Gwynn Raimondi, MA

Savoring the In-Between

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There is a place, the in-between, that can be passed by so quickly. It is the space of anticipation – right before the Next Thing becomes reality. It is the space of fear and not knowing – waiting for test results or a decision that is out of our hands to be made. This in-between place is often not comfortable, in fact I would say it is almost always filled with discomfort and we humans like to avoid discomfort in the present moment at much as possible.

I’ve been learning to live and be present in this in-between place. I have many things that are in the future: my husband coming back from a family visit, my birthday, the release of my new course, Halloween festivities, starting my clinical training, graduation, starting a private brick-and-mortar practice and so on. Many things that are far off, some that are just a few days away, and yet I have little to no control to making them happen sooner and so I sit in this waiting, in this in-between the last thing and this next thing, in this anticipation, and in some cases in this fear.

I get frustrated that I can’t make time move more quickly so I can get to that next thing. This frustration, this desire to leap ahead, blocks my ability to savor these now moments, the moments that are happening within and outside of the anticipation. I miss the quiet moments that pop up when I am too focused on the Next Thing and not paying attention to the now. I miss the joy of noticing what just made my girl giggle or feel proud. I miss connecting to the feelings behind the words my husband is sharing with me. I miss savoring the quiet before the chaos, the replenishing time to simply be and not worry.

So these past few weeks have been filled with excited anticipation while I try to not be totally focused on the coming events of this week, month, season and year. I’ve been putting away the laptop and phone more and snuggling with my girl as much as possible and listening to the feelings behind the words of my husband. I’ve been working on quieting the monkey chatter in my brain about All The Things That Must Be Done and letting there be moments of simply being in the now.

It is a balancing act: trying to find the right amount of space to focus on my future projects and staying in the here and now and not worrying about them. It’s a practice in balance for certain and I would argue that most of us are very unbalanced with our focus on the future, our worry about the yet to be, the long To Do list of things that may or may not be very important and yet are excellent distractions from the now. We, as a society, are obsessed with being and looking busy; it is a status symbol. I was caught up in this for years with my career and early motherhood and ultimately it cost me my health not to mention the time lost to connect with the people I loved in those now-gone present moments.

It is a process and a practice and I’m not sure I will ever get it 100% right. Yet, I practice to obtain this balance by continuing to practice being more and more present, bringing the now back into my life and not focus so incredibly much on the future. I continue to practice to recognize those moments of joy as they happen and to feel deep in  my bones the pleasure and bliss of those moments, in those moments.

My mindfulness practice has been the center of helping me to be in the moment, to finding this bliss and pleasure of the now. Mindfulness has helped me to release worry about the future and stay present and focused as I need to be in the particular moment. Mindfulness has allowed me to tune into the anxiety or fear I may be experiencing and to get to it’s root and start to heal some deep-rooted pains. Practicing mindfulness has given me a way to appreciate and fully enjoy my life, as it is, right now.

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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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Revolutionary Kindness

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I was raised to be a Good Girl. You know, the kind of girl who is always polite, never argues. The kind of girl who always obeys her elders and plays by the rules. The girl who rarely stands up for herself and when she does she is punished, scorned, ridiculed. The girl who never questions the status quo and lives in the little box that others created for her.

I was raised to be a Revolutionary. You know, the kind of person who doesn’t care what others think, who follows her heart, does what she wants. The kind of girl who rebels against all the norms that don’t fit in her skin. The girl who stands up for herself and debates and fights back, with or without the support of those who surround her. The girl who brings the status quo to it’s knees, changing the world, one small piece at a time through her own strength and vulnerability.

My maternal grandmother raised me to be a Good Girl. My mom and dad raised me to be a Revolutionary. The irony being, the more of a revolutionary I became, the more my maternal grandmother approved of me and the less my parents did.

One of the lessons taught by both my grandma and my parents was to not hurt other’s feelings. To be kind. To understand the other’s perspective. And depending on if it was my gram or my parents, I should then either bow to the whim of the other or stand my own ground regardless. Ultimately though, I should be kind and thoughtful.

What I’m learning now, is that being kind and thoughtful IS revolutionary. That thinking of others, considering their points of view, being open and willing to bend or change my own mind is revolutionary. To seek out my own opportunities for growth, release and healing is revolutionary. That caring for others, their thoughts, their feelings and guiding them to growth and change is revolutionary.

However what has really been coming home to me this last week,  is that it is only revolutionary if we do all this while holding true to who we are. It is only revolutionary if we listen to and follow our Soul’s calling. It is only revolutionary when we understand that sometimes the only way to be kind to another is to stand firm in who we are, to defend ourselves, to open the space for the Other to step outside his or her own box and grow to become the person he or she is truly called to be.

Let me repeat that:

Sometimes the only way to be kind to another is to stand firm in who we are, to defend ourselves, to open the space for the Other to step outside his or her own box and grow to become the person he or she is truly called to be. 

This is a tough one for me, to be honest. It’s Truth resonates through my entire being, however I truly struggle with conflict. I don’t actually like making people I know and interact with regularly uncomfortable. I have often thought that this is because I am a highly sensitive person, and when others are in discomfort I feel it as my own. What I come to realize is that the Truth is not actually the other’s discomfort that has me in a state of discomfort — it that I was given  a double message about standing up for myself and being True to who I am and to my own values.  The discomfort I feel isn’t about the Other, it is about owning who I am, accepting and loving who I am, and knowing deep in my soul that I am truly a good and kind person and that a kind person is also strong in who she is.

When we feel discomfort it means there is a lesson there for us to learn about ourselves. I have been triggered, pretty severely, this week by people in my world. They have tried to silence me, not allow me the expression of who I truly am. They have done this in such a way that my first response was to disregard who I am to make a situation easier on these other people, actually creating more stress and work for myself. However after this initial betrayal to my Self, the others demanded that I betray myself even more.  My physical response was shaking and nausea and conflicting fight-and-flight reaction. I could not betray who I was any further, I needed to step back  into my own Truth and values, to stand firm in who I am and what is right for both me and my family.

I struggled with this, standing firm in who I am. I believe in being open to change, to growth. To finding the opportunities to dig deep when another triggers us and to figure out the whys and hows of it all and to grow. I always focus on my own growth in this respect. I see my growth from the events this week to be that of calmly and comfortably standing firm in who I am. My growth is to be comfortable with another’s discomfort. My growth is to be who I am so that space can open for the others to go deep, to grow, to adapt, to explore their own discomforts and disappointments, to let go of desperate attempts to control and to find ways to simply Be. Be their own Selves, be part of a community, be in the world with others.

I wrote about adaptation the other day. The importance of my own ability to adapt, my own ability to spin my internal messages around to a more peaceful and loving way of being. I am being revolutionary in opening the space for others to find their own way towards adaptation, by not “fixing” things for them, by allowing them to sit in their own discomfort and find their own inner growth.

It is an act of kindness to act as a rebel, a revolutionary, to open the space for myself and others to find growth, adaptation and liberation. It is an act of kindness to stand in my own strength, my own truth, to Be fully me, as my soul is called to be.

And of course, Green Day says it best.

Those of us who stand in our Truth, our Strength, our Vulnerability are rebels. We are saints. We are dangerous. Dangerous to the status quo. Dangerous to stagnation. Dangerous to dormacy and inactivity. Dangerous to those who do not want to own their own stuff, who want others to bend to their will and not be questioned. Dangerous to those who are afraid of their own growth, their potential, their own healing.

Let’s embrace our rebelliousness. Let’s embrace our sainthood. Let’s be dangerous and let’s bring forth liberation, for our selves, for each other, for the world.

Adaptation

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Sitting on my deck, looking out into the green of the fairy forest and our yard, the sun starts to fade from view and the light behind my screen dims. I still hear the creek gurgling along its way and tonight my neighbors are on their deck enjoying the beauty that is our shared backyard. I hear her grandchildren giggle and laugh while the adults talk.

When they first came out onto their deck I felt annoyed. I had been enjoying the quiet gurgling of the creek and the last tweets and chirps of the birds who live in our little forest. I debated moving inside and being grumpy because now I couldn’t enjoy my deck and yard, now I couldn’t concentrate on my writing. My body felt out of sorts. My brain too full.

I did go inside, however I left the laptop and my books on the table. I got a glass of water and went pee. I grabbed a cup of cherries to nibble on. I put on a pair of cozy socks. I took a deep, slow breath and literally shook my body, releasing the annoyance, the tension that had been building up and opening the space for the Truth that my neighbor and I can both enjoy our decks, our shared yard at the same time.

When I came back to my chair outside I felt lighter. I smiled at the children giggling. I breathed in the night air and started to write.

Then she came.

Each night I’ve been out here writing, I get a visitor. A red-breasted robin hops and runs along our yard, pecking and digging for food. When I see her, I feel the smile that grows on my face fill my entire body. She’s my friend. I stay quiet and watch her and then I try to get a picture of her, to share her with you, but she flies away into the trees.

I smile and accept that today is not the day to share her. Today I get to savor her for myself.

Then my daughter yells down from her bedroom “MOM!!! I saw your robin!!!”

Okay, maybe I do get to share her a little.

This is how life goes isn’t it? When we start to get comfortable, something happens to force a shift, to move us into discomfort even if only momentarily, as my neighbors did. My neighbors had done nothing wrong, they had no malice towards me, they were simply enjoying the beauty that we live in. And yet I internalized some message, that was never spoken or meant, that now I couldn’t enjoy our yard. Taking those moments to get some water and take time to breathe opened back up the space for both of us to exist, to share in the beauty of our space, separately.

And my friend the robin. She makes me laugh with the reminder she gave of how quickly one moment moves into the next and when we think an opportunity is lost, it is found.

Adaptation. Opening the space for things not to be exactly as we had planned or hoped and allowing what is to be. Rejoicing and relishing the moments, even when they bring annoyance or frustration. Breathing into the beauty of the now, knowing it will soon pass into the next now-moment, and the next.