Reclaiming your choice: and parenting from your center
I have been pausing A LOT this week.
Between preparing to host the Healing Parents Wildflowers Retreat (yey!), wrapping up my daughter’s last week of school, and saying goodbye as she takes a weeklong trip to Colombia with her dad (eek- and, more to come on how we have prepared for this trip!)…
There have been a lot of feelings stirring around in this body, mind and heart of mine.
And while it surely helps to have a beautiful view to look forward to at the retreat, I am also just experiencing so much more ease in general as I prepare for everything.
I am acutely aware of how connected I feel to my center.
Do you know what I’m talking about?
Imagine a session I recently had, and this bright, funny, curious mother I work with, using her finger to describe the way life goes up, then down, up, then down again.
And what we reflected on during our last call, is how her attachment to these up and down states has changed. How she no longer grasps as desperately to the highs in fear of how much the next drop will hurt. And how when the lows come, she doesn’t get lost in despair and hopelessness, even when these emotions and the painful reminders they bring, present themselves.
And how this state of detachment to circumstance, and connection to her center, will only continue to grow.
Why is this happening for her? Because she is intentionally cultivating her relationship with her center.
You know the little roller coaster she drew in the air with her fingers?
Imagine a straight line running horizontally through all of those climbs and dips.
The more we stop to remember this line–our unwavering center–the more we are able to access our greatest inner resources as we lead our families through the ups and downs of our lives.
Imagine this line thickening, becoming an ever-expanding, generous field of love and support through all of life’s unexpected blows and blessings.
Imagine it is your healing intentions and practices that grow your connection to this source of care and strength within you; and how in turn, your healing is deepened and you feel more grounded and sustained.
I recently heard a student of Thomas Merton share how when Merton would ask him, “How are you?”, and he responded, “Not great”, Merton always replied back, “Don’t worry, it will pass.” And similarly, when he would respond “I’m doing really great!”, Merton again replied, “Don’t worry, it will pass.”
The more we know and remember our center, the less control our emotional states have over us. This is how we learn to parent ourselves from that wise and loving center. To bring healing and change to the parts of us that cry out to us through states of unease, tension, anxiety, deep sadness, anger, rage. And from this same solid center, to receive and really soak in the moments of ease, happiness, joy, contentment, and enthusiasm.
And so it is through experience that our bodies learn and deepen their knowing that there is always a safe and loving center waiting for us within. Through practice.
And this brings us back to the pause.
What if the pause is not something we should do, or have to learn to do. But rather, something we finally get to do whenever we want?
What if we reflect on our childhood and see the story of losing choicethat many of us lived? Of learning early on to give up on expressing what we want and what matters most to us. Of feeling obligated to perform in ways adults needed and wanted? Of these performances and reactions becoming so automatic and ingrained, that we came to believe they define us? The good girl. The angry one. The generous and kind one. The funny one. The hard worker.
What if now we can identify, and see with so much compassion, these many ways we were taught to turn away from our center every day? How we learned that instead of asking inward, “Does this feel okay for me?”, we needed to turn outward and check, “Is this going to be okay with my caregiver? Will they still love me if I do this?”
Unfortunately, even with very good intentions, many of our early caregivers treated us in ways that conditioned us to seek validation for our worth and goodness outward. And being the social creatures we are, we learned to behave in ways that would secure our belonging status. As Gabor Mate often says, we prioritized our need for attachment over our need for authenticity.
We stopped pausing.
There were no Special Times to remind us regularly that what we want and feels matters. No holding space to show us that our feelings of distress can be expressed and fully witnessed. No warm and loving limits to teach our bodies and minds that we are allowed to worry about the very important kid stuff, because a responsible adult will take care of the adult stuff.
Perhaps there was a lot of praise and applause when we did what they wanted. And in many cases, painful "consequences" or punishments when we did not.
And as a result of all of this, we continued to show up as the people they wanted us to be.
So what if now, the pause represents a reclaiming of that choice that was taken from us as children?
The freedom to stop and notice, “Wait, how am I doing right now?” for as many times as we can remember in the day.
The wisdom to check our authenticity and intentions, and curiously ask, as my friend James-Olivia often does, "Wait, what am I up to?" before we automatically offer something to another.
The reminder of our agency to choose the boundaries that will foster harmony and balance within us, and in our relationships.
What if, when you are losing your temper with your child, and you pause, even for a second, to notice how hard the moment is for YOU, you are bringing yourself one step closer to healing the hurt beneath the rage?
What if every time you stop to look in your child’s eyes warmly and reflect back what you notice– “You really were hoping I had made it on time”, or “You really like that ice cream shop and wish we could go back today”, or “You weren’t ready to leave”–you are showing her that she does not have to override her inner voice? That her wants and desires matter, even when you can’t make everything go the way she wants it to. That these things deserve a pause.
What if the pause is how we can take as many times in the day as we can remember to, to simply stop and remember that our center is there within us?
That we don't have to painfully just "move on". But rather, that we are able to both sit with the hurt, and choose how (and with whom) we will move through it, and towards the next step.
What if the more we do this, the more “centered” we feel as we move through our days?
The more present our children and loved ones can feel us.
The more capable and confident we feel about ourselves and the things that matter most to us.
Dear parent, you get to pause! There are no rules here. No tally to keep. No “messing up” because you forget to do it.
Just an invitation to try.
As much as you want, as often as you can remember.
Just for you.