Breath by Breath

A mother's journal ::: bravery

We went skating once before Christmas.  I'm in Houston, remember.  They super cool the rink to 22 degrees in upwards of 70 degree weather.  It's a little embarrassing to think of the energy that is utilized to enable us subtropical people to experience the joy of an outdoor skating rink.  You also put oneself at considerable risk by going out on the ice with a crowd comprised on 98% first time skaters.  "Skaters" who make every novice mistake possible such as holding hands four across, skating clockwise when the set up is for counter-clockwise, crossing in front of people to get the the perceived safety of the side rail, and such.  I'm thrilled people have the chance, but it makes for quite a unique skating adventure.

I grew up in Wisconsin and places north, so a skating rink for us was a plowed area of the lake or a section of river that is frozen all winter long.  We skated outdoors and most frequently at night. I always felt this delicious mix of excitement and fear--you never quite knew where you'd find the boundary of safety.  If the hockey puck drifts away from the plowed area is it safe to go get it?  If you leave the circle of light, does that mean the ice is thinner or no one will see you/hear you if you fall in? How do they know the river is frozen thickly enough?  Was that the sound of cracking ice I just heard?  We were of course regaled with horror stories of the one time someone fell through, and don't we all remember the image from "It's a Wonderful Life" in which George saves his brother after falling through the ice? 

Nonetheless, I have terrific memories of being hot and cold at the same time, of gently falling snow lightly blanketing the surface of the ice, of holding hands through arctic-thick mittens with my eighth-grade boyfriend when we hoped no one was looking, of wondering if my hand-me-down winter coat was too dorky or the wrong color. . . .

So, it's with these memories in mind that I take my son to the rink at least once or twice each season, so he can experience the excitement and novelty of ice, develop some skills that may serve him later in life, and form his own sensory memories of the cold slush that accumulates on the blades, of teetering on ankles that don't quite know what to do, of slipping and falling, and wanting to practice turning and spinning before skating straight is mastered.

We spent part of this past Saturday at the rink.  We arrived just a couple of hours after the U.S. Olympic Team Trials for the Marathon, which were held in Hosuton for the first time.  We were among the few odd balls who weren't in running gear and sweats, carrying gym duffles and swag bags from the nearby running convention at the George R. Brown Convention Center.  We were on the ice with our sweaters and mittens to protect our hands from falls. 

This was our second trip this year.  The first trip was amazing.  It was a cold day and we stayed on the ice from 4 p.m. until after dark.  The city's holiday lights were all around us and they were getting ready to show "National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation", I think, on the big screen in the park.   The ice wasn't crowded, it was cold enough that it stayed smooth, people were in good cheer and we met a friend of Silas's by happenstance.   He happily let me do lap after lap forward and backward, while he experimented in the kiddie zone on single-bladed skates for the first time.  He joined me every so often to test his skills on the large rink.  I felt great, hot and cold at the same time and full of all those sensory memories from my childhood.  My legs were strong, I was steady on my feet, and I didn't fall.  I remember wishing I had my current "boyfriend" with me so we could hold hands....

This time was a little different.  We arrived near mid-day.  We were in a bit of hurry because we had somewhere to be at a certain time.  Silas only wanted to practice spinning in the kiddie zone.  The novices were out in force, turning my relaxed and glorious lap after lap into a series of spontaneous and ever-changing obstacle courses which required constant vigilance to protect myself and others.  The sun was out, turning the surface of the ice into a choppy mess and increasing the hazards between Zamboni runs.  I fell not once, but THREE times. 

The final fall occurred as I was exiting the rink for the final time.  I lost my attention for a moment and, smash-ola, I landed squarely on my behind.  I hobbled up, did a little body check to be certain emergency treatment was not needed, gathered our stuff and hobbled to the car for the 30-minute drive home.  I have been nursing what appears to be a sprained bottom every since.  I can't help giggling as I say it.  Sprained bottom.  Bruised coccyx, strained ligaments, gluteal pain-o maximus.  At 49 grand years of age, I wondered, "Should I have skated?"  "What if...it doesn't heal...I broke my hip...I'll never be able to do this again...I'm getting too old????" 

Mostly I am grateful that I am strong and flexible.  I know how to crash.  I know how to use yoga to  maintain my body when it is well and help heal it when it's hurt.  I have strong bones.  I have excellent health insurance if I need it.  I don't depend on my body to earn a living.  I have experience recovering from illness and injury and I have faith in my ability to do both.   I have people at home who can be considerate of my temporary disability.  And, I have the hope of skating again--maybe even in the snowy north someday.  Skiing is also on our winter-spring agenda this year.

In the meantime, I get to appreciate and admire our bravery--Silas's in getting out there to do things he's never done before, and mine for not giving up on things that are exhilarating and fun despite some risk.  

 

Nourishment ::: Women, weight, body image and a food and exercise journal

[Throughout this series of posts I sam going to discuss my specific body weight and weights over time.  I firmly believe that how one feels in one's body is what counts most.  Do I feel alive and enthusiastic?  Can I do the things I want to do? Do I have good energy?  Am I sleeping well? 

Women and weight is such a loaded topic.  So many celebrities operate in the 100 pound weight class and set unrealistic models for how we should eat, look and be.  I once had a major television actress tell me at a party that if you weighed above 125 and a size 6, you could never be the lead in a show (unless it was about a fat girl)--you have to be the best friend, the sidekick, whatever.  

I want to discuss a real woman with a real body.  I am 5' 6" tall with medium-large bones.  I build muscle easily.  When I visited a kinesiology lab back in 2002, I had multiple biometrics done. I was told that peak fitness for me would probably be around 145 pounds with 18-19% body fat, but that would require a professional athlete level of commitment to maintain.  This info was helpful to me in forming a realistic sense of my body type and fitness potential.  I will never be a size 2, or 4 or 6 for that matter.  

I hope the specificity is useful...not as a tool for comparing yourself to me or anyone else, but to document the realistic scale (no pun intended) of my journey.  I also want to break any denial I might have about my current physical condition.  I know how I feel physically, I know what my internal body image is, and I have information about what ideal fitness would look like for me. All of that said, let me proceed.]

Fortunately all of my "fat" pictures were taken before the age of digital photography.  Alas, a few were scanned and saved, so I am taking a deep breath and sharing one here.

Once upon a time I weighed in at close to 240 pounds. I lost over 85 pounds in about 18 months starting back in late 1998. I reached my lowest weight of 152 in March of 2000 after my yoga teacher training course.   

[1998]

I am one of the "biggest losers" I know personally. (Kudos to my dear friend Judy who made a similar passage several years before me.) I did it the old fashioned way--I dealt with a lot of emotions for many years to prepare, I exercised my fanny off, and I changed my diet gradually as I felt better and better about myself. I never counted calories and never tried to restrict food.

It took me a very long time to let go of a "fat" identity and really inhabit my smaller, fitter, healthier frame. I suffered quite a bit of disappointment that my formerly fat body would never be a perfect thinner body.  I never remembered feeling anything but fat from about the third grade on, although this picture from college shows I was pretty normal my freshman year. I was moderately active growing up, played tennis recreationally and was a varsity high school basketball and volleyball player.  I also played VB my first year in college.

[Costume Party (me on right), October 1980.  Weight:  165]

[In Baltimore after completing the Marine Corps Marathon, October 2001.  Weight: 156]

I actually didn't know I had let go of the fat identity entirely until recently when I realized that my internal view of myself is smaller, healthier and fitter than I actually am.

[40th birthday party, August 2002.  Weight: 154, 21.5% body fat.]

With accumulated years, becoming a full-time mom (i.e., caring more for others than for myself), and no longer "forcing" myself to exercise, I've allowed myself to keep on my body about 25 of the 45 pounds I added when I was pregnant with Silas. My digestion, energy, sleep, self-esteem, biometrics and health status have all taken a hit.

[May 3, 2006.  Due date May 17, 2006.  Gave birth May 27, 2006. Weight:  200]

I have not been exercising with any intensity.  I do yoga at home fairly often.  I experimented with a beginner's running program this spring (but didn't finish the eight weeks).  

[August 2010, Weight:  180]

My recent 30-day experiment with veganism was the first time I've actually tried to implement any kind of food program and that was only restrictive in content, not volume.  I have avoided restrictive dieting because I know I have more emotional and spiritual work to do to change my eating habits to be truly wholesome and healthy for me.  The chronic anxiety I noticed while on the vegan diet was incredible!

I know a ton about food, nutrition, how to prepare whole and nutritious foods, and how to eat well.  Most of the time I eat very good quality food.  But, it's becoming clear to me that many days I eat too well (meaning too much of the good stuff).  Also, my few food/beverage vices are not doing me any favors in the effort to be fit, stay a big loser, drop these stubborn pounds, and increase my energy (I'm sure I'll discuss these in detail in future posts).

[June 24, 2011.  Weight:  178.5]

So, (drum roll please) I am beginning a food and exercise journal.  My goal is to set measurable goals around food and exercise and actually document what I am doing.  I got away with not paying attention to food when I was younger and exercising like a fiend.  Now that I am perimenopausal, approaching 50, and not wanting to dedicate as much time to exercise, some new strategies are in order.  

I want this to be a combined scientific and spiritual journey.  I want to put into practice the best information I have about optimal health and wellness and marry that with kinder and gentler strategies for nourishing the malnourished parts of my soul, and loving my body through aware eating, movement, touch and rest.

The whole stay-at-home mom lifestyle is awesome in some ways.  I was a person who took my professional responsibilities very seriously and had difficulty drawing boundaries around my job that allowed me to have a life.  The spontaneity, openness, receptivity, etc., required as a SAHM have made me realize how lovely and easy in some ways life can be and how to take joy in the many small moments.   (We all know I think being a SAHM also can be terribly difficult, exhausing, isolating, and unrewarding.)

I have to admit that in some ways I've become a bit lazy. I have used my role as a way of excusing undisciplined and unfocused behavior, and for abandoning myself as a woman and mother in both crucial and costly ways. So, I intend to have this journal keep me honest with myself in the best, non-punative sense.  If I'm not acting on my goal, then the goal isn't real.

Why share the journey in public?  I need to track myself and be tracked by others. When I was hugely fat, no one talked about it.  It wasn't polite.  Thus, I stayed isolated and suffered quiet humiliation, knowing I had a very visible external reflection of my internal struggles.  

Sharing this journey openly is a step toward claiming visibility and denouncing that there is anything shameful in this.  We all struggle in this life.  Some struggles are easy to hide because they are socially condoned (obsessive cleaning, workaholism, perfectionism).  Others remain hidden for months, years or lifetimes because they can be (hoarding, domestic abuse, gambling, overspending).  Some struggles are worn externally (smoking, cutting, anorexia nervosa, obesity).  

So, no more silent struggle!  Here we go.  

I plan to report weekly on Saturdays.

Home crafts ::: Ode to a home

A house and heart full of love.

We will most likely never live in this house again. I feel like I can't breathe from the upswell of emotion (is it grief, gratitude, loss?) as I am flooded with thoughts and memories. I have to let it go, leave it behind.

I know I will remember a lot, but the truth is that I'll forget more than I can hold on to.

I've known this house since fall 1998, when it was an old, if solid, dated house full of thrifted and inherited furniture, a slow growth of mildew, no central A/C and no sheet rock in much of it. Oh, the memories.

::: Those first visits in the early dating period with the refrigerator loaded with apple cider, peanut butter and a Tillamook baby loaf and a freezer full of individual servings of enchilada pie and tamales.

x ::: All the places and ways I fell in love in that house....dancing, conversation, lounging, cuddling.

::: Moving in and insisting that all the house had to be ours. We couldn't just add my stuff, we had to integrate, purge and add.

::: Leaving for a month for yoga teacher training and returning to what was now my home, and the decision to have a wedding.

::: Training for the Marine Corps Marathon and waking up for a 4 am run to find the entire street up to our second step flooded from tropical storm Allison and two flooded cars.

::: Completely rennovating and updating the house--together. Learning so much about each other in the process of doing the design and much of the work ourselves.

::: Leaving this house in the hands of a tenant for two years and exploring other lands.

::: Returning home with a 4 week old baby and all the adjustments to a life that was at once familiar and completely alien.

::: Creating a room of my own for yoga, sewing, jewelry-making, etc.

::: The kitchen--thousands of nourishing meals made and consumed.

::: The garden--experiments in enriching our diet and our lives by growing our own food.New friends, deeper friendships, expanded circles, new rituals.

::: The initiation of the Winter Solstice Tamale Fiesta and the ever increasing sense of autheticity, closeness and willingness to share amongst our community.

::: All the milestones of early childhood witnessed and shared here--babbling, crawling, walking, sign language, talking, climbing, building, creating.

::: All the growth of my niece and nephew from tiny little ones to great grown teenagers and adults.

One can never capture a life well-lived all of a piece. As I write each of these memories, my mind associates with dozens more, most of which are so personal and deeply intimate that they can't be captured or shared in this forum.

By nature memory is fragmented. Moments blend with memories, certain things crystalize while others are held as mere impressions. Some reside in our senses alone. It's all in there, though. Every moment. The daily joys of the life we live, with our chosen family in a home we've made, is a precious thing, indeed.

As I let go of our house last week, what struck me most was that all I remembered were good things. The perfect moments. The shared love. The openness. The joy. I wondered why this was so? We certainly have had our share of strife and upset.

Perhaps it is the good that actually lasts. What endures is the essence of a thing. I hope so. If this is true than the essence of our life there is love, engagement, sharing, learning, giving, growing.

I accept the gift of my life there and the memories that we made there. Nothing can take it away. As we move forward to the new, all that we have ever been is part of all we will become. Goodbye house and home that I love. Thanks for everything.

Hello new house and new life. May you become (may we make you) a true home to gently hold our hearts and our love.

 

 

Home crafts ::: a fools errand

Two little tasks remained at our "old" house which we headed north to accomplish early yesterday morning.

Task one was simple.  Load a table and two leaves in my car and take it to the consignment shop.

Task two was/is not so simple.   Moving two antique dressers to a temporary storage unit until a vendor can be found to repair/refinish them for sale.   On the face it sounds like a normal errand.  But the reasons it is being performed are entirely emotional.  The furniture came from Scott's grandparents.  We don't want it any more.  It could be sold as is and we'd be done with it.  Instead time, energy and money are being invested that will not be recouped.  The value of the furniture is not high enough.  

The day went this way:  Consign the table.  Find a storage unit at a reasonable price. Eat lunch. Make several calls to secure help (a vehicle, human power, child care) to move and transport the furniture.  Yet again, have my sister come to the rescue with the vehicle (a trusted Chevy Tahoe) and child care.  Drive to our new house to get the high-security lock we forgot in the morning and to gather swim gear in hopes of having a dip at my sister's house later in the evening.  

Drive back to the old house to test if I am strong enough to serve as the human power assist.  Drop Scott off to get supplies we need.  Take the lock to the storage unit before the office closes for the day.  Drive to my sister's house to drop off Silas and pick up the Tahoe.

Drive the Tahoe back to the old house.  Very carefully move (in two trips) the dressers to the third floor storage unit.  Drive the Tahoe back to my sister's house were pizza and a swimming pool are awaiting.  Swim for an hour, enjoying my niece (who is now 15) and my son (now 5) cavorting in the water and thrilling at jumping off the diving board and sliding down the super fast slide.  Return home around 10:30 p.m.

This little 12-hour odyssey required the cooperation of five people.  It required thinking on the spot, creative problem solving, little decisions and planning. Mostly, this little fools errand gave me the chance to practice being an unconditionally supportive and helpful spouse.  I can't say I am an understanding one.  

I don't understand why we can't just sell the stuff as is.   I don't quite understand why Scott feels he must send this furniture on its journey in excellent condition.  I don't understand his attachment to it.  

It turns out understanding is a bit overrated.  It turns out that understanding is not as necessary to human relations as I previously assumed.  Acceptance and being there are actually much more important.

 

 

A mother's journal ::: daddy date

My men went off to an Astros game yesterday with another father and son.  Although Scott and Silas spend a lot of time together and enjoy tons of one-on-one contact, I think this is the first time they've headed out with another "couple."  

Last Friday night we hosted a potluck with our play group and all the dads came.  I am very hopeful that we'll have more opportunities for daddy dates in the months to come.   Scott interacts with men (and some women) constantly at his job, but Silas doesn't get to see that.  The picture Silas has of Scott's social world pretty much involves family and events planned by and including me.

This division of labor and pattern of social organization prevails in many, many families.   Since social interaction is so very important to Silas, I want him to have the skills he needs to include people in his life and find ways to connect and engage that are really supportive of his goals. Seeing men demonstrate the importance relationships and the willingness to take time to do this is really important.

Some of the anticpated benefits:

Having this kind of shared male time lets Silas see how different men interact with each other, with their sons/daughters, and with the larger world.  Silas and his dad may do things I'm not good at or don't like.  We all get to explore the consequences of various decisions made while apart (like having a snow cone and cotton candy and ice cream at the same event!).

Scott gets to know Silas' friends, which will help us help him socially down the road.  Silas gets to know he is a priority in Scott's life and that Silas' social world is important to his father.  Scott may even make some new friends for himself, resulting in boys' nights out!

Silas gets time away from me (and the stay-at-home mommy culture of play groups, errands, solo play time, excursions, chores, shuttling to classes, etc.).  I get time alone or with friends--so nourishing and restorative--so I can appreciate them both more.

I look forward to learning more about the challenges and opportunities presented by these men- only and daddy date excursions as we include more families in our life.  

I'm fortunate that I have a really good man for a husband and he's a patient and kind father.  The other men we know are pretty darn good, too.   

This moment

{this moment} -  A Friday ritual.  A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. [Soulemama]

A mother's journal ::: Fun for both of us (first bike ride)

I could write a sentimental and heartfelt post about how amazing it was to see my just-turned-five-year old ride a two-wheeler bicycle for the first time. How proud and joyful and brave and alive he is. How I will never forget him yelling, "This is awesome" as he speeds by on his hundreth lap around St. Clare's parking lot.

All of this is true and beautiful and unforgetable and one of the true joys of parenting.

But I'm going to write about what happened before this astonishing event.

It's 1 p.m., hotter than heck (about 100 degrees F), I'm in the garage trying to fill the bike tires with this ridiculous hand pump that never worked and is really terrible on totally flat tires. I have a pliers at the ready to raise the training wheels and lower the seat. I'm struggling and sweating and getting more frustrated by the moment as my hands are hurting from the effort of holding a pliers and a pump at the same time.

I stop and say, "This isn't fun for me. We have to figure out how to make this fun, so that we can both have a good time." I don't think I'm wrong in wanting it to be fun for me. If I don't have that expectation, I might get buried in duty and obligation or abandon the effort altogether.

So, we load the bike in the car to fill the tires at the gas station. The garage door doesn't shut. I get out, manually close it, go in through the laundry room, lock the door, go out through the front door, lock the door, get in the car, and back halfway out the driveway. I stop the car. I'm wondering why I'm doing any of this, and how to make it better? I am filled with rage and powerlessness.

I think of Durga. I know I need help to get through this seemingly trival situation.

I tell Silas I'm frustrated and I need to take a minute so that I can get myself back and we can go have fun. I ask for the time. He says, "OK." I cry for a few moments and I find myself asking silently for help. Help to be in this moment. Help to not fight and to not control. Help to not miss a thing. Help to enjoy being a mother.

We head to the gas station--where the air pump is disabled. We head to another one where I pay $1 to fill two bike tires. We go to the parking lot at St. Clare's Catholic Church, which I know will be empty at this time on a Tuesday in June. I raise the training wheels and lower the seat. The bike seems so ungainly I ask Silas if we can just try it without the training wheels. He consents. I remove them.

He gets on the bike, I give him a little push, and two hours and a few falls and tears later, he's figured out his balance, how to stop, how to coast, how to do a figure eight, how to "make his own wind."

I enjoyed every minute of it and wouldn't have missed it for the world.

Practice notes ::: invoking the great mother Durga Maa

 

I've written some before about my "collection" of "mothers"--women friends/mentors/bosses whom I admire and appreciate for their grace, wisdom, intelligence, timeless beauty, strength and courage in the face of life's harshest business, and ultimately, their zest for life.  These real women are of immeasurable value to me on my journey.  I also have many sisters, but today I'm talking about mothers.  

I completed my yoga teacher training course at the Sivananda Yoga Ashram in the Bahamas in early 2000.  Near the end of the training we were offered the opportunity to be initated into a mantra.  Four mantras were offered, explained and demonstrated and we were advised to select the one that appealed to us most based on both sound and meaning.  The choice of mantra was said to be extremely important because one would use that particular face of God as the object of worship for the rest of our lives.  [In the Hindu tradition, various qualities of God are represented by different dieties, but it's a very all for one and one for all kind of god group.] 

Mantra initation was not a requirement for certification, so I opted not to be initiated since I was uncomfortable with choosing and committing to worship a face of God outside of my own religious tradition.  I felt good about waiting...refusing.  I felt a greater sense of integrity about that than I ever would have about choosing even a universal-type mantra like Soham.

In early 2001, my husband and I went downhill skiing in Utah with another couple.  This was my first time on skis as an adult (and I'd only skiied once as a young person, with very mixed results).  B, the guy in the other couple, spent an entire day with me teaching me how to ski.  He was amazing and I learned a lot--I also got really scared, so much so I stayed in bed with a fever for a whole day. 

When I returned to the slopes the next day, I was completely sure I couldn't do it, but I knew I had to try because it was what I came for.  As we climbed on the chair lift for a very long ride up the mountain, one of the mantras that I'd  heard at my training course popped into my mind and I recited it internally the entire way up the lift, and then throughout the day.  This mantra was the Durga mantra (as we learned it, Om Sri Durga Namaha). 

This was my least favorite of the mantras to which we had been introduced, but I received the mantra as a gift of grace.  I went on to have two glorious, exhilarating and blissful days of skiing.  I loved it all-- the lifts, the wind, the gently falling snow, the speed, the scary moments getting stuck on a black diamond mogul run by mistake. 

Durga, in the Hindu tradition, is the universal mother goddess.  She is the one who is always there when one is weak, suffering, scared, in need of support and nuturance.  She is both invincible and compassionate.  Through her grace, she grants strength, courage and peace in times of utmost distress. 

I adopted the Durga mantra that day and have invoked her presence many times since.  Initially I would chant at times when I was in extreme anguish or strife (times of family upset, during labor with my son, feeling deep loneliness, etc.), and now it is a regular part of my meditation practice.  I find that I become Durga when I invoke her--I am more generous, kind, compassionate, brave and fierce (in a good way).   By calling her name, I join and access that particular divine energy (vibration) which is so valuable to me as a woman, mother, wife and human.

Putting a female face on God is extremely helpful to me.  It causes me no conflict now (as it once did).  This divine mother, Durga Maa, rejoices when I am strong and independent, and is always there when I need space to collapse a little, be held in divine arms, and admit I need help to carry on.  Learning to accept the grace that is available to me on a daily basis, and humble myself enough to ask for divine mothering, has been my greatest challenge.   

Practice notes ::: "Mama, I want breakfast!"

 

I can't tell you the number of mothers I see who say their yoga practice now consists of mindfulness meditation while doing chores, and breathing deeply when things get hard.  I struggle here as well.  

Motherhood, particularly stay-at-home motherhood/housewifehood, (for some women) means the end of a whole host of self-care routines, not to mention personal time, personal passions and friendships.  Our isolated nuclear families and the surrounding fear-based culture, make it really difficult to feel connected and supported (at least for me).  In the days of yore when people had large families and lived in close harmony with neighbors and extended family, my fanstasy is that there was always someone around to talk to (for the mom) and play with (for the children).   House work may have been harder, but it was probably a little less isolated.  I'm guessing everyone also expected less from their lives, excluded as they were from a 24/7 onslaught of images depicting narrow slices of the lives of exceptional people with seemingly perfect lives (and we don't watch TV!).

It's easy to feel like a public utility as a stay-at-home mom/housewife.  You're always there.  Flip a switch and there's light, turn on the faucet and there is water.  Clean clothes, laundry, social engagements, birthday parties, healthy and nutritious meals all appear at regular intervals, without even having to flip a switch or turn on a light.  (I see my metaphor is off.   Mother's are more like the sun and the moon, air and weather.)  

Last night I went to bed at 9:30 and got up at 5 am for some quiet time.  I started my yoga practice around 6:30 and at 7:10, my little one comes on the deck and says, "I need breakfast, I'm starving."  He wouldn't wake up his dad because he was asleep, but interrupting my yoga was completely justified because I was awake.  Never mind that he had no idea what he would actually eat for breakfast and it took us 10 minutes of strife to settle on raisin bread with strawberry fruit spread. 

Alas, my personal yoga practice was derailed.... again.  This time I made it through half of my asana and none of my meditation.  Better than nothing, but incomplete and leaving me slightly resentful at my husband, for being completely oblivious in sleep, at my son for putting his needs first (as a 5-year old should), and at myself...for not doing yoga at 5 a.m., for not doing meditation first, for giving my child too many choices, for letting myself become a public utility or being an exploited/taken-advantage-of  natural resource.

A while back I read something that made me willing to try practicing asana openly in our house.  The theory was that by sacrificing some amount of concentration and focus, by being flexible and responsive even while practicing, the yoga becomes part of your family culture and will subtly influence everyone.  Rigid identification with solo practice is actually not practical or healthy.  I've had some success with this, but not today.  After getting my son breakfast, I couldn't go back to practicing.  I was feeling too much.

When I've tried to express my challenges here, my husband says, "Do what you need to do."  But, it is easy to talk myself out of "needing" to go to the movies and have a chat fest with a girlfriend.  And, even though I know if I "fill my well" I'll have more to offer, I won't leave the house to exercise in the morning because it means Silas will wake up to find me gone and have to deal with an over tired night owl dad.  I haven't successfully scheduled any regular evening appointments (music lessons or such)  because my dear husband can't commit to being home in good time and I feel guilty scheduling a babysitter (even if I could find one I trusted), just in case he won't be home in time. 

I sound like I'm simply complaining about my marriage and motherhood, but it's not about that exactly.  It's about the challenge of loving myself through the choices and empowering myself to assert my needs for things that are essential to my well being.  It's about trusting that I can meet my family's needs and my own, while staying close and connected--without pulling away emotionally and becoming a defensive, self-protecting automaton.     It's about trusting the inherent resilience of a child to adapt to his mother--if she's happy, he's happy.  It's about appropriately letting go of needing things to be a certain way in order for me to be happy, but also recognizing that I also get to honor my needs for connection and self expression.

I see women all the time who go off to work at a job they love 8 or 10 hours a day, who have weekly dinner clubs with friends, who go to the gym 4 times a week, take dance class, train for and compete in triathlons, etc.  I am mystified.  Some of them have multiple children.  They love their children and their children love them.  Clearly it's possible.  I just haven't cracked the code yet. 

How do you do it?   Are your expectations higher or lower?  Are you guilt-free or guilt-ridden?  Do you feel like you are taking care of yourself or does it just look like it?  What is your husband's role?  Are you more self-disciplined that I am?  Is your self-esteem higher? 

 As I continue to mull it over and take tiny steps toward change, please clue me in.

Practice notes ::: Soham (pronounced So-Hum)

 
 

Soham.  My yoga teacher introduced me to this mantra long before my teacher training course offered it as one of the four choices for mantra initiation.  One thing that sticks with me after all these years is that Soham (roughly translated, "That I am") can be particularly useful when sleeplessness occurs.  It's not exactly a substitute for sleep, Rather, it neutralizes some of the potential negative effects of poor/little sleep by inducing a state of deep mental and physical rest.  Since I am not (yet) a great sleeper, I've had a number of opportunities to practice this mantra.

Rolf Slovik, writing about sleepiness and mediation said of the Soham mantra:  "As you recite the sounds so and hum in your mind," he said, "imagine that they are ever so lightly blowing away the ashes of tamas [lethargy, dullness, inertia] and little by little uncovering this Spirit in you. As you continue, be patient with the urge to sleep and allow time for it to pass. Let the so-hum mantra fill you, giving your body and mind a thorough rest."

This mantra is often recommended for faciliating sleep, but even if it doesn't help you fall asleep, it can foster a calm and restful state of mind which can greatly improve the quality of experience the morning/day after a sleepless night.

I spent the afternoon at the beach yesterday, body surfing in really fine waves with my almost 10-year old friend, McKenzie, and my son.  The wind was so wild that the kite surfers were actually lifted 15 to 20 feet above the surface of the water at times and the seagulls hovered at the shoreline, unable to progress seaward.  Exhilarated and exhausted, our entire household (three adults, three kids this weekend) were in bed by 10:00.

Sad to say that sleep eluded me and I gave up the effort around 4:30 am.  I recited soham for about 40 minutes while resting in savasana and then got out of  bed, did some chores and sat out in the warm breeze. 

All day I've been calm and quiet in mind and body.  My expectations for myself and those around me are modest at most, and the day is washing over me like a warm rain.  I'm not dettached, exactly, but I'm definitely not invested in things that aren't my business.  I'm doing things one at a time in a slow and deliberate manner.   That includes building lego trucks, playing Harvest Time, a trip to the grocery story, and a couple of hours of silliness and laughter at the neighborhood pool.

That I am.  This is enough.