Mindfulness – Page 5 – Gwynn Raimondi, MA

December 17, 2014May 16, 2015

Beginnings, endings

As the northern hemisphere entered the fall season in late September, I embarked on a 13 week journey guiding a circle of women to explore who they were, who they are, who they dream of becoming. We gathered together as the northern half of the planet began its descent into darkness. As the days grew shorter we dug into our own shadow work, learning more about who we were and are, our true strengths and beauty becoming unearthed. The journey has been intense and sometimes painful, as we shed layers and connected more deeply with ourselves. We have each struggled with resistance and our own shadows. We have each dug deep to excavate our own beauty and light.

I do this work along side the women I guide, quietly. I rarely share with them my own process because it seems inappropriate, it is their space and I hold it for them; I do not want my journey to taint theirs. And yet while I hold the space for them, they unwittingly hold the space for me. Each prompt was written only a day or two before it was sent out, giving me and the circle the space to be exactly as it needs.

The program shifted and transformed during our time together and at some point I threw away the outline I had for the course and simply allowed it to flow, letting my gut and heart guide me to offering these beautiful women, and myself, what we needed in those moments. It was a new experience for me to throw out my road map and rely entirely on my instincts. New and terrifying and amazing.

I tend to like to have a plan, and while I am open to the plan shifting and changing, I feel a safety in having a plan that I can lean back on. The problem with this, for me, is it can become a crutch and I have felt myself become stagnant and not flowing or shifting at times; sticking to a plan because it was The Plan. I have often felt stuck and not right in my own skin, yet fear of the unknown kept me attached to The Plan. Old voices would insert doubt when I first started to consider ditching the outline for the program; voices that tried to convince me not to trust my gut, not to trust my heart, not to trust my womb and my own inner wisdom.

At some point during the this journey however I came to a crossroads. My skin wasn’t fitting, it felt like it was crawling around me and I knew it was time to shed, time to release the fear and the stories the voices tried to convince me of, the stories that weren’t true or real. Still fearful, nervous, but knowing I truly had no choice if I wanted to feel good in my own skin again, I took that next step and opened myself to the possibilities.

I was inspired by the women in the circle who were doing the same. Sharing with us all the brave small and huge changes that were happening during our time together. I witnessed them as they faced fears, released stories, gained new perspectives. I saw each of them start to glow a little brighter, their presence becoming stronger, more solid, more tangible.

And because they were doing the work of moving into their next iterations, I had to step up and do the same. That is the power of the circle: the conscious and intentional and the unconscious and unintentional support and strength that grows from a group of women gathered to do their own work, to be witnessed and to witness, to guide and be guided along this journey of becoming.

The constant evolving and shifting can be tiring, exhausting. There are days I feel it deep in my bones. Yet staying the same for too long does not feel right. I start to choke and my skin no longer feels comfortable, and I know this is true of the women who gathered together this fall for this work.

We began our work as the our parts of the world entered into darkness. We are now closing our circle as the northern half of the earth begins its ascension into the light.

I felt sadness today as I recorded our final video, and then wrote and scheduled the final prompt. I felt the desire to cling and not let go. I felt a poignancy about our journey together and a melancholy about the work that there is still to do. I want to stay with these women, in the safety of our circle. Not really hiding, but then not really allowing myself to be seen outside either. They brought so much to me through their journeys, allowing me to continue on mine and while shedding of layers is never easy, these women have done it with so much grace and beauty I am left feeling a bit awed by them.

So no, I do now want our time together to end. And yet, it is time for the circle to close.

Now is the time for the settling and resting. It is a time of allowing space for the final shiftings of this transformation. It is the final days of descending into the darkness, before we begin our ascension into the light. Perhaps this looks a bit like hibernation. Perhaps it looks a bit like doing nothing. Yet now, after the intentional work is complete, now in the quiet being is when the becoming truly starts to form.

December 13, 2014May 16, 2015

Breathing, Noticing, Praying

I come up for air and I start to notice.

I notice that her eyes don’t light up like they used to.

I notice that she’ll start to ask me to play with her and then interupts herself and says “never mind.”

I notice that her laugh sounds forced.

I notice a sadness emitting from her, when there once was such joy.

I take a deep breathe and I start to notice.

I notice my tone isn’t as gentle as I’d like it to be.

I notice more agitated sighs escaping my lips.

I notice how lost I feel in this parenting journey.

I slowly exhale and I start to notice.

I notice her. I notice me. I notice the disconnection.

And in this disconnection there is a deeper connection. I remember how it was when I became a big sister. I remember how I felt so lost and abandoned. I remember how the baby made everyone laugh and smile and all I could seem to do was annoy everyone.

I remember how much I needed my mom. I remember how very little I still was. Even though I was “older.”

And so I breathe. In and out. And I remember I can change this story.

She comes to me, scared, worried I will be mad or irritated. And she timidly asks if I could do bedtime, even though it’s not my night. And this time, I got it right and I say “Of course.” And we brush our teeth and I read her stories and sing her songs and hold her close.

She starts to ask me to play, but interrupts herself, again. And this time, I get it right and say “Let’s go play in your room.” And we play dolls, and laugh and start to connect.

I pray more of these moments happen. I pray for more patience and clarity and understanding. I pray for her eyes to light up again. I pray for her laughter to rise up from her belly and not be forced from her throat. I pray for me to become the mama I want to be.

I breathe in and out. I allow myself to soften. Knowing in this softness is wisdom, strength. I soften for her, remembering what it is like to be that little girl. Knowing the criticism does more harm than good. Knowing these stories that live in me about what proper girls do and don’t are only that: stories, not truths. And slowly, painstakingly slowly, I release them and let her be.

And in letting her be, I am allowing myself to be. In allowing her imperfection, I allow mine. As I wrap her in my arms, I wrap myself. And slowly, painstakingly slowly, we heal.

And I know in those moments, we’ll be okay. Both of us, each of us, will be okay.

October 27, 2014September 10, 2016

Falling and grounding

The leaves are settling on our deck and in our yard, as they slowly fall from the trees of our fairy forest. We have had a couple of windstorms, forcing leaves that maybe weren’t quite ready to leave their humble branch home, to move along their way; forcing them to stop clinging to what they now and to release into something new.

Some may think the leaves are falling to their death. I see them falling to their new life. Watching them sit and decompose in our yard, blending into the grass and mud, finding their new purpose, being one again with the ground.

I am seeing the amazing circle of women I am working with this fall in Being & Becoming are much like these leaves in some ways. Life has brought them to this moment in time, where they may not quite be ready to release what they think they know, yet they are letting go to become more grounded and centered; to discover who they are and want to be. I am honored that they chose me to be a part of this journey with them. I am grateful and awed by the work they do, the vulnerability that is coming forth. And I am learning my own lessons from them; releasing some of what I thought I knew, shedding another layer, becoming more grounded in who I am now, who I am becoming.

My 43rd birthday has passed. I quietly celebrated the day with my husband and then later with the him and the kids. It felt right to allow the day to softly pass with those who matter most to me in the world. I had quietly anticipated the day’s arrival, feeling calm in this new age, this new being I was becoming. Knowing that in one day I won’t be a different person, regardless of the anniversary that is marked by the passage of time, knowing that the passage of time will only reveal who I am.

I have been in a state of “pinch me” with my work, with the women I am guiding, with the families I hold space for at my internship, with my children and husband, with my friends. I have felt lucky and blessed and privileged to be doing this work and play also knowing the tears and frustration and near mental collapse that preceded this iteration of my life. It’s been almost four years since the metaphorical windstorm that formed me to let go of the life and career I was so desperately clinging to. When a layoff happens, in those early moments we aren’t able to see the rightness of it, the doors that have been flung open, the opportunity to explore and play and heal that has been granted to us. And yet, those things are all there in those early moments, we merely need to become aware of them.

Looking back seven years to the woman I was, right before and after the birth of my daughter. Knowing how she changed me, how I allowed the transformation, is a touch overwhelming. If people had told me then the woman I would be today I may have laughed at them and thought certainly they were in need of some medication. And yet here I am. The woman I never even thought of dreaming to become.

We make plans. And life has doesn’t care about those plans. When we are open to the shifting, the releasing, the grounding, our plans matter less and the being and becoming transforms into the ebb and flow of the breath of the universe. Sometimes our own breath is in rhythm with this ebb and flow and sometimes it is in discord. That is another piece of the ebb and flow of life.

As our son starts to figure out crawling and eating solid foods; as our daughter masters reading and writing and discovering her own passions and ways of being in the world; as my second to last semester of graduate school flows into the second half; I am seeing my own ebb and flow into being the woman I am now, the woman I dream of becoming. Part warrior becoming a super-heroine, part princess becoming a queen, part sage, part artist, part jester, part mother, part wife; filled with love and gratitude for those in and around my life; knowing that as I release from this branch, I will fall into my center and ground and grow into the next me who is meant to be.

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September 17, 2014September 10, 2016

Here and now: Finding True North, Right Where I Am

I am sitting at my very messy dining table. It’s been over a week since I cleaned it off and it is piled high with art supplies and materials for the Being & Becoming Circle (self)care packages. There is a stack of mail in the corner, a bottle of wine in the center and my son’s bumbo chair (yes, I know) at one end. My kitchen is close to needing to be condemned and I have dinner cooking in the slow cooker. Last night after work (!!!) I cleaned off a small corner of our counter.

I look in to our living room that has legos and wooden blocks all over the floor, right next to the baby’s floor mat (yes, I know). His jumper seat, that was his sister’s such a short time ago, takes up a large amount of space, sitting next to the cradle that he is about to outgrow. The bouncy/vibrating seat thingy is sitting in there too, taking space, but now too small for our boy, ready to be passed on to one of my best friends as she awaits the arrival of her next son. Only one of the chairs is empty to be sat in, the others filled with bags and random stuff that needs to be put away.

I breathe in this chaos, this proof of our lived life. I feel both frustration and calm as I sit here in the midst of it, writing these words, sipping my coffee. I have opened our dining room window and can hear the birds and squirrels, our creek and the quiet movement of our neighbors. As I opened the window I caught a glimpse of the abandoned kiddy pool, water now black and filled with leaves, waiting to be cleaned and put away until next year. I am reminded of the art supplies that are on our lower deck, waiting to come back inside. Reminded of how the days seem to slip by without these seemingly simple tasks being accomplished.

I am sitting with sadness that sprung up from work yesterday, my own sadness about a future that probably will, though may not, come to be. I have allowed some tears to fall for this yet to be seen future and am breathing deeply in the truth that that future is not today, not here yet. I release as much of this sadness as I can right now, being grateful for the life I have, the life my husband and I have created together, the life our beautiful children bring to us every day.

I am sitting with calm and peace and humble gratitude as I think of the women who have come forward already to do this work of being and becoming with me this fall. Some of whom started with me this past spring, others coming forward to start now. All of them trusting me and allowing me to be a part of their journey.

There are days when I can’t believe how blessed I am. Days when I think back to my younger selves and wonder how they got through, how we got to now. I smile at how 15 or 25 or even 35 year old me would have reacted to being told who she would become at almost 43. Would those past mes believe that it would all turn out so lovely? Would they believe I could find this deep peace in my life? Would they shake their heads and laugh or would they breathe a deep sigh of relief?

I wonder about the women I am yet to become. Me at 45, 55, 75, 95. What wisdom will I have earned then? How much deeper will this quiet knowing I am only beginning to feel at almost 43 run? What stories will she share? What kind of grandmother, great-aunt, long-time friend, wife will she be? And more importantly, who do I want her to be right now, even knowing that too will change as the years flow.

Right now, my daughter has come upstairs and is sitting in the chaos of our lived in living room, playing with those legos she had abandoned yesterday; wanting to share space with me and giving me space to write, to express, to observe.

Tonight I will hold space for families who have lost a parent, a spouse. It is work I am called to do and am grateful for. This weekend I will begin holding space for the women who are ready for their being and becoming work and play, keeping that space safe throughout our fall season together. Right now, and always, I am holding space for my family: giving love and gratitude, taking in the beauty and truth and reality of our life together.

And I hold space for myself. Allowing my own sadness to ebb and flow, letting its lesson of gratitude for the now be heard and internalized. Grieving the yesterdays lost and celebrating the tomorrows to come. Finding my own true north, right where I am.

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September 10, 2014September 10, 2016

A mama’s life: the inbetween spaces

It’s sometime between six and seven a.m. and my son starts to root for his early morning snack. I groggily roll over, find his little mouth and feed him milk. As I nurse him, I slowly start to come full awake, taking inventory of my body, allowing my mind to take the slow process it needs to come into being in the world fully.

When the little one finishes nursing, I change his diaper as he sleeps and tuck him in close to his papa. I go to our office and pump a bottle of milk for him, as I start to check into my online world on my phone. Once the bottle of milk is hand-delivered to my husband’s nightstand, I go back to the office and come more into my body through some basic yoga and breathing. Next coffee is to be made as the laptop and wireless warm up.

Coffee in hand, I sit down to the laptop and start to work. Shortly after my daughter wakes and I stop my work to give her snuggles and then set her up to watch some videos on the other computer in our office. I settle back into work for a while and then it is time to feed her, start some dishes, feed myself. And eventually we both make our way back to the office.

I read or write as she giggles at what she is watching. I don’t know what is making her laugh, she wears headphones to try to not disturb my thoughts and process. Her giggles and bursts of laughter seem loud however in contrast to the whispering hum of the computers and each time I need to stop and smile and regroup a bit, biting back that initial response to tell her to quiet down, to shush; instead allowing her to enjoy her moments and thereby allowing myself to enjoy them too, watching her without her knowing, wondering at her beauty (outer and inner) and being amazed that we have journeyed almost eight years together, starting with her conception, and that she is such a gorgeous person after being on this journey of motherhood, despite my stumbles and falls and failings along the way.

I hear the baby crying and wait to go to him, allowing him and his father to create their own relationship of trust, of caring. Sometimes I go and “help” and other times I wait, giving them space to learn more of each other. It is a practice in letting go of the notion that I need to do it all, that it is always my job to fix things. It is knowing in my core that whether I go and help or not, everyone will be okay.

This journey as a creative, as a guide, as a mama and wife and friend and sister, can be hard. Finding time to write or read or work or play inbetween the needs of family life is a practice in patience, perseverance and passion. Creating the space to do all that I love is no easy feat some days and others it flows naturally and makes me question what makes the hard days so hard.

And of course, just as I think I have it all figured out, something comes along to change things.

This is the ebb and flow of life, isn’t it? Once we think we know something, the Universe shakes things up for us, to show us that we don’t really know much of anything beyond the fact that we don’t really know much of anything.

I’ve been coming into this quiet acceptance of this knowing there is so much that I don’t know. Beyond the acceptance I am finding a peace in it, in the not knowing. There is comfort in being in the here and now and releasing the need to know or expectations of the future. It is where I am in my own being and becoming.

Fall is settling into our lives now. The weather and light are shifting and our classes and fall routines are starting to taking root. As the chaos of summer drifts away I find myself feeling cozy and grateful for the more predictable pace of fall. I wonder how our little guy will shake that up for us, and I don’t worry about and allow it to happen in its own time.

I am preparing to guide a beautiful circle of women through the fall season, creating space for each of them to excavate, unearth, release, unfold. I look forward to the journey and wonder how those who are returning will go deeper and how those who are joining us for the first time will add to our circle; how we will guide each other into this new iteration of our own being and becoming.

And all this will happen between the dishes and the breastfeeding. Between the making of meals and folding of laundry. In the hours my husband is home from work and the moments when neither child needs my focus. It will happen because it is my love: to write, to guide, to dig deep, to explore.

Our lives ebb and flow and there are smaller waves within the larger ones. This wave of motherhood will last until my ending day, however what it looks like and how my other waves of being will be influenced by it will change and transform and become something different. I won’t always have office mates who are under the age of ten. I won’t always need to stop writing mid-sentence, mid-thought to feed a child. It won’t always be fall; winter will come, followed by spring and then summer and eventually in it’s time fall will come again.

So for now I work in the between spaces, allowing myself to feel my frustrations with this truth and then letting it drop away like the changing leaves on the trees outside our window. Finding pleasure and joy in moments of distraction, allowing them to feed me instead of starve me. Allowing for the truth, that whether I will it or not, this moment too shall pass.

(Did you enjoy reading this? If so, then I invite you to subscribe to my weekly love letter right over here.)