Gwynn Raimondi, MA

Silly is what Silly does

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I’ve been digging into this idea of Silly for a few days now and have come up against the same question over and over: What is “Silly”?

I believe we often think of silly as synonymous with goofy and/or childish (as opposed to childlike). Silly often gets a negative wrap, we are often told throughout our lives “Don’t be silly” which is often translated to “Don’t be stupid.”

Silly, I’m finding, is bigger than all that and is a positive, not negative, experience. Silly is going against the grain, being a rebel.  Silly is doing something unexpected, just because we can. Silly is about not being efficient, about taking a “wrong” turn on purpose and exploring. Silly is also about playing, experimenting and having fun. Silly is about stepping into our vulnerability and embracing the butterflies and weird sensations that brings forth. Silly is about connecting to our joy, to releasing our fears. Silly is about nourishing ourselves and finding ways to play and care for our souls. Silly is about surrendering to our passions and going for it.

And yes, silly is also about being childlike. In the way that children are curious about their world and ask lots of questions and want to understand everything. In they way children explore without regard to any end product. In the way that children embrace life and want to experience every aspect of it.

Today is Day 5 of my Silly Challenge. Over the last five days I have stomped in mud puddles, sang songs out loud, danced, taken the long, inefficient way to run some errands. I’ve also stepped out of my comfort zone and connected with people I haven’t really connected with before but deeply wanted to, sat and listened to music with my girl: simply sitting and listening; I’ve taken a painting class with a friend, I’ve gone to bed early and then woken up at midnight and watched Gossip Girl.

Some of these things may not be considered “silly” by others. For me, each of them has been a step in either going outside of my comfort zone or doing what I want to do instead of what I “should” do.

That’s the essence of “silly” for me: letting go of shoulds and doing the coulds, doing what my heart wants in the moment, just for fun.

Today’s planned silly act is making cobbler and sausage for dinner. Because I can. And it sounds good. And dinner for breakfast always feels like a treat. (It’s also not my original idea. One of my best friends gave this one to me). I know there will be unplanned silliness too, because part of silliness is stepping into Yes. It’s about opening to the possibilities.

I would love for you join me on this challenge. You can hop on this Silly Train at anytime. We’re using the hashtag #30daysofsilly to see how others are taking the challenge. There is no right or wrong way to be silly. Being silly looks different for everyone. We all have our own comfort zones to break out of a bit. So, really, step into Silly, step into Yes, step into Joy and expanding your experience of fun and pleasure and life. I’d love to hear about how it works (and doesn’t work!) for you.

Accepting love

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The first couple of weeks after I came home from my week at school were a bit rough on my girl and me. We kept trying to reconnect and not quite making it. There were a lot of tears, from both of us, feelings of rejection and being misunderstood.

I felt frustrated because she would say she wanted to do this or that with me, state that we just weren’t getting enough time together, and then when I would try to play whatever game she requested, or the do the thing she wanted, she would get angry if I asked too many questions or didn’t do something or the other exactly as she wanted.

Or so, that’s how it looked on the outside.

My feelings were hurt yes, and yes I was frustrated because I too wanted desperately to reconnect with my daughter. I wanted to play and be silly and have fun. I put off doing housework and business work so that we could have time together.

I knew how her heart was hurting. I knew that her lashing out both had everything and nothing to do with me. I knew that her survival mechanisms were trying to protect her from further separation, further hurt. I knew that in oh-so-many ways she wasn’t really in control of her reactions–they were primal, coming up from her reptilian brain.

I persevered. It was hard at times. There were moments when I started to slip back into my reptilian brain also, times when my feelings were hurt so deeply, times when my frustration would start to get the best of me and I would start to spiral into anger.

In those hard moments I would find my breath, find myself. I would remind myself all I know of attachment. I would remind myself all I know of development. I would remind myself how her “rejection” was stirring up my own childhood wounds of rejection and abandonment and while my response was triggered by her it really had little to do with her. I would remind myself I was the parent, the adult.

Most of the time this worked. Not every time. There was repair work I did over the last couple weeks too, apologizing after cruel words slipped out of my mouth, giving lots of hugs and snuggles, listening to heartbeats, tickling and playing and finding ways to get us both back into the present moment.

Today my girl and I played a game she made up. It was something like hockey, but somewhat different. We played in the garage with a ball and some tree branches, she led the play and I followed, adding in questions and comments and saying “I’m open” or “I need to pass” on queue. It was fun and I felt like we deeply connected while playing. My girl’s eyes were so lit up and I could see how excited she was that here we were playing a game of her own creation.

This parenting thing changes us, fundamentally. I’ve shifted and adapted and grown to love play, something I once avoided at all costs. I had read Lawrence Cohen’s Playful Parenting (which I highly recommend to all parents) and I intellectually understood the value and power of play, and yet my body had so much resistance. I have used a timer to help me move past my anxiety, to put limits that my brain and body could handle, to ease play into my experience, into my body, into my heart.

As time has moved forward I’ve found myself enjoying play more and more. I’ve left the timer behind. I’ve opened myself to the deep connection my daughter and I have. More importantly I have come to accept her beautiful unconditional love.

Accepting unconditional love from another person is terrifying, overwhelming and powerful. When we are able to accept the love of another we are opening ourselves to healing our past hurts as well as opening ourselves to the possibility of future hurts. It is the fear of the the potential future hurts that blocks so many of us from accepting love and kindness from others. Fear stops us from deeply feeling the love each and every one of us is meant to feel from another or to experience the profound joy that comes with the experience of that love.

These last two weeks I have shed tears and held my girl while she shed hers. I have examined my own reactions, repaired when appropriate, owned my own shit, and understood and empathized with where my girl is in each moment. And while we didn’t play Barbies yesterday due to her own frustrations and primal defense mechanisms, we did play a rousing game of something like hockey, but not quite, today, where we both laughed and played, where we felt connected and understood. I accepted my girl’s love and she accepted mine.

This is where my growth and transformation is. In the accepting. In the acknowledging. In releasing my deeply internalized myths of not being worthy or good enough. In moving through the fear. In loving another and deeply breathing her love for me, finding joy and peace in her love.

We find our transformation in our relationships. We find love, peace and joy through our connections. We heal and repair our broken hearts by moving into vulnerability and allowing others in. We love and accept love as though our very lives depended upon it. Because quite frankly, they do.

A vision page created from the prompt "I accept." I accept: (my) Dearest Living love Jewel. Yes I do.
A vision page created from the prompt “I accept.” I accept: (my) Dearest Living love Jewel. Yes I do.

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