I'm not sure how the legalities of this work, but this is an excerpt from Everyday Blessings - The Inner Work of Mindful Parenting by Myla and Jon Kabat-Zinn. It was as if I was supposed to read this chapter this week--it really spoke to me.
Who's the Parent, Who's the Child?
The demands of the age we live in, its time pressures, economic pressures, and social pressures, all coalesce to rob our children of some of the most precious qualities of childhood. There is a dreaminess to childhood, a moving slowly from one thing to another, that gets torn away under the pressure of time. children now are prematurely pushed to be independent because the parents need them to be. They are growing up more and more in a physical and emotional vacuum, raised by TV and their peers rather than with the guidance and support of adult men and women.
There is certainly enough anguish in the circumstances that befall families, through age and through disease or accident, not to compound it by creating unnecessary emotional burdens and prisons for those we love out of the automatic habits of a lifetime, and to fulfill our own unmet emotional needs. To bring this domain into greater focus, we might ask ourselves what the unwritten and unspoken emotional rules were in our family of origin.
A friend once described only being visible to her father when she spoke with him about his work, which was in science. Only when she failed her pre-med courses did she realize that she was on a path that wasn't hers, and began to focus full time on her art work, incurring the strong disapproval of her father. The tacit rule was, "I am happy to approve of you as long as you do what I want."
These tacit understandings are different in different families. In some, the parents' emotional needs dominate; in others, emotional needs are ignored completely. Unspoken patterns are set up for the benefit of the people with the most power, usually one or both parents. Appeals based on guilt, shame, devotion, duty, responsibility can all be used to manipulate and coerce children to maintain such tacit patterns, leaving little room for the child to have and express his or her own feelings and needs.
Some parents only know how to feel close and connected through their wounds and their pain. they unconsciously want their children to feel their pain with them and, sometimes, to carry it for them. A subtle entraining may take place between parent and child--wholly beneath the conscious awareness and intention of the parent--in which the child learns to tune in to the emotional needs of the parent, often without anything being said. Rather than the parent being empathic and compassionate, the child takes on that role and is expected to empathize with the parent's feelings, troubles, and stresses. The child becomes predominantly "other-oriented," acting as the parent's confidant, a sympathetic ear. The child's own feelings, needs desires get buried. The son may become a "good boy," the daughter and "good girl," at the expense of their own feelings, their own inner selves. The only other choice they may feel they have in order to hold on to who they are is to do something extreme, such as reject their parents completely, get into self-destructive behaviors, run away, or become isolated and remote.
Children have to develop their own sense of self before they can be aware of other in a balanced and healthy way. They need to know how they feel, what they need, what they want. They also need to learn how to communicate appropriately in this domain, and to feel a sympathetic emotional responsiveness from those around them. As we have seen, this is a major responsibility of parents: to actually behave as adults, and respond to and meet the needs of their children.
When this happens, over time children naturally learn to be more aware of other people. They begin to experience what it means to engage in dialogue and have a sense of "the other." They speak, the other listens; the other speaks, they listen. Hopefully, they begin to have direct experiences of reciprocity. Through having their feelings and needs listened to, responded to, and by being able to put their trust in others, they develop the skills needed to have full, reciprocal relationships of their own. In general, this takes some time to develop. For some children, it may be a process, unfolding over many years. For others, it may happen at an early age.
When children feel the latitude and safety to say how they really feel and how they really see things, it is only natural that they will challenge their parents a lot. One of the most frustrating things for us in our family has been our children's skill and certain ages in turning any situation around and making us into the bad guys--making it our fault--making us wrong. being able to acknowledge their own involvement and responsibility takes children a long time, and a lot of patience on the part of parents.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
10 Years Ago
Ten years ago today marked the first of several events that changed me, that catapulted me into adulthood. I may pretend to still go back to the naivety and irresponsibility of those days sometimes, but it's just an act. I can't go back to who I was before Columbine.
I was 25 years old, about six weeks away from my wedding day. I was consumed by last minute details: flowers, food, music, transportation, church. I was working my butt off in a job I didn't like any longer. I was trying to focus on the marriage and not the wedding. But, it was all about ME. Well, April 20th changed that for me.
I couldn't take my eyes off the images I was seeing on the television. I felt like those were my peers running for their lives. I felt like high school was just a peek over my shoulder. I cried and cried over that tragedy. Emotions were running high anyway, I know. But what about those kids? What about their families? What kind of world were we living in?
Fast forward a couple months. The wedding went off almost without a hitch. And the hitches were inconsequential...it was beautiful. I was a newlywed. And although we were definitely in the honeymoon period, I was finding the transition from fiance to wife a bit challenging. I felt different. So many people who lived with their spouses before getting married claim that things were the same after saying their vows. Not for me. I was now the "woman of the household." We were going to eat balanced meals, landscape the front yard, my husband would not walk out of the house wrinkled, we would send out thank-you notes on monogrammed cards.
Then John F. Kennedy, Jr.'s plane went down with his elegant wife and her sister. Now, growing up half way between Boston and Cape Cod, I felt like the Kennedys were extended family. I forgave them their many flaws and embraced the royal family of Massachusetts as part of my line of ancestry. So what happened? Was it foggy that night? Were they fighting on their way to a cousin's wedding? Were they really gone--or was it all a hoax because they were tired of the merciless spotlight? I cried and cried. I felt a bit silly, since he really wasn't my uncle's sister's brother once removed. But I was emotional. Life was fragile, I was learning. Things were getting stirred up within me.
About two weeks later, on my husband's birthday, I was watching the clock at my draining job when something happened. I can't recall exactly how the events unfolded, but we learned that there was a sniper in the building and he had shot several people. Apparently, he was a day trader and he lost his mind and went postal on a bunch of people in my office complex and across the street. [Side note: day trading psychos and disgruntled postal workers of the past...makes me think that we are doing okay in today's wobbling climate. Or at least I'm not hearing about it, which is fine with me. Then again, maybe I've just hardened to the daily dose of angst I get from the news.] Long story short, we spent the day crowded in a center room without windows, crouching down as we whispered on our cell phones to find out what the latest reports were. We got the word the shooter had fled, and later, over steak and martinis (we continued on with birthday plans), we saw that the shooter was killed. Or did he kill himself? I don't know. I just remember being pissed off. I mean, what the hell?! Enough, already! I held my husband tight that night, and I'm sure I cried and cried.
Ten years ago this August our dear friends Christie and Wiley Long celebrated their 10-year anniversary and treated a bunch of us to a divine week in Jamaica. It was 7 days of floating, eating, drinking, laughing, and sleeping. When I came home I quit my job. Life was just too short.
You know, looking back I don't remember myself as an emotional person. I was very level-headed, looking out for others and putting on a strong front. Although it wasn't a front--I was strong. I still am. But I emote, and I love it. I feel things deeply now, and I wouldn't have it any other way. That was a rough year for me in many ways, but it was so wonderful as well. In about 6 weeks I'll celebrate my 10-year anniversary with a man I love deeply. I have three unbelievable children for whom I would do anything. My job is to be a Mom and manage my household, and it's the hardest job I've ever had. My goal is to live each day with joy. Because life is too short not to.
I was 25 years old, about six weeks away from my wedding day. I was consumed by last minute details: flowers, food, music, transportation, church. I was working my butt off in a job I didn't like any longer. I was trying to focus on the marriage and not the wedding. But, it was all about ME. Well, April 20th changed that for me.
I couldn't take my eyes off the images I was seeing on the television. I felt like those were my peers running for their lives. I felt like high school was just a peek over my shoulder. I cried and cried over that tragedy. Emotions were running high anyway, I know. But what about those kids? What about their families? What kind of world were we living in?
Fast forward a couple months. The wedding went off almost without a hitch. And the hitches were inconsequential...it was beautiful. I was a newlywed. And although we were definitely in the honeymoon period, I was finding the transition from fiance to wife a bit challenging. I felt different. So many people who lived with their spouses before getting married claim that things were the same after saying their vows. Not for me. I was now the "woman of the household." We were going to eat balanced meals, landscape the front yard, my husband would not walk out of the house wrinkled, we would send out thank-you notes on monogrammed cards.
Then John F. Kennedy, Jr.'s plane went down with his elegant wife and her sister. Now, growing up half way between Boston and Cape Cod, I felt like the Kennedys were extended family. I forgave them their many flaws and embraced the royal family of Massachusetts as part of my line of ancestry. So what happened? Was it foggy that night? Were they fighting on their way to a cousin's wedding? Were they really gone--or was it all a hoax because they were tired of the merciless spotlight? I cried and cried. I felt a bit silly, since he really wasn't my uncle's sister's brother once removed. But I was emotional. Life was fragile, I was learning. Things were getting stirred up within me.
About two weeks later, on my husband's birthday, I was watching the clock at my draining job when something happened. I can't recall exactly how the events unfolded, but we learned that there was a sniper in the building and he had shot several people. Apparently, he was a day trader and he lost his mind and went postal on a bunch of people in my office complex and across the street. [Side note: day trading psychos and disgruntled postal workers of the past...makes me think that we are doing okay in today's wobbling climate. Or at least I'm not hearing about it, which is fine with me. Then again, maybe I've just hardened to the daily dose of angst I get from the news.] Long story short, we spent the day crowded in a center room without windows, crouching down as we whispered on our cell phones to find out what the latest reports were. We got the word the shooter had fled, and later, over steak and martinis (we continued on with birthday plans), we saw that the shooter was killed. Or did he kill himself? I don't know. I just remember being pissed off. I mean, what the hell?! Enough, already! I held my husband tight that night, and I'm sure I cried and cried.
Ten years ago this August our dear friends Christie and Wiley Long celebrated their 10-year anniversary and treated a bunch of us to a divine week in Jamaica. It was 7 days of floating, eating, drinking, laughing, and sleeping. When I came home I quit my job. Life was just too short.
You know, looking back I don't remember myself as an emotional person. I was very level-headed, looking out for others and putting on a strong front. Although it wasn't a front--I was strong. I still am. But I emote, and I love it. I feel things deeply now, and I wouldn't have it any other way. That was a rough year for me in many ways, but it was so wonderful as well. In about 6 weeks I'll celebrate my 10-year anniversary with a man I love deeply. I have three unbelievable children for whom I would do anything. My job is to be a Mom and manage my household, and it's the hardest job I've ever had. My goal is to live each day with joy. Because life is too short not to.
Monday, April 13, 2009
What I LIKE
I came to this conclusion a few days ago...I don't like--well, what is it I don't like? Strip malls. Chain restaurants.
I am enchanted by the idea of middle America. Cute little neighborhood diners and family-owned hardward stores. I love local artisans. I love local chefs. I much prefer writing about what I love rather than what I don't like!
I love little villages. Local charm that oozes out of historic cottages, and coffee shops I can walk to early in the morning for a fresh cup of french roast and a crusty peice of something. A neighborhood bar where locals gather any time of day to find comfort in the familiar.
Colors! Not concrete and stucco--unless it's salmon and torquoise (although I've never been to the likes of New Mexico or Arizona, this is what I envision there--and what an art mecca!). I like to steep in the culture of a place. And even in what may seem like the simplest of towns, there is rich culture to observe. What is culture? (I love to look up words in the dictionary.)
Culture: The totality of socially transmitted behavior patterns, arts, beliefs, institutions, and all other products of human work and thought.
I love it!
As I sat in my Orlando condo, filled with all a Disney-visiting family could need, I craved everything that place was not. Something unique. Little visions to feast the eyes on. Fortunately for me, I have 3 little visions that I devoured for the week. Their shining faces in the shadow of that giant castle were art in it's purest form.
We ran across a crane family of some sort one afternoon. Mom, Dad, and fluffy little baby...in the back parking lot of a mini-mart. We fed them some Doritos. They were so used to humans, we thought they might jump right in our minivan. They were teaching their little baby the way of man. The Mama was feeding her baby Doritos right out of her thin, pointy beak. What kind of birds were this new breed? So sad.
Little wooden homes, sometimes unnoticeable from the street, incorporated into the natural flora and fauna of a place. Wildlife undisturbed. Indigenous plants growing wild--not sculpted in to extraordinary shapes or patterns. Natural paths gently encouraged to lead me to the next reflecting spot. Always they in the lead though.
The trickle of water, or the flow of it. I could sit and watch water flow, well, I don't know for how long. I'd like to say I could do it for hours, but I may need to work toward that. For now, in the suburban home that I love (and don't like at the same time), I'm going to focus on the listening to the water--really listening. I'm going to watch the dozens of birds in my backyard. I'm going to feel the soggy ground under my bare feet. I'm going to smell the wet pavement, because that is what I have. All of this is mine to experience, if I take the time to pause and pay attention.
I am enchanted by the idea of middle America. Cute little neighborhood diners and family-owned hardward stores. I love local artisans. I love local chefs. I much prefer writing about what I love rather than what I don't like!
I love little villages. Local charm that oozes out of historic cottages, and coffee shops I can walk to early in the morning for a fresh cup of french roast and a crusty peice of something. A neighborhood bar where locals gather any time of day to find comfort in the familiar.
Colors! Not concrete and stucco--unless it's salmon and torquoise (although I've never been to the likes of New Mexico or Arizona, this is what I envision there--and what an art mecca!). I like to steep in the culture of a place. And even in what may seem like the simplest of towns, there is rich culture to observe. What is culture? (I love to look up words in the dictionary.)
Culture: The totality of socially transmitted behavior patterns, arts, beliefs, institutions, and all other products of human work and thought.
I love it!
As I sat in my Orlando condo, filled with all a Disney-visiting family could need, I craved everything that place was not. Something unique. Little visions to feast the eyes on. Fortunately for me, I have 3 little visions that I devoured for the week. Their shining faces in the shadow of that giant castle were art in it's purest form.
We ran across a crane family of some sort one afternoon. Mom, Dad, and fluffy little baby...in the back parking lot of a mini-mart. We fed them some Doritos. They were so used to humans, we thought they might jump right in our minivan. They were teaching their little baby the way of man. The Mama was feeding her baby Doritos right out of her thin, pointy beak. What kind of birds were this new breed? So sad.
Little wooden homes, sometimes unnoticeable from the street, incorporated into the natural flora and fauna of a place. Wildlife undisturbed. Indigenous plants growing wild--not sculpted in to extraordinary shapes or patterns. Natural paths gently encouraged to lead me to the next reflecting spot. Always they in the lead though.
The trickle of water, or the flow of it. I could sit and watch water flow, well, I don't know for how long. I'd like to say I could do it for hours, but I may need to work toward that. For now, in the suburban home that I love (and don't like at the same time), I'm going to focus on the listening to the water--really listening. I'm going to watch the dozens of birds in my backyard. I'm going to feel the soggy ground under my bare feet. I'm going to smell the wet pavement, because that is what I have. All of this is mine to experience, if I take the time to pause and pay attention.
Friday, April 3, 2009
A Fresh Start
I always look forward to starting a new journal. I see it as an opportunity to make a defining statement about where I am in life. Who I am. What I'm grateful for. A springboard from which to jump in to regular explorations of the little fibers that make up the fabric of who I am.
This blog is my acknowlegement to myself that maybe I have something to share. Maybe I can help people through being honest and unafraid of examining the choices I make on my life's path. I make choices every day that affect how I grow and who I become. I tend to think a lot about that spot around the corner; that little park bench under the shade tree that looks out on the calm water, where I will sit and understand. I will be at peace in my soft golden aura of joy. I'd like to look honestly at what this spot, this very spot on which I'm standing on the same path, right now, what it looks like. And how do I get this spot to look like the one around the corner? It's a choice. A choice within me that I have to make. It's possible. Do I not feel worthy of that seat on the bench? Am I afraid that there will be nothing else?
I have a dear friend who took me on a guided meditation to discover what my life's purpose is. This is what I dug up and revealed: I am here to listen, to guide, and to love.
Listen. Guide. Love.
After sitting with that, and the whole guided meditation experience, for a few days I began to think of what I could do to turn my life's purpose into a career. Fulfillment and contribution have been big topics of mine for some time now. The struggle to feel that being a stay-at-home mom is enough. The guilt of knowing that I want more. A desire to be challenged, and to express my creativity through my work. A feeling of responsibility to my children to be an example of a woman who can be a mother and have a career of my choice at the same time.
What am I supposed to be doing? I wait for the signs. I am open to the messages that may be sent to me indicating how to manifest my life's purpose in to meaningful work. Then fear pops up. Hello, self-sabotaging behavior! Nice to see you again, procrastination! Let's sit down and have a glass of wine, shall we?
As I stand in this spot, this spot that today I realized is maybe just a lower altitude on a peak in my life and not, in fact, a valley, I ask myself, "what am I supposed to be doing?"
Maybe I'm already doing it.
Listen. Guide. Love.
That is what I'm going to work with next.
peace, love, and little drops of water...
This blog is my acknowlegement to myself that maybe I have something to share. Maybe I can help people through being honest and unafraid of examining the choices I make on my life's path. I make choices every day that affect how I grow and who I become. I tend to think a lot about that spot around the corner; that little park bench under the shade tree that looks out on the calm water, where I will sit and understand. I will be at peace in my soft golden aura of joy. I'd like to look honestly at what this spot, this very spot on which I'm standing on the same path, right now, what it looks like. And how do I get this spot to look like the one around the corner? It's a choice. A choice within me that I have to make. It's possible. Do I not feel worthy of that seat on the bench? Am I afraid that there will be nothing else?
I have a dear friend who took me on a guided meditation to discover what my life's purpose is. This is what I dug up and revealed: I am here to listen, to guide, and to love.
Listen. Guide. Love.
After sitting with that, and the whole guided meditation experience, for a few days I began to think of what I could do to turn my life's purpose into a career. Fulfillment and contribution have been big topics of mine for some time now. The struggle to feel that being a stay-at-home mom is enough. The guilt of knowing that I want more. A desire to be challenged, and to express my creativity through my work. A feeling of responsibility to my children to be an example of a woman who can be a mother and have a career of my choice at the same time.
What am I supposed to be doing? I wait for the signs. I am open to the messages that may be sent to me indicating how to manifest my life's purpose in to meaningful work. Then fear pops up. Hello, self-sabotaging behavior! Nice to see you again, procrastination! Let's sit down and have a glass of wine, shall we?
As I stand in this spot, this spot that today I realized is maybe just a lower altitude on a peak in my life and not, in fact, a valley, I ask myself, "what am I supposed to be doing?"
Maybe I'm already doing it.
Listen. Guide. Love.
That is what I'm going to work with next.
peace, love, and little drops of water...
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