The roses were tall and in full bloom. Through the window I could see the daylilies behind them and the little red tree I don’t know its name, bowing like a miniature weeping willow. The roses were red and delicious and I made myself just stop and stand there and look and breathe. And as I did this, and as time went on, just a minute or so probably, I felt the roses inside me, I know this might sound odd, but I began to feel at one with the roses, they were swaying gently in the early morning breeze, the brief moments in early morning before the sun is really blazing on what will become a hot June day and I thought I am here in this moment, gazing at these flowers, the boundaries dissolving and I felt connected with the flowers and then they were me, not inside me, but briefly I was the flower, and I was in full bloom, a gorgeous red rose, swaying, and they were swaying and, within me, I was swaying.

I walked outside to feel the breeze for myself, the cool fresh morning air, and I listened and heard the birds, all kinds of noises, birds chirping in different ways and I closed my eyes so I could really focus on the birds chirping. I looked toward the east and the sunlight was more powerful there, casting the trees in a different kind of light so I could see them but the edges were softened, basking in the sun’s glow. I walked back to the garden and saw all kinds of flowers, I didn’t know some of their names, but I saw the deep blue of the delphinium, the yellow of the daylilies, and of course the roses, majestic and bowing and I bowed to them and said good morning. This could be my first day or my last—I tried to look at them as if they were brand new to me, a child’s first amazement and I tried to honor them as if this were the last time I would see them and I stood in this moment, on this day, impervious, at least for now, to moments gone and moments yet to come.

Mother & Daughter, a photo by Oberazzi on Flickr.

…..children never forget. For this reason, it was so important what one said, and what one did, and it was a relief when they went to bed. For now she need not think about anybody. She could be herself, by herself. And that was what now she often felt the need of-to think; well, not even to think. To be silent; to be alone. All the being and the doing, expansive, glittering, vocal, evaporated; and one shrunk with a sense of solemnity, to being one self… (excerpt from ‘To the Lighthouse’ by Virginia Woolf)

The fog was thick this morning. I saw it through the window and wanted to be enveloped by it, to walk where everything was suffused with softness and the edges were blurred. But on a weekday morning there are other demands and concerns; I needed to ensure that my kids made the bus and had everything they needed. And yet… I longed for a walk around the block in the silence, the dense stillness. The fog’s transience and rarity made it only more compelling. I asked my kids if they would continue to get ready and be alright if I took a walk. They said yes but I felt I was in that familiar dance of attending to their needs and/or managing my own guilt. Could I carve out a space for myself? I took the walk. Quiet still silent the occasional early morning dog walker emerges from the soft gray the trees sway black bark peeking through the soft cloud cover the air is moist the scents of early spring occasional bursts of color yellow forsythia pink magnolia a sudden glimpse of fuchsia all enveloped in the softness of this moment of this day…. Returning home I saw everything was fine: both of my daughters were ready, happy, and made the bus.

So how do we as mothers make decisions regarding the hierarchy of needs? There is so much external and internal pressure to place one-self last. Certainly this is appropriate at times but when we live at the extreme we lose sight of ourselves completely. We are then more vulnerable to ‘burn-out’ as disconnection from our- selves leads us to feel numb, lonely, distressed, guilty, angry, desperate. Often, in this state, we don’t know what we feel, we just know it feels bad. To manage the distress, many moms seek solace in late night food binges and/or excessive alcohol intake, which can intensify feelings of inadequacy,distress, and shame.

We need to treat ourselves gently, with compassion, as lovingly as we treat our treasured children. Here are some suggestions that may be helpful:

1. Remember that you are a person with feelings and needs. This sounds so simple but often moms lose track of themselves in their effort to be self-less caregivers to their children. Caregivers do not need to be self-less. In fact, it is never a good idea to abandon yourself. Try saying, ‘I need to be especially compassionate and gentle with myself since mothering is so important and so exhausting and so emotionally taxing at times’.

2. Be available to signals from your body. Notice if there is increased tightness or discomfort in your jaw, chest, stomach—any part of your body. These are indicators that it’s time to check in with yourself and assess your stress level. These are cues that it’s time to increase your level of self-compassion and determine what might bring you back to a more comfortable baseline. If you can do this, you are much less likely to react with a short-fuse and more able to respond mindfully to a situation.

3. Try to identify what you find soothing. It may be meditating, exercising, watching television, listening to music, going for a walk, going to a movie, taking a bath, reading a book, petting your cat, staring at the wall….whatever helps you to center and relax.

4. Know that it is so important to carve out time for yourself. It’s as important as breathing, for only by doing this will you really be able to catch your breath!

5. Try not to isolate. Know that you are not alone with these feelings. Try being open about your experience and the likelihood is that other moms will know exactly what you’re talking about. Motherhood is amazing and wonderful and challenging and difficult ……allow yourself to hold the complexity and know that balancing your needs and the needs of your children is an ever-evolving process.

Dark shadows on a chilly stormy winter night, a photo by ganesh_vnd on Flickr.

Some years ago on a bitterly cold New England night my daughters and I left the house on a quick errand. Suddenly, out of the darkness, a woman rushed toward us. Where had she come from? She was frantic with cold and anxiety and had layered on any clothing she could find. Though momentarily reluctant to help and perhaps afraid, I quickly ushered her into my car. She spoke no English and I did not recognize her language. Frantically she tried to communicate something, was it the number 25? Yes, yes, it sounded like 25 and we all rejoiced for there was a house on our street with that number! I felt relief as we drove there, but she gestured that it was wrong. We continued to drive around and around, how long could this go on? We did not know this woman and could not communicate. I wondered if we should go to the police, perhaps she had wandered from her home, perhaps from the psychiatric hospital that was several miles from our neighborhood. Suddenly the woman made a sound, like the beginning of a name, sort of like, ‘Mir’. Somehow my daughter filled in the word and said, ‘Na’. Mir-na. Mirna! We knew Mirna, a friend of my daughter’s and knew where she lived. The woman and I embraced; the energy in the car became euphoric. It felt like a miracle, an unexpected gift that somehow on this icy cold night the universe had connected us—if we had not come out of our house, if we had not continued to try, if my daughter had not recognized the name, if we had given up and gone to the police, if they had been unable to help her, if they had taken her to a shelter, if I had given into fear…. When we arrived at the correct house, the woman and I hugged tightly, joyfully, gratefully. It was as if we had known each other deeply for many years. We both cried and embraced again. An ordinary evening had turned extraordinary through human connection and an act of compassion.

So reflecting on this, I wonder, why does helping others help us so much?

1.When we ourselves are stressed, or in pain, we often turn inward. I recall that I was initially stressed that night, going out in the cold, and the urgency of the woman’s need forced me to turn away from my troubles and toward her. As we helped her I felt an increased sense of my own humanity and our ultimate embrace touched me on a deep level. When we looked into each other’s eyes I felt the power, the poetry, of turning outward toward people, toward appreciating the great mysteries of life.

2.We are our best selves when we help others and the positive feelings engendered affect our brain chemistry. I am thinking of recent research on the brain’s neuroplasticity and Dan Siegel’s (Mindsight is his book, very worth reading!) statement that ‘neurons that fire together wire together’. When we push ourselves to act in a new way, we actually begin to shift our brain chemistry in new and healthy ways, towards greater happiness and joy.

3.There is something very profound about behaving in ways that surprise ourselves. On a deep level, there are the beginnings of new neuronal connections, but I think we see ourselves differently. There is a Jewish saying, Tikkkun Olam, which refers to our responsibility to change the world for the better. When we attempt to do this, the rewards are uplifting and powerful and we feel deeply our own humanity and our connections with others.

solitary, a photo by cmelanson on Flickr.

My father and I once took a walk through the lower east side of New York exploring the neighborhoods of his youth.  I remember it was fall the sun was shining warm and soft the city was mid-week mid-morning calm and quiet and I was walking with my precious father. It was one of those times when life feels very full. As we headed past the apartment building on Second Avenue where he had lived so long ago, on our way to Yonah Schimmel’s to share the best knish in the city, I was momentarily struck by how tenuous and fleeting life can be, sort of the shadow side of the joy I was feeling. I told him I didn’t think I could bear it when he died.  Often philosophical and always thoughtful, my father said gently that it would be very difficult and very painful, but that over time the wound would heal, leaving behind a scar that would ache less and less as time went by, unless aggravated by certain life events when I might especially miss him and then it would hurt more again for a while….I have found this to be true.

So….I’ve learned some things over the years about grief and loss.  Here are some thoughts that will hopefully be comforting:

1. We all know  or will know loss.  All of us have either lost a loved one or will lose a loved one and through that we are all connected.  I remember trying on a wedding dress soon after my father’s death and the sales-associate saw that I had a black bit of cloth pinned to my slip.  She gave me the most gentle, knowing look, and treated me so kindly….we did not need to speak  because she knew.

2. We all grieve in our own way.  Some people cry a lot, some people don’t cry at all. Trust your inner process.  I have had so many clients and people in my personal life ask me if they are grieving normally.  They wonder if they are at the right stage—are they in shock too long, in denial, too angry, not accepting quickly enough, bargaining too desperately.  Stage theories are useful as ways to help people organize their experience but they are only general guides—again try to trust in your own experience, your own grieving process.  Remember that breaks from grief are ok too—and necessary to replenish your energy.  Try not to feel guilty if you feel happy at times or want to go out to a movie or eat something delicious or have fun with friends.  You are not betraying your loved one’s memory—you are turning back towards life.  Trust in the ebb and flow.

3. A rule of thumb is that a year is the typical amount of time for the grieving process.  I think there is no typical or normal amount of time.  I found that it took around five years to really feel a shift in terms of how acute the mourning felt.  A good way to think of grief is the image of a wave—it comes and goes, sometimes it is huge, crashing to shore, other times it is gentle.  The work is to ride it—just be with the feelings and ride it through, and it will end, the sorrow will release.

4. Time heals!  This is really true.  Over time, the acute pain diminishes and there is more room for memories, joyful moments, even laughter as one remembers cherished aspects of their loved one.

”If ever there is tomorrow when we’re not together….there is something you must always remember.  You are braver than you believe, stronger than you know, and smarter than you think.  But the most important things is, even if we’re apart…..I’ll always be with you.”—Winnie the Pooh

Zumba Dance Class, a photo by Edson Hong on Flickr.

When my girls were 2 and 4 they fell in rapturous love with the Disney princesses. These princesses, Cinderella, Snow White, Arielle, (and the one who pricked her finger with a needle, I can’t remember, they all blend together in my mind) resembled one another with their very thin, tiny, hourglass figures, classically beautiful features, and long straight hair. Over time, my daughters awakened to the many charms of Barbie with her very thin, tiny, hourglass figure, classically beautiful features, and long straight hair. What was the result? For my daughters and their friends, long hours of happy play; for me, writing this essay to calm my mind. Here is an excerpt:

…These are some things I know. I know how girls and women struggle with body image, food issues, and eating disorders. I know the cultural ideals embedded in Barbie’s preposterous proportions translate into messages about self-worth and beauty and imprint on children’s psyche’s at an early age. I know the clinical and research data indicating girls learn at an early age that appearance is all-important and that the ideal is to be thin, beautiful (defined in an extremely narrow way), and young; that children are painfully stigmatized if they are considered overweight; that women have a shared ideal female figure which as a group they fail to achieve; that five to ten million women struggle with potentially life-threatening eating disorders; that multi-billion dollar diet, cosmetic, and fitness industries are invested in unrealistic portrayals of girls and women….

WE DON’T NEED TO EMBRACE THIS! Here are some suggestions:

1.Try this affirmation even if initially your heart is not in it. Remember, often the thought or cognition leads and the feelings follow. Proclaim, ‘My body is magnificent!’ Proclaim it loudly, with joy, if you can. It’s ok to fake it, to exaggerate it, because that might make you laugh, and sometimes our bodies need a break from being the focus of such serious consideration. Because your body is magnificent. Think of what it can do. On the most fundamental level it keeps you alive. That, at the very least, deserves some praise. For those of us lucky enough to bear children, our bodies create life. For those of us lucky enough to be able to run, dance, bike, zumba, knit, write, scratch an itch, breathe, our bodies are amazing.

2. Retrain your eyes: We often focus on our perceived flaws and not on aspects of our physical selves that we love. So try noticing your beautiful hair, or your expressive eyes, or your sensuous mouth, or your lovely hands, nails, shoulders, feet, bright blue toenail polish; any aspect of your physical self that you like and focus on that and enjoy that.

3. Retrain your perceptions of beauty: Begin to question what you see as beautiful and why. Be open to ways that socialization has affected your notion of beauty. Become critical of the models in magazines. Try to expand your notion of what is beautiful. Imagine that imperfection is beautiful. Imagine cherishing imperfection. Imagine cherishing your own perceived imperfections, seeing the charm of your gorgeous unique self. Just try—it may be difficult at first but, as with any skill, your ability to shift your perception will improve with practice.

This morning I tried something new. Rather than rush past the beauty I noticed, pressured by the demands of the day, I made the decision to stand still and look out the window. The trees were swaying black and bare and the sky behind them was starting to glow with a light pink hue. I stood consciously and paid close attention. The sky deepened to a vivid shade of red the trees swayed my cat brushed against my leg the wind made a rushing sound and suddenly it became rhythmic, like a symphony, the trees swaying in syncopation with the wind rustling the colors changing and I became attuned to my own breathing, consciously deepening the in breath, prolonging the out breath and my breathing became a rhythmic part of this symphony and I was fully present with all senses one bird chirping then more and I tried to take it all into my body, consciously and with intention opening up to this moment.

As I reflect on this experience, I think about a recent course I took, Buddha’s Brain: The Practical Neuroscience of Happiness, Love and Wisdom, by Dr. Rick Hanson, which focused on the self-directed neuroplasticity of our brains and ways that our thoughts can actually create and strengthen new neural connections. We can do this by consciously and with intention taking in positive moments and holding them in our awareness rather than quickly bypassing them. According to this research, we are evolutionarily primed to take in the negative in order to be alert to dangers in the environment. However, with practice, we can change that programming. Here’s how:

1. Look for positive facts and allow them to become positive experiences. This means to stop, and actively immerse yourself in the small pleasures of daily life. To become a positive experience it is necessary to focus on the positive fact for at least 10 to 30 seconds. As you do this, imagine the experience soaking into your body like water soaking into a sponge.
2. Repeat this experience as often as possible for, as Rick Hanson says, neurons that fire together wire together. In otherwords, as you savor the positive experience, feeling it in your body and your emotions, intensifying it, the experience registers deeply in emotional memory.
3. There are times of day, e.g., just before sleep, when the brain is particularly receptive to this kind of mind-work, although we can do this spontaneously at any time of day.
4. Over time, these responses strengthen, just as a muscle strengthens with use, and we become more resilient, especially when coping with life’s inevitable difficult experiences.