Gwynn Raimondi, MA

Breathing, Noticing, Praying

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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.

 

Here and There

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This month I’m facilitating a discussion in the Mama Scout Readers and Writers Tribe of the book Composing a Life by Mary Catherine Bateson. I’m only three chapters in (reading is slow going for me right now), however I’m finding myself nodding and underlining and resonating with the experiences of these women who came before me.

In the last six months I’ve found myself having time (and energy) to devote to my writing. As my daughter has grown older, her independent play has increased and it has left me at times wondering what the hell to do with myself. I found my way back to writing and was spending more than an hour a day (sometimes up to three or four hours a day) journalling, blogging, writing academic papers, and waxing poetically about life via the written word on social media. It was certainly a taste of heaven.*

(The asterisk are the times I had to stop writing this very post to meet the needs of our family or more accurately, our new little tyrant 😉 )

That has all changed of course since our son was born a little over a month ago.  We have each had a lot of adjusting to do, and I’ve had the physical recovery from the birth to contend with as well as nipping postpartum depression in the bud. This has meant no time to write in over a month and it has been frustrating and heartbreaking for me. I have yet to write out our son’s birth story–with our daughter I had her birth story written out within a few days–** or write about how we came to his name or about how amazing his big sister is and has been since his arrival or really about anything that is important to me and that I want to get down on paper or screen.

I have yet to master the fine art of nursing at the keyboard*** (nor do I know if I really want to) and so time to me is both sparse and sporadic. Even though my husband happily feeds our son the expressed milk I supply, there are times our son refuses the bottle, only being satisfied with milk straight from the tap. This of course means I drop everything I’m doing, including writing (or eating or peeing) to feed and calm our baby boy.

I want to note I am not complaining. I love our son, and love that I am a source of both comfort and nourishment for him. I do find joy and fulfillment in motherhood and yet there is more to me than being a mom.  I am giving very real life examples of how our work as women is sidelined for our families. Our children, especially when very young, always come first. Many of us also sacrifice our own needs or desires in order to make life easier or more accommodating for our spouses–often without even discussing with our partner that we have needs or wants or are making any sort of sacrifice.

This sacrificing our self for our family is true for women without children too. Our parents come before our own needs, as do our partners, our nieces or nephews, even our cats and dogs. Or worse, we allow a job or career we find no satisfaction in take precedence over what our souls long to do. We put our own creativity and nourishment on hold, on the back burner and often never get to it.

It is culturally ingrained in us to put our own needs aside as women. Be this as it may, we do have a choice to follow that path or not. There are consequences to any choice and honestly I don’t believe in balance (as in the myth of the work-life balance). We choose our children or parents or spouses over our selves over and over without thinking about it, and we do, as individuals and as a women as a group, suffer for it. How many great memoirs or paintings or architectural or engineering designs have been lost because we have been so accommodating to others?

This is not to say there is not a time and season for everything. I know that I am  in the season of the young child (again) and this means that time for my writing will be limited, but it doesn’t mean it comes to a stand still. I am conscious of where I am in my life and where my family is. I consciously and mindfully find chunks of time here and there, pump out bottles of milk and say a prayer that our little tyrant will accept it so I can do the things that fill my own soul, those things beyond motherhood that I am called to do.

And so the ebb and flow of life continues.

It would be easy to say that I can’t write now. That I can’t focus on school or my clinical training. That I can’t continue to build my business. No one would fault me and many would say, of course, that is how life is. But I’m not willing to accept that. Yes, we have a very young infant and an older child who need my attention and love. Yes, my husband is our main bread-winner and so certain accommodations need to be made so he can work. And none of that means I can’t have time for my own pursuits. Perhaps I don’t get three hours a day at this point, instead perhaps it is three hours spread over a week. But it is still time I take for my own creative and intellectual outlet.

I invite you to do the same. To step away from the convenient excuses that life offers you to not shine, to not glow, to not be and become the person you are called to be. Set aside fifteen minutes a day to write or paint or doodle or daydream. Fifteen minutes every day just for you to do something just for you. Break it into three five minute breaks if you need to. Meditate, stretch, make yourself a yummy nourishing snack, create a quick blackout poem, read a couple paragraphs in a book or write a list of things you’d love to write about later.  Whatever it is that fulfills and replenishes you, make the time for it. Make yourself a priority.

You deserve this time for you. The world deserves to see you glow, to see you nourished and replenished. Take this summer to create the habits to support you becoming the person you want to be. Release the convenient excuses and your fear of your own glow. Step into being and becoming the person you are truly called to be.

Last week I released a program – Mid-Summer Glow – for registration. I have decided not to offer the program this summer after all, instead focusing on my writing and creating my fall program (Being and Becoming Circle). This decision is a step into my own self-care and releasing of some “shoulds” that have been circling in my brain. If you are looking to work with me this summer, you can still register for my free summer-long program Glow Wisdom by clicking here.

If you are interested in joining the discussion of Composing a Life, simply ask to join the Mama Scout Reader + Writer Facebook group here. We’d love to have you as part of our tribe!!

*Stopped to feed our son and then once he was asleep put diaper laundry in the dryer
**Stopped to feed our son and get him back to sleep
***Stopped to change our son, add time to the dryer, pump a bottle and hand son over to Daddy so I can try to focus. (and look, it worked!)

Lessons in the Almost

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I have said many times and I am sure will say many more, that my daughter is one of my greatest teachers. My son is proving to be one of them too.

From my daughter I have learned perserverance, rule-breaking (again), unconditional love, that the “authorities” don’t always know what they are talking about, and that deeply feeling one’s emotions–all of them–is the way to find true connection: to one’s self, to those we love, to the world. She has also taught me about creativity and individuality and what it really means to be a rebel.  And her greatest lesson to me: You can never be fully prepared for what life has to offer.

She’s patiently taught me these lessons since she was in utero–when we were told at seven weeks pregnant she probably wouldn’t make it; when my water broke at 34 weeks and we hadn’t yet put together her changing table or even packed our hospital bags. She has been at least five steps ahead of me for the last seven plus years and by knowing her and mothering her I believe I have become a better person, coming closer and closer to the person I am meant to be, called to be.

I expected a similar pregnancy with our son: one filled with scares and unknowns. We (myself, husband and medical team) expected him to arrive early, like his big sister. I spent the first half of my pregnancy holding my breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for the bad news and obstacles, and yet they didn’t come.

My son is teaching me patience and to truly embrace each new day as it comes without expecting the worst, allowing space for the best. He has taught me to love my body again, its working parts and non-working parts. And his greatest lesson so far: settling into the becoming, the inbetween, the almost.

I’ve been pregnant more than three weeks longer with him than I have ever been before. I’m learning the nuances of aches and pains and contractions. I’m learning to embrace the uncomfortable: not only literally being uncomfortable because I have a 20 pound bowling ball of fluids and new organs and baby where my stomach and intestines once sat or because my hips and pelvis are spreading in ways I can’t believe are actually natural. No, the real discomfort is in the not knowing, the inability to plan, the wanting him here already and having to release any sense of control I may think I have to make that happen now.

He’s forcing me to rest in this place of almost: Almost a mama of newborn; almost the mama of two; almost the mama of a son; almost a family of four; almost stepping into this next iteration of my, our, life. I don’t know when BabyBoy is going to decide to enter the world and so all plans we make now are consciously tentative, made with the caveat of “unless he decides to make his appearance before then.”

The reality is all our plans are tentative, whether we acknowledge that consciously or not. A million different things can happen to change our course, from the big and dramatic changes like the birth of a child or the death of a loved one, to the more minor, everyday things like coming down with a cold, or a car breaking down. Life happens, and we can plan all we like, and yet the reality is we don’t have control.

So we are all living in this space of almost in many ways, in this space of constantly becoming. We make our plans and have our dreams and go through our lives. And how we deal with the changes in course, I believe, speaks volumes of who we are, who we were and who we will become. Do we resist and fight and demand the illusion of control, or do we step into the moments, embracing the pains and pleasures as they come to us?

I say we all do a bit of both resisting and embracing. I know I do.

When I sense the resistance however, when I become aware that I am fighting something I have no power or control to change, I breathe. I step into my body-centered mindfulness practice. I become curious about why I am so resistant, what is the fear behind the fight, behind the temper-tantrum. (And it’s always a fear that lingers there, trying to keep me safe, trying to keep me from shining.) What am I ready to release, what is the lesson that is sitting here for me to see, to breathe into?

She was becoming herselfOver the last week or so I have had more than a few temper tantrums. I have told BabyBoy he won’t get any birthday parties if he doesn’t make his appearance soon. I have been snappy and mean to my daughter. I have been angry that we aren’t moved into the next step of our lives. We have been ready for weeks now, with hospital bags packed and in the trunk of the car; infant supplies all procured; feelings of readiness and anticipation over-analyzing every twinge from my uterus, every mood shift, every food craving. I have researched every possible way to naturally induce labor and tried many of them.

I have tried to push us forward, when the lesson is to sit back and release and allow life to unfold as it is meant to. To open space for the becoming, to be in the being now: this almost, this “in-between.” I fall back on my breathing and body-focused mindfulness practice and explore my fears and hesitation and embrace this little boy and his lessons for me, allowing more space for the unknown and the almost. And knowing I cannot plan for tomorrow, I allow myself to live in today.

 

Savoring SensualityTo celebrate BabyBoy’s eventual entrance into the world, I have revamped my self-study program Savoring Sensuality and am offering it at a 30%+ discount. For more information and to register, click here. 

Forgive Yourself, Improve Your Relationships: A guest post at FloGascon.com

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I am honored to be a guest writer in Flo Gascon’s Parenting Calmly series today. 

The practice of forgiveness is our most important contribution to the healing of the world.  -Marianne Williamson

Twinkle lights glowing in our family and living rooms. Candles at the dining table. Softness blooming out of the lights in our home, gently revealing what each space holds.

Creek gently babbling. Wind chimes tinkling. Sounds quietly entering my senses.

Mellow breeze kissing my face. Supple cotton touching my skin. Caressing touches opening possibilities.

I entered a world of Softness, surrounding myself with soft sights, sounds and feelings. This exterior softness represents the inner softness seeking out space in my body, my heart, my relationships, my being.

As I entered into this shift, the Hardness made itself clearly known. It came as resistance, to not see the world from the eyes of Others. It came as snapping at my husband and daughter over trivial things. It came as judgement of others and how they are living their lives.

Yes, others did hurtful things. Yes, others said unkind words. Yes, I’ve been misunderstood. Yes, there have been times I have been abandoned and unloved, shamed and ridiculed.

I held onto those hurts, the unkindness, the misunderstandings, using them as armor, protecting myself from future pain, or so I thought. Visit Flo’s site to read more (click here)…

Resetting

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During the month of December, I felt off, not quite myself. While I remained present and enjoyed the season with my husband and our girl as a general statement, looking back I recognize the moments and days of disconnection and my own distraction. I can see how the end of the semester took more of my time and focus than I liked. I can see how the holidays, while beautiful and full of moments of our small family connecting, also brought their own stresses and pressure and distractions.

As the  holidays passed and December rolled into January the “offness” made itself even more known. For a few days I felt disconnected, discombobulated. I felt the stress of the long “to do” list for my business that I hope to complete before classes start back up at the end of the month. I felt overwhelm at the number of New Years cards I wanted to get out this week. I felt sadness from not getting more down time to myself; more time to connect with my little family; more time to connect with friends. Angsty is probably the best word to describe how I felt, however I was struggling to figure out what was at the core of the angst; what was beyond this bubbling tantrum of “I don’t wanna!!!”.

This morning, after my daughter woke me up, in those first moments of the day this angst and I-don’t-wanna were in the forefront. All I wanted to do was go back to bed, get some more sleep. All I wanted was to isolate in the dark and cry. All I wanted was to connect deeply with myself and figure out what in the hell was going on.

My husband got up and came down to the kitchen just a few moments after our daughter and I did. He too was exhausted and clearly needed some more sleep and some time to himself. I recommended he go back to bed and I would hang out with our girl for a while before starting my work day (one of the bonuses of running my own business from home: I can come in late whenever I want). He declined and recommended that I go back to bed before starting my work day.

I took him up on his offer.

I went back upstairs and curled under the covers. While I was exhausted, I couldn’t settle back into sleep. So I laid there for a while, allowing my thoughts to wander and came to realize that all this angst I was feeling was self-created. I created my deadlines for work. I created the deadline to get our New Years cards out the door. I created the deadlines to get the house cleaned and organized. I created the go-go-go schedule that kept us out of the house and didn’t allow space for relaxing and connecting.

I smiled at these realizations. Ah, I feel overwhelmed because of me. I feel angsty because I was trying to force myself back into a pace I walked away from four years ago when I left my previous career. I was feeling disconnected because I was disconnecting from those I love and value most. I glanced at the “to do” list I wanted to accomplish this weekend and decided at least half of what wasn’t done yet could be put off to next week. I breathed a sigh of relief, settled into my morning meditation, breathing in the word peace, and breathing out the word release.

Afterward, the smell of bacon motivated me downstairs for breakfast.

We sat at the breakfast table, the three of us. I smiled at our daughter’s now toothless grin and wondered how my itty bitty baby had gotten so big so fast. I talked with my husband and we connected while our daughter played with Barbies and Legos. I made myself some tea and then went upstairs to get ready for my day.

Once I was dressed, I went into the office where my husband was and gave him a hug and kiss. I then went into our girl’s room where she was playing and laughed with her, taking silly pictures of the two of us together. I told her it was time for me to leave and she asked that I stay, so I did for a few more moments, connecting with her and laughing. I went and gave my husband one more kiss and then when I was finally headed downstairs to work after gathering all my things, I saw the two of them cuddling and resting and connecting.

Ah, yes. This is our life: These quiet simple moments of holding each other; of laughing and being silly; of talking and hearing and being heard. This is our life because we chose it to be that way. We, my husband and I, chose for me to give up a career that was slowly killing me and us. I chose to go back to school to start a new career that would allow for more family time, more connection, more empathy and understanding. We choose to walk away from society’s expectations, shoulds and have-tos to create the space for calm, peace and living our lives connected to each other and ourselves.

I’m grateful for my husband. I’m grateful he offered me time this morning to restart. I’m deeply grateful I acknowledged this gift and accepted it; giving myself some much needed time to reset and look into what I needed and wanted.

I invite you to slow down this week. To sit or lay in quiet and allow your mind to wander; to give space to see where your life may not be working as you hoped and to understand why and how you could change that. Slow down, allow yourself to be.