Worry

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Like most mothers, the majority of my energy is used for my children.  Physically caring for them, wiping bottoms and noses, feeding babies, looking after the home, preparing meals, cleaning up after them– this is the hard manual graft of family life.  But it’s not only my physical energy that is completely devoted to them; I give over most of my mental energy to them as well.  Sometimes it’s just thinking about what they need each day or what I need to do: “Ok, after I empty this potty and wash my hands, I need to stir that pot before it burns, and I need to check over the homework, brush her hair, get some clothes on the baby and… I wonder how she’s getting on in school with her teacher.”  Some thoughts are simply making plans, but sometimes they are something rather different: sometimes they are worries.

 

We take it for granted that worrying about our children goes with the job.  And maybe there is a biological reason for it.  We see other mammals fussing over their babies: ewes bleat imploringly if they lose their little ones, primates groom and stroke one another, blue whales keep their little ones near them and beneath them for much of their early lives.  We as mammals are designed to give an excellent quality of care to our young.  Compared to other animals, human infants are less developed and more dependant when they are born.  Many researchers believe that this is due to the size of the bipedal female pelvis: a one year old’s head wouldn’t fit through, but a newborn baby’s does.  So a new baby has a lot of growing to do, and he needs to do it fast– hence the need for round-the-clock nurturing and protection from his mother.  Caring for them is what we do.

We want our children to be happy, and we worry for their wellness and safety.  Many times this worry comes in the form of bringing out the big stick and beating ourselves up over something we have done.  We wonder whether we are ‘bad mothers’ and when I yelled at Johnny this morning will he turn into a bully later in life?  But consider the old-fashioned meaning of worry: to worry a cloth or handkerchief involves stretching, stroking and rubbing the cloth until it begins to fall apart.  Worry can be detrimental to you, but until now I never considered that it might just affect my children.  Most of the time worry has no perceivable benefit.  Sometimes we worry over nothing and the thing we were worrying about never actually comes to fruition.  Sometimes we fret over the past, and clearly there is little we can do now to change anything but the moment in which we currently act.

Worry takes us out of the present moment:  I might be mindlessly pushing my toddler on the swing while I worry about something that happened earlier.  I might be walking my children to school, but my mind is still in yesterday as I think over a problem that hasn’t quite been resolved.  My daughter wants to talk with me about her latest drawing, but all I can think about it is the events that are due to happen later in the day.  Although I am ‘there’ for my children, am I really truly here?  And do they instinctively know?

What would it be like to be free from worry?  Perhaps you, like me, have experienced sleepless nights of worrying about your children.  Perhaps full days have been spent mulling over a concern you have about one of your children, or you are dwelling on something that happened yesterday or something that is likely to happen tomorrow.  We all know the unhappiness and unease that comes with a too-busy mind.

The question to ask yourself is, “Who is in charge here?”  We make the mistake of assuming that we have no control over the mind.  This is certainly what I believed when I first came to Yoga.  I had no idea that I could separate myself from my thoughts.  I had no idea that I did not need to recycle my thoughts over and over– that it is possible to put a STOP to worry.

If you find your mind hard to tame you are in good company.  In the classic text the Bhagavad Gita, one of the bravest warriors in all of Indian history complains, “…the mind is inconstant: in its restlessness I cannot find rest.  The mind is restless… impetuous, self-willed, hard to train: to master the mind seems as difficult as to master the mighty winds.”

Oh dear, if Arjuna can’t even train his mind, how on earth can we?

Krishna’s advice to Arjuna is this, “The mind is indeed restless, Arjuna: it is indeed hard to train.  But by constant practice and by freedom from passions the mind in truth can be trained.”  Such lovely words, but there are two problems here: parents rarely have time for sustained practice, and we are (rightly so) passionate about our children!

So we find ourselves back at the beginning: how do we do stop the useless cycle of worry?  But the advice continues and here’s where is gets really good:

For concentration is better than mere practice, and meditation is better than concentration; but higher still than meditation is surrender in love of the fruit of one’s actions, for on surrender follows peace.

It’s worth repeating: surrendering in love our attachment to results is what brings peace.  I have written here before about results-orientated parenting as opposed to process-orientated parenting.  Naturally, a major thing that parents do is to guide and teach their children.  I have no objection to this.  But I think that focussing our minds too fixedly on what might be the outcome of our actions takes us away from experiencing this present moment with awareness and love.

Perhaps the key to freedom from parental worry is sitting before us in the form of this small child.  Maybe fixing my mind on my child is my practice.  Focussing my passion on her is the way to bring myself into this moment and away from worry.  To parent for the now, with love, is to truly harness the moment.

Consider surrendering in love the fruits of your actions this day, this week, and notice whether this affects how much and what you worry about.  Notice whether it brings you a greater sense of peace, as promised by the Bhagavad Gita.  And be reassured that if our daily lives are our childrens’ greatest learning experience, then if all of your actions are grounded in love, they are learning life’s greatest lesson.

 

All Bhagavad Gita quotations taken from Mascaro, J, transl. (1962) Penguin, London.

Photo credit: Leena, Wikimedia Commons.

My son pushed your child today: from one mother to another

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Dear fellow mother,

Today my two and a half year old son pushed your son, snatched a toy from his hands and shouted at him.  Your son justifiably felt aggrieved and cried; you came and comforted your child.  I wanted to connect with you, to talk to you about it, but it wasn’t the right place or time it seemed, and you didn’t make eye contact with me.  I wanted to tell you so much.  I wanted to say sorry.

Please know that just because I didn’t shout at my son, or take him by the arm and drag him away, or force him to give up the toy by taking it out of his hands or tell him that he must say sorry, just because I didn’t roll my eyes and say how awful he is at sharing– none of these things means that I’m not taking it seriously.  I am.  I feel sorry for your child. Moreover, I have a vested interest: I don’t want my son to hurt other people because I know such behaviour not only makes other people unhappy; it will make him unhappy too.  Like you, I just want my son to be happy.

Please understand that my child is doing these things because it’s normal behaviour for his age.  He doesn’t come from an unhappy home, I’m not too authoritarian or permissive, he’s not insecure and it’s nothing personal.  There are no pyscho-babble reasons behind his behaviour.  He’s two and I accept him for where he is now… I hope you will try to understand.

When I kneel quietly beside my son, gesture toward your crying child and say, “Look at his face: he’s sad” I am taking the long view.  Continue reading →

Pause for thought

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How you think affects everything you do.  I have written here before about how the mind affects our parenting and our world outlook. If we accept that the mind has a role to play in determining one’s actions, then getting in touch with the mind might just be the key to develping greater sensitivity in our parenting and, consequently, connection with our children.

I used to say, “I wish I could be more patient with my children.”  People would reply, “oh but you are patient.  Don’t be so hard on yourself!” I wondered, what do I actually mean when I say I want to be more patient? After reflection, I have come to understand that what I really want is to have a greater understanding of how my mind leads me into actions that lead me into disconnection.  How can I resist becoming wrapped up in the thoughts (and obeying their commands) when I face parenting struggles?

Yesterday evening: we walk through the door, and suddenly Aidan is screaming, Eilidh is screaming, Iona is screaming.  Aidan wants to get his hands into a drawer where Eilidh is keeping her ‘special things;’ Eilidh is screaming because she wants him to stay out; Iona is screaming because she can’t stand their screaming and wants them to stop!  It is very difficult to remain centred when three people are screaming, all at the same time.  My thoughts are telling me that this noise level is too much, what on earth could they be shouting about, and why does Iona have to get involved when the altercation is nothing to do with her?  I know that everyone is tired and hungry, and after yelling at them all to “BE QUIET! STOP SCREAMING!” (and no, I don’t miss the irony) I go into the kitchen to take a deep breath and consider what to do next.  Familiar? (please say yes!)

In meditation, we often choose a quiet, calm place for sitting and watching our thoughts.  We close out all external stimuli to enable us to bring the mind to single point of focus.  We cultivate an awareness of our external witness, and we watch our thoughts without being taken away by them.  When we become wrapped up in thoughts, we gently return the mind to its focus. In Yoga class we have usually practised an hour’s worth of physical movements (asana) before sitting to meditate, and the meditation is normally followed by supine guided relaxation.  Doesn’t it all sound wonderful?

Parenting is nothing like this! Continue reading →

Listening to your OWN baby’s needs

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You already know that I am a guest blogger at Mothering.com’s All Things Mothering blog…. But it just dawned on me that you might want the link to my latest posts.  So here’s today’s:

http://mothering.com/all-things-mothering/baby-2/breastfeeding/listening-to-your-own-babys-needs

If you click on my profile at the bottom of the post you can read my older posts, in case you missed them. Enjoy!

What is your truth?

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There are certain things about motherhood that I really struggle to accept.  The relentless nature of housework, the critical or patronising remarks of other people who assume that my life is one coffee morning after another, the mind-numbing nature of playground small talk and gossip… all of these make me want to put my skates on and flee in the opposite direction.  I find that that the more I dwell on these irritations and the more I struggle against the things I don’t like, the more unhappy I become.

When I am at odds with my children it is often because I am struggling to accept them as they are now.  I want them to listen to me and to do as they are asked; but they are focused on other things and want to exercise their autonomy.  They are only just learning about considering another person’s feelings.  I want them to treat others with gentleness and kindness; but they get irritated and react in much the same way as I would– we all get short-tempered!  They are only just learning about constructive ways to problem-solve and express their feelings.  I want them to share with each other; they feel a strong sense of ownership over their things and find it hard to live communally….  When I accept them as they are now, I feel at peace.  When I expect too much, when I resist who they truly are in this moment, I feel frustrated and worry wraps itself across my shoulders like a well-worn shawl.

Many years ago I read one of those magazine columns where a mother writes in with a problem and lots of other mothers send in their own experiences and words of wisdom.  Two letters remain in my memory. The first writer expressed her frustration that every time she took out an art activity for her children they made a huge mess, and she felt resentful that it became yet another clean-up job for her.  In reply, one mother said that she considered it part of her role as a mother to clean up after the children (at least when they were small), and accepting this really helped her.  Another letter writer expressed her worry that she was still spoon feeding her three year old: she wondered whether her child would ever feed herself independently.  In reply, one mother said that she considered it part of her role to feed her child and that she did so without a thought.  And yes, her child did eventually choose to feed herself.

The women who replied shared something in common: their willingness to accept their dharma and their childrens’ dharma.  Dharma is a Sanskrit word that refers to one’s path, one’s vocation, or one’s own Truth.  Your dharma isn’t just your station in life or your role, but the expression of Universal Truth through you.  When you follow your dharma, you do what you were meant to do.  When you accept your dharma, you let go of ‘shoulds’ and accept what is.  When you fulfil your dharma you fulfil a greater plan that has love at its centre.

When I talk about acceptance, I don’t mean to say that we should all become passive martyrs, letting go of our own volition.  After all, the principal text on acceptance and dharma (the Bhagavad Gita) was never far from Ghandi’s side (in fact he read it every day of his adult life), and of course he did not simply accept that which was unjust.  Instead, following one’s dharma means lovingly accepting the gifts that life gives you in whatever form they arrive.  It means letting go of resistance and embracing your true nature.

In this context, I have been thinking about my own dharma and my child’s.  I really can’t stand housework.  When I look around my house I feel helpless. I feel cross that everyone else makes such a mess and my internal monologue rehearses my irritation that I am the one who ‘always’ has to clean it up. How dare they be so inconsiderate, and *sigh* look, there’s a mouldy apple behind the sofa. And who sprinkled wet porridge all over the sitting room floor?  But I stop, and breathe.  I see that part of my dharma is sharing a living space with people I love.  I want that space to be relatively hygenic and welcoming. And in this spirit, I accept that housework is something I must contribute to in my home.  I also accept that my two year old’s dharma is to be impulsive, exploratory and totally present in the moment (this manifests itself as amnesia vis-a-vis the porridge).  Resisting the menial tasks that go with being a stay at home mother makes me unhappy.  Releasing this resistance fosters a sense of peace.

Acceptance isn’t something that you can magically force yourself to do.  It’s a bit like my students’ experience of meditation (and my own, for that matter).  You sit and watch your breath… the mind wanders and suddenly you realise you’ve spent the past 3 minutes planning tomorrow’s dinner or analysing that snappish remark someone made earlier.  Ooops! I was supposed to be meditating… right.  Start over.  Watch the breath… and again, the mind wanders.  This time I’m getting frustrated.  Why can’t I just do one thing without the mind wandering away?  Have I no concentration?  Who’s in charge here anyway? I begin to wrestle with myself, trying to force my mind into submission.  But the more I struggle with the thoughts, the more power I give them, and the meditation becomes another excuse to beat myself up rather than an opportunity to invite myself into stillness.

The same could be said of parenting.  When we resist what is true and real in our lives, when we try to see into the future and change the now out of fear or dread, we are resisting our dharma, our Truth–and wrestling with these things can make us miserable.  At the moment, my Truth is that I am a mother to three young children.  With this goes sibling arguments, nighttime waking, tiredness from said nighttime shenanigans, endless tidying and cleaning up after small people, constant meal and snack preparation, cleaning up after food preparation, meal planning, wiping bottoms, wiping noses, wiping fingers, wiping faces, wiping windows that have been smeared with the aforementioned sticky body parts, helping with homework, going to the shop to buy items for my child’s homework, cleaning P.E. kits, cleaning up a two year old’s wee from the floor when he ‘missed’ his potty, making requests of my children that they (for example) put their shoes on, asking again, and again, and again.  These are all part of the joy of being a mother, but sometimes I wonder how my education prepared me for this vocation.  Sometimes I wonder whether my children would be better off with someone who didn’t get quite so resentful. Sometimes I wish I could be sitting in a library instead of sitting on the sofa as my toddler picks his nose beside me.  I yearn for a conversation that doesn’t revolve around bodily functions or hair clips.

It is in these moments that I know that I am struggling with my dharma.  Peace comes with acceptance.  Rather than berate myself for my resentments or wish myself away, I allow myself to have these feelings.  Then I gently draw myself back to what I can see, touch, smell, hear and taste: back to this present moment.  Before me I see the soft, buttery skin of my baby’s legs as he sits on my lap.  I hear the giggles of my daughters as they try to remember a song they learned in school.  I touch the never-cut softness of my toddler’s blonde curls.  I share a look with my nine year old as she raises her eyebrows at me, and we sing the song together.  My dharma, my Truth, my path and my vocation: to be here in the now, experiencing this moment of my child’s life and my life as a mother.  Soon enough, the next moment arrives: resistance is a memory, acceptance is my Truth.

Photo credit: Guy Wareham, Wikimedia Commons.

Top 5 ways to listen to your heart

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“Listen to your instincts.”  It’s a phrase I often use when discussing breastfeeding and other parenting decisions with mothers.  When they tell me that they are confused and that other people are giving them advice, yet they aren’t sure what to do, I say, “Listen to your instincts.”  Do you ever wonder, “But how do I do that?”  In our society we are bombarded by parenting books, websites, discussion boards, Facebook and Twitter throwing endless advice at us.  Parenting experts litter the pages of newspapers, magazines and dance across our television screens.  When someone tells you that you are the expert on your own baby or that you should listen to your instincts and all shall be well, does it sometimes have a hollow ring? Continue reading →

Respect and obedience

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How can I get my children to do what I ask them to do?  This question is probably one of the most oft-repeated amongst parents.  We ask our children to do various things each day.  Here are some from my own family:

Sit with all four legs of the chair on the floor please.

Would you take your plate to the sink please?

It’s time to go out, could you please put on your socks and shoes?

Would you come here and help me tidy up these toys please?

For many, it comes down to respect.  Traditional wisdom holds that our children should respect adults’ greater wisdom and experience and that they should show that they respect us by listening to what we say and doing what we ask.  This week David Cameron was quoted as saying that children should rise when their parents and teachers walk into the room.  While giving a speech about education, the Prime Minister praised the return of “real discipline” in Britain’s schools.  Many commentators bemoan the lack of respect for adults among young people in Britain today.  Presumably, Cameron feels the way to restore such respect is to insist that children stand when adults, including teachers and parents, enter the room.

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When visitors come to our house, we always stand up to greet them.  Usually (because I’m American) there’s a hug and a kiss involved even if you’re British and not used to such over-the-top touchy feelyness– it’s my house so you just have to put up with it!  We stand up because we want to say hello, to show deference to our visitors and welcome them, and to exchange physical greetings (even if this only involves a head nod from my introverted husband).  Our children now do the same and enjoy welcoming visitors in this way.

My children do not stand when I enter the room because I have a different relationship with them than I do with visitors.  I don’t expect my children to show me deference in the same way.  Yes, I want them to respect me, but for me respect is different from deference.  Some parents feel very strongly that their children should show signs of deference as manifestations of respect, but that is not the case in my family.  I don’t always get my children to do what I want them to.  In fact, I wouldn’t classify them as ‘obedient’ children, though they are polite and kind and many people comment that they are very well behaved.

For me, respect is not borne of fear or adherence to a parent-child hierarchy.  Rather, respect is borne of love.  I want my children to willingly listen to my words and consider my requests because of filial love.  When I say with exasperation, “Why don’t they just listen to me?!” I know that what I am crying out for is not necessarily obedience (although in the short term I may think that’s exactly what I want!).  What I really want is for my children to experience the love I have for them, and for that unconditional gift of love to inspire them to live in communion with me.

Do you remember the first time you fell in love?  Do you remember how being loved by someone else made you feel special, unique and how you wanted to tell everyone how wonderful you felt?  Do you remember how the experience of being loved inspired you to reach out and love not just your lover but also other people who came into your path?    Being loved completely, for who we are at this very moment, and being held in the warmth of someone else’s gaze as a beautiful and treasured creation– nothing feels as good as this.  And when we feel full of delight, that delight radiates from us and inspires us to share the joy we feel.  When my lover asks me to pick up a newspaper for him, I do so joyfully and what’s more I buy him a chocolate bar and a can of Irn-bru (yes, he’s Scottish) because I know it will make him happy.  The love we share inspires me to do things to make him happy.

In the same way, I want my children to be inspired to work with me rather than against me because the experience of my love puts a spring in their step and strengthens their connection with me.  The thought of asking my children to stand when I enter the room runs contrary to the undercurrent of love that runs deep beneath the surface of our relationship.  In our family there is no upstairs/downstairs, no servant and master.  I accept that we are not equals in terms of age and experience, and for this reason they will easily forget that I asked them three times to take their muddy shoes off before running up the stairs.  If anything, accepting that we are not equals should have a greater effect on how I approach the situation (i.e., with greater understanding of their limits and capabilities, with more patience, with stronger hope that they will develop over time) than how they do.

Parents often share ‘what worked’ for them, talking about techniques learned from books or parenting gurus for ensuring that their children obey them.  I am always suspicious of this phrase, because the words ‘what works’ presupposes that there is a magic formula by which we can manipulate our children into submission.  To my mind, the only way is love.    It is not a magic formula, and my children do not always obey me.  But if my children rise as I enter the room it is not to show me deference, but to run to me and embrace me.  If the choice is between obedience and love, I know what I would rather.

Words © Lisa Hassan Scott, 2012.  For reprint permission contact the copyright holder.

Photo credit: “Snappy Salute” by Mike Beauregard, Flickr.

Yes!

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At the moment, “no” is Aidan’s favourite word, even to the point where you ask him, “Is your favourite word ‘no’?”  To which his emphatic 2-year-old reply is… you guessed it!  I have been noticing recently that I say ‘no’ all the time.  Sometimes it seems that NO is the only word that ever comes out of my mouth.  My children make requests or set off in a particular direction and I reign them in with a firm ‘no’!   Here are some examples:

Can we watch Cbeebies?

Not right now.

Can we have some chocolate?

Not before dinner.

Can we build a fire in this bucket?

No.

Can we cut up the white sheets to make ghost costumes?

Definitely not!

 

And so on.

The children don’t know it, but today I am having a yes day.  A yes day is something I do every now and again when I’ve noticed that my attachment to the word “no” is raining on everyone’s parade.  Let’s face it, no is boring, but saying yes is fun.  Saying yes allows us to express our joyful curiosity about life.  Saying yes enables us to be like our children (apart from Aidan, who seems to have deleted ‘yes’ from his vocabulary), to see the world as an opportunity, to let go of what might happen and to experience this present moment and the potential it holds.

I am a fairly playful person already, and I like to be silly.  I like a good bit of 7am air guitar to the Proclaimers in my purple dressing down and slippers.  I like playing the pretend bagpipes with my six year old.  ”Queen of the sofa” is one of the best games I play with the children– where they all try to tickle and wrestle me off the sofa and the winner is “Queen”!  We play word games, guessing games, paper/rock/scissors and all sorts.  The children love it when I am silly, and especially when I say yes.  Today I have said yes to making pancakes, getting out the knitting needles, reading several long stories, building up a bucket of tinder for a fire and making dandelion bhajis (Iona got the idea from seeing Countryfile at her grandparents’ house this weekend).

Sometimes saying yes is not necessarily a direct yes.  For example, I don’t want them to eat several chocolate bars for breakfast! Saying yes to the need is for me not the same as saying yes to the request.  Here’s an example:

Can we have 3 chocolate bars each for breakfast?

Wow! Sounds like you’d love to gorge yourselves on chocolate!  Imagine the chocolatey mess that would make all over your faces and hands!

Yeah, it would be brilliant! Like Charlie and the Chocolate Factory!  Imagine if everything were made of sweets and chocolate.

 

And then the conversation moves on.  Perhaps you think I am kidding and that no child would let go of the idea of eating chocolate for breakfast if he weren’t given a firm “no”.  Perhaps.  But sometimes indulging the idea playfully is enough to move everyone on.

Here’s what happened when we made dandelion bhajis:

Mummy, can we make those dandelion bhajis like they made on Countryfile?

(I sigh and nearly say no.  I was weeding in the polytunnel and didn’t want to stop what I was doing for another messy kitchen activity.) You mean you want to make dandelion bhajis?  I didn’t see that programme– remember, I was putting Aidan to sleep?

Yeah, but I remember how to make them.  Can we just sprinkle some sugar over them to get the bugs out like we did with the blackberries in the summer?

You want to sprinkle sugar on the dandelion heads?  Do you mean salt?

Yeah, salt.  Then we can cook them and eat them.

So, let me get this right.  You want to make dandelion bhajis, but first you want to get the bugs off them?

Yes.

Okay, can I make a suggestion?  Why not use the salad spinner to clean them really well, instead of salt, and then we can figure out where to go from there. (They run off –cheering!– to the kitchen to find the salad spinner, buying me a bit more time to finish the weeding.)

It’s worth repeating this: I USUALLY SAY NO!  Today I decided to try avoiding no.  The result?  Well, it’s obvious that the children were inordinately happier.  But for me, I had to work a lot harder to listen to the children and understand.  I had to actively listen (summarise what they were saying, identify the need behind what they were saying, show that I was listening with body language and verbal responses) and I had to be prepared to step outside of my NO and entertain the idea that this might not turn out the way I think it will. 

For me, this is so key.  Like so many times before, I imagined that this activity would result in a mess that I would have to clean up.  I didn’t want to stop what I was doing to facilitate their messy play idea.  I didn’t like the sound of dandelion bhajis.  I didn’t really want to do it at all.  But what I imagine to be the case so often is not the result.  I limit myself and my experience of my children with my own mind.  Being willing to be brave, to take a risk, to say yes more often than no, to open my mind to the idea that every future moment is pregnant with potential, that life is positively ringing with energy– such a shift in mindset opens up all of the possibilities the world has to offer.  Saying yes allows me to experience this joyous, fruitful, resonant life hand in hand with my children.

© Copyright Lisa Hassan Scott, 2012.  For reprint permission contact the copyright holder.

Photo credit: Wikimedia Commons.