OYM Day 47: Quit Playing Games With My Mind
I learned a long time ago not to live in the future, because the future isn’t promised and it keeps us from enjoying the gift of today. Pretty standard ideology. So much so that when I hear anyone say they’re working on being present, I roll my eyes or my body goes limp like I’ve just died from how groundbreaking that statement is. I just want to yell that EVERYONE IS DOING THIS, but maybe I’m wrong. Actually, I know I’m wrong. I think I just get impatient with others self growth, because understanding my own and finding my path has been somewhat of an agonizing journey and one that started when I was a child. Someone thinking that they should focus on being present sounds like someone saying they should focus on not walking into traffic. But don’t worry, I know that this doesn’t make me a good person or more enlightened than the next guy, but in fact an ass hole. I’m working on it.
Whenever my mind starts to wander to worries of the future (Will I die before or after my husband? What if I get cancer? Will my daughter grow up and not want to spend time with me anymore? How will I ever relax once she gets a drivers license?), I try to focus on the next 15 or so minutes and it usually helps to calm my nerves. However, I know it’s an illusion and so do you, right? The mere idea of being alive is scary. I know it’s “a gift”, too, but its somewhat of a flop gift, no? Does EVERYTHING have to be a way to teach us a lesson? Does there HAVE to be so much tragedy? Was life supposed to be this way or did humans just fuck it up so badly over time that the whole experiment has morphed into something else entirely?
This isn’t to say that I think everything is doom and gloom. I’ve certainly had more remarkably positive days than negative. But it seems almost childish to live life pretending the bad days aren’t coming. Maybe I need to look at the pitfalls of life as joyous. How many mind games does one have to play with oneself to stay sane?!
“little did she know” — a tattoo I got after hiking 100 miles in Spain, on a quest to figure myself out, as one does. Turns out, I still know very little.
All of this is fresh in my mind, because I had a particularly hard day with my child yesterday. A few meltdowns, having to carry her kicking and screaming into the car, trying to buckle her into her car seat while she fought me like a ninja. There were also screaming fits before nap and bedtime. A few episodes of smacking her dad. You know, just making family memories! Overall, she was just overtired, which makes just about everything difficult. But man! Does it make my mind race when we have days like that. Is she ok? Is it “aggressive behavior” that needs help? Does she hate me? Is she teething? Is something wrong that she doesn’t have the words for yet? Is she ready to drop her nap? Is it separation anxiety? I could go on and on like this…
Being a parent has been the biggest challenge of my life and one that forces me to be present at all times. I look back at her first few months of life and I can feel my chest seize up because I spent most of that time worrying about her and her future instead of enjoying how perfect she was. I worried constantly and to the point of exhaustion, sleeping just a few hours a day for months, when I could have slept more. Even now, at 2 years old, I find myself paralyzed at night by the sheer idea that she will grow up in a world that is cruel and unkind. I know I need to raise her in preparation for that, because it’s reality. We currently spend each day living under the the rule of “being kind”: kind to animals, kind to others, kind to ourselves. But will that help her?
I experienced my first school bully on the playground in elementary school. He was older than me and much bigger. He swung me around in circles by my backpack and sent me flying onto the pavement. I had never experienced another child being violent like that before. And I hadn’t said a word to him but appeared to be targeted at random. And that’s what life can be. Random. And violent. Did he learn this from his parents? I doubt it. I knew them. Did they teach him about kindness? Probably. Did he have issues with aggression? Maybe. What could have helped him? I’m not really sure. I don’t think I told him to focus on his breathe while he spun me around and around. Or told him to try meditation.
Do you think my kid will beat the shit out of other kids or grow up to be terrible even if I teach her to be kind? And model kindness in our home? Or is this a mind game, too? I tell her to be kind through gritted teeth as I head into the 10th hour of no relief…and I wonder how kind of a person I am. I lay her down to bed and the baby monitor is finally quiet. My husband asks me a question and I immediately snap. Does he not realize the day I’ve had?! Be kind, Cassie. Be kind.
Take deep breaths.
Count backwards from 10.
Start a gratitude journal.
Do some yoga.
Go for a run.
Balance your chakras.
And keep hoping, wishing, and praying that it makes a flipping difference.
