere around 6:30am, and that I can actually wake up before him. I sit on my cushion, in the corner of my bedroom, and after a few simple upper-body stretches, recite the following aspiration: "May I see what I do. May I do something different. May this be for me a way of life." The aspiration is from Pema Chodron, and expresses accurately and succinctly what it means to live a life of awareness: to observe our habitual ways of reacting and responding to our circumstances, to the small events of our days, and to, as Pema says, "see neurosis as neurosis"; to shift away from those habitual patterns, to try something different instead; and to do it over and over again.

I had an opportunity to see this seed practice bear fruit yesterday. Both of our vehicles were in some state of disrepair, which it would be too long and boring to explain. Suffice it to say that there were tears, despair and self-pity yesterday morning when, all dressed and ready to head to the gym with the little man at 8am, I found the back tire of the only car I could drive completely flat. It's still 100 degrees everyday here in Central Texas (I KNOW) and the thought of being stuck out on the road with a flat tire and toddler in tow prevented me from inflating the tire and going to the gym anyway. Quickly flashed through my mind images of days and days stuck at home with Silas, unable to go anywhere (did I mention that car also didn't have a working A/C?), too hot to even go outside. Though the morning was muggy and almost slimy feeling I made the best of the situation: since I was already dressed for it, I strapped the boy in his stroller, and went for a quick walk down the road.

Moving my body, being outside, helped the gears of my mind shift out of despair mode and into action mode, and soon I had a plan. Not too long after I had a babysitter, and appointment at a tire shop. Before I could go, of course, I had to inflate the tire.There I was, sweaty and febrile, stomping around the backyard, trying to find an outlet for the cord that would power up the tire inflator, cursing the godforsaken Texas heat and my bleached, brittle yard, when a loud voice in my mind shouted "I can't handle this!" And just as soon as those words echoed in my brain did a smaller voice chime in, like a sweet but firm tap on my shoulder, whispering "You're handling it."

That stopped me in my tracks. It was true--I was handling it. I was cranky but I had a plan. At that moment the morning's seed practice burst out into fruit, and I was able to see the habitual pattern--the talking to myself, narrating my miserable experience, reinforcing the feeling of despair and self-pity--and do something different instead, which was to acknowledge that, as is almost always the case, everything would be just fine. That I was up to the task that my life was presenting me, and that the biggest obstacles lay not in the flat tire and pounding heat and bleached grass and injustice of it all--that the biggest obstacle to happiness and connection in that moment was my own mind. And that my mind was something I could change in that very instant.

Silas had a blast at a new friend's house, where they had a train table and an outdoor slide and many other wonders. I got the tires AND the A/C fixed, knitting and listening to podcasts and reading blogs while I waited. The day's challenges were met, after the initial meltdown, with equanimity. I was even singing along to the radio on my way back. I had handled it, and all would be well.

For that day at least. And now to do it all again today, and tomorrow, and surely again the day after.

august 2

"Fear is a natural reaction of moving closer to the truth." -Pema Chödrön

the best parenting advice i have to give

When I teach prenatal yoga classes, my students often ask me for advice. While I have no problems telling them that they need a Moby and an Ergo, and that BumGenius 4.0 are absolutely the best cloth diapers, when they ask me about stuff like sleep training, I let out a long sigh. Silas is sleeping through the night now, our bedtimes are very smooth, and he's trending towards sleeping until 6am, which feels luxurious. At 18 months we are in a good place, but I have almost no wisdom to share from our journey here, except for this: it will suck, then it'll get better, and there is very little you can do in between but wait. 
This is not the advice that anyone wants, myself included. Witness the scene in our bedroom last night, after I'd had a very crappy afternoon with the boy: I was detailing to my husband all the ways in which it sucked, in which my life sucked. I looked at him with pleading eyes, asking him "Don't you have any advice for me?" "Nope" he said. "It's a difficult stage right now, and it will get better." While I know he is right, that what he says is true, it's hardly comforting to hear that there isn't one trick or hack that's gonna fix my life. And that's what we want, isn't it? To know we're one simple and genius piece of advice away from having smooth and happy days? Trust me, if that piece of advice was being doled out, no matter the cost, I'd be first in line.
What follows is the sum total of the wisdom I have acquired during my 18 month tenure as a parent. Not only is this the best advice I have to give on parenting, it is the only advice I have to give on parenting. It works for every conceivable conundrum and situation, whether you're weathering out a tantrum or the umpteenth sleepless night. It will not fix any problem at its root, it won't change your circumstances, but it will change you, which really is all that is needed, in almost every case. Are you ready to Pin my life changing life hack?
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1.Breathe. When I teach yoga classes, I instruct my students to remain present with their breath as a means to prevent injury. When we are disconnected from our breath, we have lost touch with where our bodies are, what they are doing, and whether our effort is sustainable or not.  Holding the breath is a surefire sign of possibly injurious disconnect, whether on the yoga mat or at the changing table. Breathing deeply into our bellies is a way to reassert our mastery over what we are doing in the moment, and why.
2. Lower your standards.* Do you need to do the dishes right now? Is it imperative that you vacuum? Is it absolutely necessary to leave the house right this minute? Will someone die if you drop your agenda for a moment, an hour, half a year? Really? Really?
3. Relax where you are. Practice helps. Exhale, and let your shoulders ease away from your ears. Pause for a moment, look around.  Stop the momentum of your own tantrum. Pick up your tyrannical toddler and give him a kiss. Sing a silly song. Fake it until you mean it. Quit talking to yourself about how you can't stand it for one more minute--say instead, This moment is perfect.
4. Wait it out. There are times when parenting feels like some extended bivouac: you're climbing Everest, and the elements have unleashed their worst.  You've hunkered down partway up the mountain, not knowing whether you'll last the night, but all you can do is hold on for dear life and wait it out. The good news with parenting is that, without fail, the sun will come out, things will change, and you'll live to see another day. The bad news with parenting? There is no summit. So you might as well learn to enjoy the view from where you are.

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*I did not come up with any of this on my own: "lower your standards & relax as it is" is one of my favorite, most useful mantras, which I got from the inimitable Pema Chodron. And this whole post owes an immense debt of gratitude to Karen Maezen Miller, as do I. It's only the best advice I have to give because it was first given to me.

what is mindfulness, part 2: the kitchen sink

find part 1 here

This past weekend, I attended an afternoon workshop with one of my yoga mama gurus, the deeply fabulous Jenn Wooten. It was a yin yoga workshop, a practice to which she introduced me over two years ago, and one with which I fell deeply, madly in love. In yin yoga, poses are usually done close to the ground, and held for long periods of time, the better to target and stimulate the deep connective tissue woven around the joints, and the joints themselves. It's a practice in which we play with the edge of our discomfort, lean into sensation, and, as Jenn beautifully put it, learn not to feel stuck even when we are stuck.

In short, it's a perfect primer, and support, for motherhood.

image source :: half pigeon pose

Let me give you an example: you move into pigeon pose (or as it's known in yin yoga, sleeping swan.) You settle in for a hold of about 3 minutes. At first you're sailing along, breathing, remaining present. And somewhere into the second minute, an irritation begins to rise, like an itch that's becoming more and more imperative to scratch, and all of a sudden, you feel this urge to bolt. Get me out of here. In this very moment lies the heart of a yin yoga practice, and all that it has to teach us: how to grow curious about the sensation, find our breath, remain present, re-commit to the moment. On the other side of this high pitch of discomfort lies a deeper sense of ease, of space, of softness. If we learn to stay and abide with the strong sensation, not push it away but lean into it, there is a whole world of peace to be gained.

Or, shall we put it another way? It's 4pm, and you've exhausted the amount of times a reasonable parent will let her toddler watch Thomas & His Friends. You are both tired of each other, and it's either too hot or too wet to go outside. You are trying to work on dinner, and your little ray of sunshine needs your help every 2 minutes to retrieve the truck he insists on driving under the couch. There is no more wine in the fridge. And now little arms are wrapping themselves around your legs, you feel tiny teeth bite down into your thigh, and grubby hands grasp at your pantleg and pull as a chorus of mama! mama! mama! pours out from your child's mouth. Do you feel it? The urge to bolt. Get me out of here. Except that, in motherhood as in yin yoga, we have committed ourselves to stay. There is nowhere to go. What to do?

Lean in. Soften. Breathe. Find the space.

The infinitely wise Karen Maezen Miller says that in order to practice at the kitchen sink, you have to practice at the cushion. If we are to have the resources and resiliency to remain present through the challenging moments of motherhood, we have to hone or practice those skills somewhere--and, for me, both the meditation cushion and the yoga mat are that training ground. And whether I am on the mat, the cushion, or at the kitchen sink, what I am working with is the same: that urge to bolt, to scratch the itch, to reject the present moment. Tibetan Buddhists have a word for it: shenpa, which means "attachment", or "being hooked" or "stuck." This hooked feeling has a familiar, ancient flavor: we've been there a million times before. Something irritates us, displeases us, doesn't line up with what we feel should be happening in the moment, and before we know it--boom, we're hooked.  We're hooked, and we're being reeled into an old story about how unpleasant things are, and there's this irresistible urge to act out in a violent way: to bail, to scream, to lash out. Sound familiar?

What mindfulness practice gives us, whether it's yoga practice, yin or otherwise, or meditation practice, is not a life free from such moments of feeling hooked. (Wouldn't that be nice?) Instead, it teaches us to develop the skills to first recognize when we're being hooked, and then to allow a pause in which to breathe, find space, and soften. That pause is what allows us to remain present with the difficult sensations in the pose, and find the release on the other side. That pause is what allows us to remain present with the cranky toddler, to find enough space in which to breathe, and connect to the inner resource that will turn the moment into a tickle fight instead of a generalized tantrum. 

I wouldn't have a prayer of finding that breath, that pause, at the kitchen sink, if I hadn't developed the ability to do so on the mat. When I first encountered yin yoga, I knew I had found a practice that would profoundly inform and support me when I became a mother. I leaned on the practice all throughout my journey to conception, and through my pregnancy. Since becoming a mother, it has been a constant companion, a resource and a refuge, one for which I am deeply grateful. I drift away from it from time to time, oftentimes being too tired in the evenings to even go lie down on my mat. But it was a wonderful treat to revel in over two hours of guided practice this past weekend, to go back to the source as it were, and to find fresh inspiration. I know I'll reap the benefits of it next time I'm at the kitchen sink, feeling that old familiar itch again.

For much deeper and more eloquent discussions of shenpa, please turn to two wonderful books by the incomparable Pema Chodron: Practicing Peace in Times of War, and Taking the Leap.

what is mindfulness? (part one)

"To pay attention, that is our endless and proper work."  -Mary Oliver

This quote by Mary Oliver became an absolute favorite of mine long before I stumbled upon the teachings of mindfulness and recognized them as my life's true work. A teacher once said to me that we recognize wisdom on the spot because it's what we already know to be true in our own hearts. That's how it feels when I read the writings of my favorite mindfulness teachers--a bone-deep, steady and excited YES.

The name of this blog, mama here now, encapsulates my deep desire to live my days in this spirit of mindfulness. But--what is mindfulness?

"Mindfulness is deliberately paying attention, being fully aware of what is happening both inside yourself--in your body, heart and mind--and outside yourself, in your environment. Mindfulness is awareness without judgment or criticism."   -Jan Chozen Bays, Mindful Eating

That last part in crucial--without judgment or criticism. Mindfulness invites us not only to be aware of the quality and texture of our experience, but to embrace it as if we had chosen it.

"Die to having to have anything be different in this moment; in your mind and in your heart, give yourself permission to allow this moment to be exactly as it is, and allow yourself to be exactly as you are."  -Jon Kabat-Zinn, Wherever you go, there you are

I'm a lover of quotes, devoted underliner, copier, and re-re-re-reader of passages, and this last one is one I come back to over and over. I recognize mindfulness as my life's work not because I am so good at it, but because I am very, very, very bad at it. Being a SAHM of a 17-month old toddler is the job I've always wanted, and I don't want another. However, it is a hard job, hard in ways I would never had anticipated, and the hallmark of my days is not acceptance but a near-constant rejection of my experience.

When my toddler clings to my pantleg and bites the back of my thigh; when he wiggles and kicks through diaper changes; when it's 100 degrees outside and I'm sweating and he's cranky and he grows rigid as a plank as I try to put him in his car seat; when he won't nap; when he naps through playdates; when he wakes for good at 4am again; when he climbs me like a jungle gym and wants to run his truck over my face; when he whines mamamamamamamama and I don't know what to do to please him; when we are both sick of each other and it's 6pm and my husband texts me that it'll be another 30 minutes before he gets home: my full-body response is to shove back at the moment and want to yell this isn't happening.

But it is. Whether I  want to or not, what is happening is happening. And the choice is mine: I can either resist and push and kick like my son does when he doesn't want to go in the car seat, and in so doing create more tension and cause the unpleasantness to escalate; or I can relax, and go along for the ride, and move on to the next moment. It sounds simple, and really it is. But simple doesn't mean easy--far from it. I forget every single day, several times a day. But not always: there are rare, glorious moments in which I remember to find my breath, to exhale deeply, to let my shoulders melt away from my ears, to smile, to surrender. It's in those sweet moments that I know, in the marrow of my bones, that Mary Oliver was oh-so right: this is, indeed, my "endless and proper work."



Drop by next week for more explorations of how mindfulness can support and assist us in our lives as mothers!

be the empty cup

Oh, the things I didn't know.

Being a yoga teacher, I pride myself somewhat on having a good knowledge of my body. Without looking down, I know when my feet are parallel to each other, and when they're not. Without the help of a mirror, I know when I am holding my spine straight and strong and in line with the earth. I know what poses, what stretches I need to do to unwind certain knots in my upper back, to ease some tightness in my hips. Being a prenatal yoga teacher, I thought I was heading into pregnancy a little bit ahead of the pack because of all the fancy knowledge I had about a pregnant woman's body.

(Are you laughing yet?)

I didn't know. Not a single blessed thing.

After my dream of a water birth at home took shape as the reality of a C-section, after I spent days sitting cross-legged on a hospital bed, awkwardly trying to get a sleepy newborn to latch and nurse, my hips hurt. A lot. With my fancy yoga teacher brain I figured, My hip flexors are tight from all this sitting! So I would get up, and do very gentle stretches for the front of my hips. It, of course, didn't help. The nurses would ask me, Are you having any pain? I would say, Not really, but my hips are tight. Until, one night, a nurse commented on how I was taking very little pain medication. So I explained about how there was very little pain where I expected there to be some, around my belly, and how my hips were tight. "That's the pain," she said. What I was feeling, she told me, were bubbles of air trapped in my body after the operation. I was having gas. In my hips. What!? She upped my meds, she gave me Gas-X, and I felt better. She will be my angel forever. She healed me; she woke me up.

After my dream of co-sleeping and nursing my sweet babe forever and ever turned into the reality of no sleeping, for anyone,  I was screaming and scared and trying not to think the horrible dark violent thoughts that were pressing into my brain. I thought I was a terrible mother, a terrible person, I thought I would die for sure. No matter how little I slept, when I got up I was functioning. I could dress myself and the baby without stumbling (though not without cursing) and pretty much go through my day without the deep fog I thought sleep deprived mamas were shrouded in. Many months went by, and then he slept. Through the night. For several nights. And then black heavy clouds lifted from my shoulders, the sun broke through, and I saw clearly: I am not a terrible mother. I was a sleep-deprived mother. (Duh, right?) I thought sleep deprivation would forever be like getting up at 3am to catch a flight, when you can barely remember your pants or your name or how to make coffee. I didn't imagine that you could adapt to sleeplessness, and basically carry on with your days, although without the benefit of deeper functions like patience, joy, hope.

When we think we know, we don't.

There is a classic Zen story that goes like this: an eager, learned student shows up to study with the master. He knows so much about Zen, so he thinks he'll be an awesome student. The master invites him for tea. He begins pouring tea into the student's cup, pours to overflowing, and keeps pouring and pouring, tea all over everything, flowing everywhere. What are you doing! cries the student. Can't you see the cup is already full? The cup is your mind, the master tells him. If it's already full, how do you expect to be able to acquire knowledge?

When we think we know, we don't. Better to be the empty cup, open and ready to receive.

“If your mind is empty, it is always ready for anything, it is open to everything. 

In the beginner's mind there are many possibilities, but in the expert's mind there are few. ” 

                             -Shunryu Suzuki

Motherhood makes beginners of all of us. May we be open and willing to learn.

on seeing clearly

Here is a picture of my son and I, taken recently on a warm November day at the park:

Almost 10 months into this gig, I still find it very strange to me to see a picture of myself with Silas. I am the photographer of the family, so while there are countless pictures of Silas, and tons of him with his daddy, with his grandma, grandpa, etc, there are very few of me and him, alone, except for the occasional self-portrait with child. It's as if my vision of myself hasn't fully adjusted to my new role: like getting a drastic new haircut or glasses, and for a few days, constantly startling oneself when passing a mirror. Is that really me?


I didn't expect motherhood to come with such an intense identity crisis. I have always wanted to be a mother; I have always wanted to be a stay-at-home mother. The man I married is the best friend I ever had, and the most amazing father. Our journey to fertility was long and difficult, due to a thyroid problem. This baby is very much wanted. This life is the life I have always wanted. Yet daily, I find myself wrestling with questions of self-identity. What does it mean to be a mother? What does it mean for me to be a mother? What sort of mother do I want to be? What sort of mother am I capable of being? (Two questions which, as I was much chagrined to find out, may have little to do with one the other.)

In bed the other night my husband and I were discussing this. It's not like that for men, he said. There is no fundamental shifting of their ground of being when they become fathers. It is as I suspected: on this point as in many others, motherhood is a bum deal. (Don't get me wrong: it's an honor and a privilege and a tremendous joy. And it's also very, very hard.) As is often the case though, DH cut through the fog of my neurosis with a comment of piercing and illuminating clarity:

"Silas knows that you're his mother."


My son is not confused about my role in his life. He does not wish me to be any other sort of mother. No matter how shitty or doubtful I feel about myself and my capacities (or perceived lack thereof), he accepts me fully, gladly, exuberantly. I am the one he wants, always. I am his mother. Looking at myself through his eyes, seeing what he sees, I see that all those brambly, thorny questions are just mind clutter. I do not need to figure out what it's like to be a mother. I am a mother. What I do everyday is what mothers do. There is nothing else, nothing to figure out.

In this matter, my son is my greatest teacher. He helps me to grasp and accept the truth of who I am. He cuts through my bullshit. He knows what's up. He is unrelenting in his teaching, yet filled with nothing but love and acceptance.

I am so very fortunate to share my life with two guys whose vision of me helps me see myself more clearly. Baby and all.

Xs and Ys

Sometimes I happen upon two quotes almost simultaneously which, like the meeting point of an X and Y axis, create a bull's eye of truth that hits right at the heart of my experience. At the moment, they are:


"Whenever you do what you don't want to do, it is a spiritual practice."  -Karen Maezen Miller, from a tweet about a week ago




"Only one feat is possible: not to have run away"  -Dag Hammarskjold






I make no secret of the fact that I am deeply struggling in caring for my 9-month old son right now. His sleep is a mess from teething/learning to crawl/standing and cruising around the furniture. I wrote about it in this post last week; I'll probably write about it next week, too. It is, no doubt, the defining fact of my life right now. It's messing with my brain, big time. When I sit up with him at night, half-asleep, achy, feeling lost and crazy, my mind clouds up with dark, brooding, menacing thoughts, most of them summing up roughly to this: I am not good enough. I am a terrible mommy, and therefore, I am a terrible person.

It is incredibly easy and seductive, as a mama, to exhaustively list all of our perceived faults, and give ourselves no credit for all the good that we do in a day. It feels good to hear other people tell us that we're doing a good job, but we don't really believe them. Surely if they knew about all the stuff that's going on in our heads, what we feel we're really like, then they would retract their praise. But even amidst the densest fog of self-doubt and self-loathing, as these two quotes indicate, there is one redemptive truth one can cling to, and catch a bit of clarity from.


I show up.


I show up for my son, no matter what my state. True, sometimes I let a few wailing minutes go by, and true, I often mutter curses under my breath, but I go to him.  "This is your new spiritual practice: getting our of bed." (KMM again.) I show up, I hold and nurse him. I pick him up when he falls down. I pick him up from daycare two days a week. No matter how much I fantasize, in the dead of night, about getting in the car, setting the GPS on a course to Mexico and never looking back, I'm still here, day in and day out, and I show up for my little guy. I have made the choice to be a SAHM, and sometimes I feel like this choice is costing me a great deal, but it's still the toughest job I've ever (mostly) loved, and I do not, not ever, regret one minute of being present for my boy.

I have not run away. I will not run away. I may do it grumbling, but I do those things that I do not want to do. It may not at all feel very spiritual, but there is no doubt that it is a practice, this mothering gig.

That could be the shortest and most complete job description of motherhood: showing up.


And I do. Job well done.

a day to do things differently: the art of mindfulness with karen maezen miller

::part one::

Karen Maezen Miller began to teach me well before I walked into her workshop this past Saturday morning.

I have been reading and underlining her books devotedly for years, but that's not what I am referring to. I am referring to an email exchange we had a few days prior to the workshop. I contacted her to ask whether she would mind if I recorded her talks, very unobtrusively, with my iPhone. I have sat through hundreds and hundreds of hours of workshops of yoga teacher training and if there is one thing I know about them it's that I like to take notes. Copious notes. But Maezen had invited us attendees not to write anything down. This had me worried. Here is what she wrote back:

... It's interesting that this point brings up such panic in so many of us. I have to say that I would prefer you not record my talks. They are meaningful only in the moment we occupy together. And I have the utmost faith in you. There is nothing I say that you don't already know in your own heart. That's why we call it wisdom! We recognize it on sight and sound. All I'm doing is reminding you.

This is a day to do things differently. This is a day to trust yourself - all of yourself.
Love,

Maezen

Never have I had a request denied so beautifully and satisfyingly before. Her "no" was a greater gift than a "yes" would have been. I was stunned that she'd seen right to the uncertain, shaky core of my request, and quelled my fear with her love and trust. Did I mention we hadn't even met yet? I'd been excited about the workshop before; now I was really, really excited. Her email bore the mark of a true teacher.

She did not disappoint. And she was right. Just as the most instructive part of a yoga workshop for me has always been to watch a new teacher's bearing and countenance, the way they move, the quality of their presence, so too it was with Maezen. What struck me most what the deep quality of attention that she brought to the day, that she gave each of us attendees in turn. When she looks at you, she looks at you with all of her attention. When she listens, she does so with all of her being. Which is fitting, because that is essentially the core of her message: attention is the most concrete form of love. In order to have a life worth loving, all we need to do is attend to the one we have. I knew this already--I'd read it, numerous times, in her books. Heck, I have entire passages practically memorized. I didn't need to write anything down (although I did, a few phrases--I couldn't help it!) All I needed to do was sit, observe the kind of attention my teacher wants me to bring to my own life and relationships, and bask into the warmth of it. Which I did, gratefully.


ETA Many thanks to Erica at The Art of Workshops! Without your giveaway, I wouldn't have been able to attend.