this moment: without training wheels

A single photo, without words, capturing a moment from the week.
A simple, extraordinary moment.
hosted by soulemama

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Connecting to Well-Being

We rushed around and arrived early. Mica wailed as I stopped the car, "I don't want to go to this doctor! There is nothing to do here!!"

He was right. Orlando was seeing a podiatrist for the second time, and his office was not a child's paradise. Last time, I found myself flipping through Good Housekeeping magazines, asking the kids to find pictures of animals just to keep them from dismantling the furniture.

I let out a sigh, realizing I had brought nothing for them to play with again. Then Mica said, "I'm hungry."

I perked up. We had time, and he hadn't eaten very much breakfast. We walked across the street (first we went down a rickety staircase that, according to Mica "was like being on top of Mount Everest!") and had some snacks at a coffee shop.

We returned in time for the appointment, and went through it all pretty well. Afterward, we found many more staircases to climb and places to look down from going from the office to the car... I was feeling good, thinking of how we were having fun with something so ordinary, and of how we had turned things around earlier.

We got back in the car, and Mica wanted to do a "technique" — this means doing some climbing maneuvers all over the car before sitting down. I was standing at the door and then Mica was upset and began to try and pinch and bite Orlando (who was in his car seat). I reached in to hold Mica back, saying, "You look like you feel angry!" He was crying and mad and wailed, "Brother pushed me!!!"

Oh, the pushing!

Mica was determined to strike back and I realized that taking him out of the car might be a good thing to do. I held him in the parking lot and we looked around again, he told me he didn't like me and he didn't like brother right then.

I said okay. Haven't you ever felt like that?

At that point, I was able to hold space for his feeling bad — just letting the feelings be, murmuring, holding him. But then I began to feel very hungry and tired, and took Mica back to the car. He was protesting and saying he still wanted to bite brother, but I told him I wanted to get home and work it out there. Orlando apologized to Mica and said he didn't realize it would upset him so much when he pushed him (I think it was his way of saying he didn't anticipate the consequences of his action). We were already driving at this point, though Mica was still really angry and yelling and I could feel how I was sinking, sinking, sinking...

And finally something came to me, and I said to Mica, watching him in the rear view mirror, "Oh, you want to feel your power, and your strength, you want your own autonomy ——"

Mica called out "Yeah!" crying and relief.

"And for a moment, when brother pushed you down, you lost that feeling, and you thought it was gone, and you want that feeling back... and that feeling will come back to you, it's right there, all the time, you can choose that again, you can say to brother, 'Please don't push me down! I want to have fun and do my technique,' and you can do that."

Quiet...

Now looking at Orlando in the rear view mirror, "And Orlando, when you pushed brother, you thought that might be a way to have fun, and after you did it, you realized it wasn't fun for Mica right then, and that meant you had a chance to find a different way that is fun for both of you. You have the chance to work together and find things that feel good for everyone."

Quiet... relief... taking it all in...

We drove for quite a while, and then Mica called out with despair, "I feel like biting brother again!!!" He was crying again.

Don't you sometimes feel that way? I had to laugh a little, at the raw honesty of it all, of Mica having and sharing his feelings.

I told him, "Yes, you're thinking about that, how it felt to lose connection to your power and your autonomy and how good it felt when you were connected to it."

The last part, I could tell, didn't really go in. He was grieving the loss and moving through, and he cried, and when we got home, he wanted to stay in the car for a little while, and then he told me when he was ready to get out, and we came in the house and we sat together, and then we ate lunch. He was connected again.

I marveled at it all. How I had been sinking and bobbing all morning, and somehow, during this ride, this one morning, I had found a lifeline: We were all already connected to well-being, even while yelling, and that we are always finding our way.... I marveled at riding the waves, discovering buoyancy, landing softly, beginning again, which is really a continuation.

photo by www.PCharlon.es

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Eye Contact

I saw someone's post about The Mask self-portait series and I immediately knew what I wanted to take a picture of. I went downstairs, grabbed the camera and starting taking pictures of myself. I still had on the apron I wore while cooking dinner. I didn't look in the mirror beforehand.

I aimed the camera at myself while feeling that feeling, the feeling that I've just said too much, revealed my innards, made a mess, set myself apart, and fallen.

I really have no idea if that's how my face looked when I sat in the Hakomi workshop and shared this story, not making eye contact (have you noticed if you make eye contact?) and then burst into tears at the end of it, covering my face, and Lynn said, after some acknowledgment and reassurance, so gently, so quietly... "If you want, you could take a look around the room and notice how moved everyone here is to have heard your story... how much they appreciate it..." and I could barely stand to do it — to see myself being seen — but I glanced.

And then weeks later, during a practice session with Brian (a Hakomi therapist in training), I wasn't sure what to talk and I was feeling nervous, unsettled, and sort of free-floating in space, and he stayed so patiently with me and offered me a pillow to hold and I instantly felt all small and solid, and grateful, and we all laughed, and then later, suddenly, I could feel it, I was looking into Brian's eyes, and I could see him now, and I realized that I hadn't been looking at him before, that my eyes must have been averted from his. Not seeing him, not seeing me.

He told me he had an idea, and asked me if I'd like to try it. I said sure.

He asked me to tell him when I was feeling settled in mindfulness and he would make an offering. I closed my eyes, I breathed deep, I noticed the insides of my eyelids, I could feel myself settling, and I said "Okay."

He said, "Stacy, notice what happens — notice your internal sensations, thoughts, images, whatever happens — when I say.... 'Stacy.... it's okay to trust where you are right now.'"

I listened inside, and what I noticed was a sense of probing the environment, looking to the side (in addition to Brian and I, there were two observers and a certified therapist in the room), sort of pulsing on all the people here, "But what about them?"

Brian suggested that we could "take over" that checker energy, so he made the offering again, "It's okay to trust where you are right now" and took over the checker part, saying, "But what about them?"

And I noticed what came up... a "blech" face. Brian suggested that I could try to make that face slowly and see what else came up, and what came up what was this part that wanted to throw a fit, a really angry, frustrated part. When we paid attention to that part, it instantly melted into a very tired part, sitting slumped on the floor of the living room in the house where I grew up. So tired from trying to connect and not being able to.

I can't remember how, but I think I started talking about this feeling, being the Ugly Duckling, all these feelings, of being apart, of not feeling normal, of how I can't connect to people, and Brian said that maybe I'd want to get in touch with myself and notice whether that's true, to see if perhaps I'm connecting right now — he said, 'I don't know how it is for you, but I'm feeling connected to you right now,' and I had my eyes closed, and I laughed a little. Yes, I was connecting.

And we meandered a bit, and then, as we wound down, he made his last offering:

It's okay to choose who you want to connect to.

All I heard inside was YES! a tiny celebration, an enormous revelation, an image of myself, my eyes closed and slowly, gently going inward, toward self, and then back out again.

And little by little, I keep looking up, looking right into the heart of it, my own heart, here all along, awaiting the unmasking.

Visit Shakti Mama for more "elements of self" portraits...

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this moment: going fishing

A single photo, without words, capturing a moment from the week.
A simple, extraordinary moment.
hosted by soulemama

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this moment: on a hot day

A single photo, without words, capturing a moment from the week.
A simple, extraordinary moment.
hosted by soulemama

I am bending the rules and including two photos this week... same moment, different boys. :)

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25 Things I Know Now As a Parent

I saw this on Jen Lemen's Supersisters site — she invited others to create their own list.

Here are mine... I hope you're inspired to join in!

1. We all have our own feelings.
2. I can’t run on empty.
3. Being present is the best present.
4. Tracking my own rhythm (and making adjustments) sets the tone for my whole family.
5. Offering choices that aren’t choices is coercion.
6. I don’t like the way coercion feels. 
7. My kids (ages 3 and 6) have about 20 minutes before they need some adult presence to help them transition or continue playing.
8. It might take seven years until I can wake up before the kids and have some time to myself in the mornings.
9. There is not much funnier than pee-pee and poo-poo (except maybe farts).
10. Kids talk the way they’ve been talked to.
11. We are all on our own journey. 
12. How magical being quiet can be.
13. How to say yes. How to really, really say it.
14. That when the children seem too loud or too rambuctious or too something, it usually means that I need to take care of myself in some way (either eat, self-connect, or refill in some way).
15. How to meditate. On a cushion, in the park, in the car, on the sidewalk, in bed, standing at the kitchen counter, and under a tree.
16. That I am learning as we go. And that is okay. 
17. Structure can bring ease. And if doesn't then that's a good sign to change it or give it up.
18. How much kids love water. And dirt.
19. I can never have too many books and too few toys.
20. That all kids don't necessarily need diapers...
21. to be weaned...
22. spoon-fed purees...   
23. or attend school.
24. But all kids need unconditional love. And I can learn how to give it.
25. We can work it out together.

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