my return to the mat

Posted on by
Reply
I returned to the mat tonight. I haven’t practiced yoga in about six years. I got married, got pregnant and yoga fell off my map. I have thought about returning a lot and today I found a schedule for a studio near to my house. I made plans to attend tonight and about 30 minutes before I was set to leave all hell broke loose. My kids were combative and I felt overwhelmed and the reptilian part of my brain that fears change screamed that I should not go. It would be selfish for me to leave the house. My husband would brook no bullshit and highly encouraged me to get ready or he was going to shove me out the door whether I was ready or not.
With 15 minutes to go I dressed and said my goodbyes and hopped in the car. I didn’t trust myself to walk and get there on time. I found a parking spot and battled to park my car properly. For the life of me I couldn’t parallel park. I almost gave up but I calmed myself and parked the hell of that car.
As I ascended the steps I felt butterflies. Would I be able to do a full class? Would muscle memory take over? I signed in and found a mat. It wasn’t long until I centered myself and rediscovered my breath. After such a long absence I worried that I would have forgotten so much but to my surprise I found my practice waiting there for me on my mat.
I moved from pose to pose and went deeper when I could and retreated when I needed to. I stayed in empathy towards myself. I reminded myself that just returning to the mat was enough. Making it through that door was more than I had done in a long time and I needed to be happy with that.
I quieted my brain and had a lovely class. I felt so grounded and calm and content. I made my way home and my husband greeted me and let out a sigh of relief when I said that I’d enjoyed myself.
I’m going to make the time to keep going to yoga. The reptilian part of my brain is a lying liar. It is not selfish to go to yoga, it is exactly what I needed. I can be a better mom, wife and person if I’m happy and content so if yoga is the thing that helps me with that then it would be selfish *not* to attend.

imaginary conversations

Posted on by
Reply

I read Brene Brown’s post about her latest TED talk and she mentioned that she does something that I also do that drives my husband crazy. I have scripted conversations. Do you know what I’m talking about? No? Well, let me tell you all about it.

I have conversations with my husband. That’s awesome right? Well, I’m not actually that awesome because I have these conversations in my head so my husband doesn’t need to be physically present. How convenient! I can decide that I want to talk about our upcoming vacation (that was another talk that I had without him actually being present). I have decided that I want to go somewhere for Christmas or somewhere beachy or maybe do both. I’d love to go to Paris or Florence for Christmas. In my head my husband argues that he doesn’t want to go to Paris or Florence for Christmas because:

  1. he speaks neither French or Italian (nor do I for that matter) and
  2. he doesn’t want to go somewhere that will be as cold as or colder than Vancouver. If he’s going to travel in the winter he wants to go somewhere beachy.

(keep in mind that this is a conversation that I’m having in my head, my husband has not expressly said any of this because why bother to actually engage him when I can make up his mind for him.)

My reasoning for going away for Christmas is that it would be lovely to experience Christmas in another country, see the Christmas markets and expose our kids to another culture. It would also be nice to escape the stress of Christmas at home. My fantasy version of this vacation is that no one would complain that we are going to be away, all family members would be excited for us to go and have this new experience. I also would expect that my kids would be travelling angels, not tired or grumpy or missing their own bed that is covered with stuffed animals. No no, my fantasy version of this vacation
is all strolling down cobblestones streets sipping hot chocolate before retiring to our spacious rented two bedroom apartment not the probable reality which is dealing with a cranky child that is covered in spilled hot chocolate while the other kid darts off to almost be run over by crazy Parisian drivers while stalking back to our cramped apartment. I am fully aware that my fantasy version is just that, fantasy. Maybe parts of it could be reality but we haven’t travelled with our kids, I have no idea how they will handle it and the thought of being away from home with crabby kids and let’s be honest, I’ll probably be
a bit crabby too and that puts a damper on my wanderlust.

So I talk myself out of this vacation and later when I mention to my husband that I want a vacation but I’m sure he doesn’t it drives him bonkers. I realize that by having a scripted conversation I’m painting him as a big meany, choosing to think the worst. By having conversations without him I’m saying that what he really thinks doesn’t matter because see, I’m so smart I already know what he thinks. Wow, I am an asshole!

When I do check in with him he shakes his head at me. This is something that I admitted to doing last year and I can’t find a way to break the habit. My lame excuse is that “he’s too busy and I don’t want to bother him”. I mean really, that is the lamest excuse because I’m fairly sure that spouses are supposed to talk and conversations are best when there are two sides, with give and take. I think my controlling side doesn’t want to relinquish power and I’d have to give up a lot of control and invite the possibility of disagreement. My husband sagely pointed out that I’d also be inviting the possibility of agreement and
wouldn’t that be fun too? Imagine what it would be like if he agreed with me and we planned the most kickass vacation and made it happen and it was fun! What if that was a possibility?

Damn. I guess having this conversation on my blog kind of counts the same as having one in my head so sweetie let’s talk about planning our vacation ok?

19 things that make me feel vulnerable

Posted on by
Reply

This meme is shamelessly copied from Schmutzie.

  1. Writing this list of things that make me feel vulnerable. (now meta of me)
  2. Waiting for a phone call/email/text message to be returned
  3. Sitting by myself in a restaurant
  4. Bathing suit shopping
  5. Shopping for make up
  6. Going to a tweetup
  7. Having my teeth cleaned
  8. That awkward moment where I don’t know if I’m supposed to shake your hand or hug you or kiss you hello
  9. Speaking my truth
  10. Admitting that I have a truth that I’m not speaking
  11. That hesitant, breath-holding moment that happens when I meet someone really cool and I want to be their friend
  12. Parallel parking
  13. Having my picture taken
  14. Being singled out. The most stressful example of this I can think of is when people sing the Happy Birthday song to me
  15. Being away from my family
  16. Walking to my car alone in a poorly lit parking lot
  17. Doing my taxes
  18. Applying for a new job
  19. Inviting a new friend to my home for the first time

And that is it. I throw in the towel at 19 because holy crap that is a lot of vulnerability all at once.

I can hardly hear the voices in my head anymore

Posted on by
Reply

Tonight on twitter Bon and Neil were having a discussion about blogging and twitter and how we use them the same way but differently. Ok, it wasn’t that but it was an engaging discussion. They spoke about how we get to know each other from blogs and twitter. I enjoy peeking into the lives of other people via their blogs, it helps me not to feel so alone. Lately, I’ve been feeling quite alone.

I haven’t written here in so long I don’t even know what I want to say. The voices I used to use to write have grown so silent I strain to see if I can still hear them. It is disheartening. But hearing Bon talk about how she feels the same makes me think that maybe I can share here too. Maybe for once I can be vulnerable and write about the loneliness, self-doubt, the joy and the sadness and writing will be the thread that joins me to others.

I have no tidy way to wrap this up. I don’t dare let this sit in draft so that I can edit it later to make it better, so I’ll hit publish and sit quietly and listen for the voices to grow louder.

What do you do when you are feeling adrift? Does reaching out for connection make it better or do you tend to draw inward?

fever baby

Posted on by
Reply

My heart skipped a beat when I saw the preschool on caller id. “Everyone is ok but your daughter has a fever” the calm voice told me when I answered. Knowing that my kids were “fine” didn’t immediately settle my nerves. I was at work, it was mid-morning and I had a ton to do still. I called the Husband but he had already left the house. I called my dad, it was his day to look after my kids. (I thank the stars everyday that I am lucky enough to have my parents help us with childcare!) He had just left his house so I was the closest one. I grabbed my stuff, hopped in a taxi and wished the traffic away as I zoomed through the city. I have never been so thankful that we live close to my office. A mere 15 minute cab ride and I was there.

I walked into the school, my eyes seeking her out. I spied her curled into the teacher, her hair more disheveled than usual and looking drowsy. “I don’t have a fever, I feel fine!!”, she announced barely lifting her head. I grabbed her coat and backpack and wrestled to get her dressed while the teacher went to find my son. “Can you stay and play? I need to take Smoochie home, she isn’t feeling good.” He reluctantly nodded. “Make sure you take a temperature, she might have more fever” he solemnly told me. I could see that he wasn’t happy about her leaving. I was touched by how strong their bond has become.

Once we were home she just wanted to snuggle. I convinced her to go to bed and try to sleep. She flat out refused until I told her that it might make the yuck in her throat go away. At that point she agreed to try. I got her tucked in, surrounded by her stuffed animal friends. I turned back at the door and her eyes were already closed. My child that gave up naps at the age of two was asleep, this virus wasn’t messing around.

My this point my dad had showed up and it wasn’t long until it was time for my son to be picked up. I sat in the quiet house, gears turning. My mom and dad have been looking after my kids since they were born. I had deadlines looming at work and here I sat. Do I stay home on the off chance that she wakes up feeling even worse? Do I return to work and get some projects finished just in case I end up with two sick kids tomorrow? Guilt washed over me.

_______________________

I was not prepared for how often I’d have to deal with “mommy guilt”. I usually feel like I’m splitting my attention thinly, every parent with more than one child can relate to that. There are days where I feel like one of those acrobats you see contorting themselves while spinning plates on top of poles. I think every parent knows work/life balance is bullshit. There is no balance when you are parenting, let alone trying to factor in a career. A wise woman once told me that striving for balance was crazy, I should seek to blend rather than to balance. A little work, a little family, a little friends, a little personal time. Another analogy that I was told was to think of having a stove with only three burners. If you have work, family, friends, personal time you have to rotate them on the burners but there will always be one that sits off the heat.

_______________________

Her fever went down but then as the evening progressed it climbed even higher than it had been this morning. I broke out the tylenol and stroked her head as she sat in my arms. These moments, the ones when your child feels smaller than you remembered, vulnerable and needy, these moments make me feel quiet and contemplative. Will she care if I completed my work? Will she understand that sometimes as an adult you don’t get to choose, sometimes you have to do things you’d really prefer not to do. Will she remember me stroking her hair? I stand at her door and listen as she grinds her teeth in her sleep.

a tiny spark

Posted on by
Reply

Sparks

I cup the spark, wanting desperately for the ember to continue to glow. I am afraid that it might wink out leaving me wondering if it was ever there at all. I am also afraid that it will catch and grow into an inferno that will engulf me.

___________________________________________________________________________________

I write and get stuck, finding myself editing while I write. I censor myself before I can even commit the words to the blank page. Write and delete. Write and delete. Delete it all. Walk away and pretend that writing does not matter. Writing about writing is the worst sin of all; it is Meta in the worst possible way. Writing should be like fight club. The first rule about writing is: you do not talk about writing.

Except.

Sometimes it is helpful to hear other writers, real writers, speak about the agony of getting words onto the page. I went to Blissdom Canada in October and one of the sessions that still rattles around my head was the Finding Your Muse. Specifically I recall a slide from the presentation that had a stick figures, one pointing a gun at another seated at a typewriter, “There is no muse, just fucking write”. Hearing talented women like her, her and her, speak about their writing process left me feeling buoyant and sleepless. That night I felt compelled to write, just shut up and get the words out. I didn’t. I argued with myself “you need to sleep”, “you too scattered, wait until morning and it will be clearer” all the way to “who the hell do you think you are?” isn’t my inner critic a sabotaging bitch? I lay there for hours and I did not write. The next day I still felt the need to write by my critic was whispering to me to go do other things, meet up with friends, have a nap, watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer, anything but write. For days the urge to write was there but it was shrinking smaller and smaller. I felt annoyed that it was taking so long to disappear. Tons of people go years without writing a single sentence* and they are perfectly content. Why do I feel compelled to write?

I have opened and closed the text editor so many times. I compose posts as I walk to the bus stop only to lose the thought once I get on the bus. I am struck with the perfect sentence while I shampoo my hair only to be left with the few loose strands when I emerge from the shower. Maybe I should post pictures of the tickly stray hairs as proof of my work.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Is writing my spark? Do I even have a spark? I mean aside from dealing with shenanigans and rolling my tongue, what am I good at? I am good at what I do at my job. I mean, I’m really good at what I do, but it does not sustain me, you know, aside from paying for the mortgage (which is pretty damn good, I like having somewhere to live). (I am also really good at abusing punctuation and grammar, especially the comma) What is my thing? (Not grammar! I think it’s time I dug out my old style guide from college.)

Do I coddle this writing spark? Do I try to breathe life into it or do I let it vanish and seek out a new spark? Do you have a spark? What is it? When did you know that it was yours? Questions, I am full of them.

* totally made up fact

This post was inspired by this post by Whit. All the blame credit for my inspiration goes to him.

have you seen my security blanket?

Posted on by
2

I am 38 years old and I have a security blanket. Ok, it’s not really a blanket. It’s my phone. Let me explain.

I have come to realize that I use my phone to look busy. I carry it with me where ever I go, I love my iPhone! It is so tempting to play one of the many games I have installed (damn you Angry Birds Moon Festival!) or check Twitter or Google+. I’m going to come clean and admit that I’ve been guilty of using it in the following scenarios:

  • while I wait for my coffee at the coffee shop
  • when I’m waiting for the bus or on the bus
  • while I’m watching tv
  • in a cab
  • waiting for my kids to finish going to the toilet. “mommy I need you to wipe me!!!!”
  • to look busy so I can avoid having to talk to people (see crazies at the bus stop)
So to summarize I will use my phone when I’m waiting and to avoid having to talk to people. Hrm, don’t I sound like someone you want to be friends with? Not so much!
After I recognized that this behaviour can come off as rude I have vowed to change the way I use my phone.
  1. when out in public I will only use my phone when I actually need it. Meaning, I’m answering a call/text or making a call/text.
  2. while riding transit I will put my phone away and just enjoy the commute. I’m sure that I will regret this one, but my commute is the perfect time to people watch and let my mind wander.
  3. I will put my phone away when I am home with my kids. I’m sure that they could recognize the top of my head as easily as they recognize my face.
After reading this I think I’ve left myself about 42 minutes a day to use my phone. So. Do you use your phone as a security blanket too? I can’t be the only one. Do you have any personal rules or etiquette rules when it comes to using your phone?
UPDATE: today I decided that it is totally acceptable to use my phone while waiting at the bus stop so I don’t have to interact with the crazy that wanders by and occasionally wants to talk to me. Other than that I’ve enjoyed myself being out in the world without hiding inside my phone.

my quest for self-care

Posted on by
4

I sat up in my room after dinner with a bottle of wine and my notebook. I had been sent up there by the husband to disengage. This is my story.

I’ve been soloing the kids most nights for a while now. The husband is an on-call consultant so he works when his clients need him. Soloing the kids means that I race home from work so my parents, who do daycare for us for which I am eternally grateful! I sit and cuddle, then scramble to ge them fed and in bed at a reasonable hour. Sometimes the husband is home in time to read a story but usually it’s after the kids are asleep. I get up at 5:30 am so really, I should be asleep by 10 pm, but I rarely am. I feel that I deserve time to myself, I say as I sit and read twitter while watching home decorating shows on the PVR.

On weekend days, it is harder. If the husband is working I try to get a few things done but my day is filled with sitting and playing, reading stories, breaking up disagreements, making so many snacks that I end up bewildered at the end of they day when I’m ravenous. How can I hand out food all day and forget to feed myself?

Today the husband was home so it was all about daddy. The kids were so delighted to sit and build Legos with him. I snuck upstairs with the intention of sitting and reading but I promptly fell asleep. The nap was wonderful but I had hoped to indulge in reading one of the books from my stack. I think it speaks volumes that when I sat down to ready I fell asleep. Tired much? I thought I was past the phase of constant sleep deprivation.

We had dinner as a family for the first time in a week. It was so nice to be able to sit down as the four of us. I’ve fallen into the habit of having a picnic with the kids for dinner when I’ve been soloing them. It’s so easy to put together a few plates of carrots, cucumbers, hummus and  cheese & crackers and then watch a movie with the kids; but I think I need to return to the dinner table.

Tonight dinner was a wee bit shenanigans. I know part of it was just excitement that daddy was home for dinner and part was the change in what has become our routine. I was getting so frustrated with how my kids’ behaviour was starting to really deteriorate. I felt my shoulders and my voice rising. That is when the husband stepped in and asked me kindly to go upstairs and reset.

I am so thankful that he was home tonight. I sat upstairs and stared at my New Post page and gnashed my teeth while trying to form coherent thoughts. I feared that twitter may have killed my ability to string together thoughts longer than 140 characters. I wrote and wrote and edited and edited. It’s still a battle to express myself.

Where was I? Yes, I have come to realize that I have almost completely forgotten how to consistently care for myself. I need more than an afternoon nap. I need to figure out what is is that I need. If I make plans the husband is almost always more than willing to block time off so that I can head out, so I just need to make it happen. What do I like to do? I have no idea. I’ve fallen into a rut and I need to find my way out. Because sitting and lurking twitter and watching tv isn’t cutting it any more. What is your favourite thing to do for yourself?

conferences aplenty

Posted on by
2

Well, I’ve bought tickets to three conferences: BlissdomCanada, SXSW, and BlogHer2012 so instead of showing up to these conferences and stammering, “well, you see, I have a domain, I just haven’t posted anything to it yet” I thought that maybe, perhaps, I should pound out a post and get the ball rolling.

So here it is! My inaugural post! Hopefully now that I’ve got the first post out of the way I can get on with writing.

I’m suddenly having second thoughts about attending a conference, I don’t even want to think about attending three right now. That bitchy judgmental voice of my inner critic as whispering awful things. Planting seeds of self-doubt. Telling me that I don’t belong at a conference. Making me wonder who will I talk to? Who will be as excited to see me as I am to see them. Who needs enemies when they have such a hateful bitch that is my inner critic?

How do you shout down your inner critic? Have you found anything to silence her? Do you let her decide where you will go?