Tag: change

faith

A Reflection on Motherhood – February 2024

by Erin1 Comment on A Reflection on Motherhood – February 2024

As my life continues to grow and change, Frozen Spaghetti continues to be the place for these moments of introspection, the words for the things that connect me to those around me, to the themes in my life… to God.

These connections are made possible by realities like how, as a mom, you make your kids cry sometimes – sometimes even on birthday weekends.

When you are doing the right thing for them and they don’t love that? That is tough. And though one of the worst things is disappointing your kid because of your stance of “no, this really isn’t right” or “no, this really isn’t time” or “no, we really are not ready”… what is worse is kicking yourself because you didn’t trust your gut.

A sincere nod to trusting yourself.

Zooming out – there is a lot going on in my life and the lives of my children & husband. I don’t feel burdened, but I do feel taxed. Like that slow burn of transformation is definitely happening. I have come to learn there are different qualities of change. Change is a spectrum. What’s wild about the change happening in my world is it is the change of “up in the air, this is going to settle”. Which is different than, say, the change of “something has to give, the bottom is falling out”. There are different qualities.

While timing and ideas evolving vary, the one thing I have really learned lately is the importance of orientation. When things are shifting, your north can still be north. I have been thoughtful of this a lot lately as I, personally, have oriented myself in the world as “yoga studio owner”. Do I know what this is going to look like? No. Do I know what I am going to learn this means for me in terms of hard work? No.

Do I have ideas on these answers? Yes. I have some pretty good ideas. And they align with my true north.

I have been paying attention to the earliest things I do every day. I spend time sitting energetically with the day, with my life and feeling it.

And this is where the spiritual part of this whole piece kicks in…

<pause here or go get a coffee / tea / water and settle in, because this is the learning. soli deo gloria>

On Friday night, February 16th, Ellen (my 18 y/o daughter) was driving home for the weekend to not only surprise her sister for her birthday but to also get a hug and some home after being terrifyingly close to the shooting in Kansas City, where she was celebrating the Chiefs’ Super Bowl win with the masses. She heard the gunfire live and it was ricocheting, hourly / before bed, in her mind & body. <inhale. sigh>

In the midwest, there was a freak snowstorm on Friday afternoon. Before I had a chance to tell her I didn’t think the roads would be clear, she had already headed east to Saint Louis and, low and behold, about 6:30pm, she showed up on the map about an hour and a half out from home at a dead stop. The interstate had been shut down due to a massive pile up and people ended up being stuck… for 10 hours. (Here’s the story.)

Ellen, fortunately, had gotten off the highway to wait it out at a gas station. We had been on the phone on and off, trying to strategize & understand the extent of the shut down when it was 12:30a and time for us both to try and get some rest. She rolled through where she had her money & keys, how she had prepared her body for warmth, confirmed she locked the doors and asked me if there was anything else she should do before trying to close her eyes in a parking lot at a gas station in the middle of the night. Sounded like she checked the boxes. I told her I loved her and we got off the phone.

At that point, I laid in bed and wondered, “how do I still care for this situation?”

Well… through prayer.

But what do I pray for? For her to be safe? Safe from what? Thinking through that list sounded like a great way to keep me up all night.

Do I pray for her to discover something about herself? This was clearly a challenging night. Not in a “dark night of the soul” kind of way but definitely a dark night. And as I start to explore what could possibly the lesson, I know to back out. Her faith. Her spirituality. Her relationship with God. Her understanding of divine timing. Her attunement to the energy of her life & whether or not it reflects ultimately what she wants is really none of my business. :) <insert my love for this verse>

Even if we have known somebody their whole life, like a mother knows a child, the child has their own individual life, their own conscious awareness, their own journey that they have to figure out. To think that you have any real ability to navigate that network beyond maybe a thread of understanding is not only insane but a total waste of time.

And even if you could snap your fingers and have a really good, deep reading of where they are in life – even if things seem obvious – you have to remember that in a human’s life, inner knowing & wisdom is subtle. It is subtle beyond language, beyond left brain analysis. So subtle that the only way for the wisdom of the child’s life to be accessed is through the child’s body & breath itself. And those are their own.

So there I was, in bed, with this remembering that her body & breath are the pathway to her wisdom leading me to the answer to the question of how to care for the situation was, in fact, through my own body & breath.

I pictured her and performed a body scan. I scanned her from the soles of feet to the crown of her head. From the crown of her head to the soles of her feet. I went left and right, right to left. Inside her body. Outside of her body. There were no words. It wasn’t about protection or the “blood of Jesus”. It was about feeling and, if anything, it was also about clearing. If I have any power here as her mother, it is to clean her. :) So I imagined cutting cords and clearing off from her body anything that could be holding her back. Holding her in restriction. Holding her in a shape she is ready to shift out of. This is a highly energetic form of prayer. And as I boldly approached the throne in this way, I started hearing song lyrics: “The sun comes up, it’s a new day dawning” over and over and over.

And there it was: the reality. She was sitting there in a parking lot. Though alongside hundreds of people. She is alone. She is tired. Stuck. In the night. It probably feels like it is never going to end. But there is going to be a dawning. There is going to be a moment that the sky starts to get lighter and the sun is going to start rising up, brighter, and soon it will be morning. Things don’t stay the way they are forever.

We are always somewhere on the spectrum of change.

There were some other miraculous things about that experience. The fact that she was able to sleep the next day when she finally arrived home after fearing nightmares after the shooting, was – in and of itself – a blessing. The way particular people showed up brought me to tears. But it was how that experience prepared me for Monday that really brought the whole thing together.

See, on Monday, my other daughter – Lucy – had a true dark night of the soul. Not a dark night, like Ellen. Rather, she was dealing with the reckoning of not having done some things and it was now the moment of truth. She was at the “and now it is too late” and there are options no longer available. As the mother, I was the bearer of that news, disappointing her because I was trusting my inner knowing.

She was tired. She was sad. She felt hard on herself. She felt critical. And she fell apart. She wrestled. She called me from the kitchen, “mom I need you to come to the kitchen right now”. She was in bits and pieces. I saw it was not the normal “I’m tired and still have homework” but a sincere need to sleep and wait out the sun. She said she felt alone.

So here’s what is fascinating.

Ellen, on Friday night, was actually alone. On a dark night. And I was able to be with her…. energetically be with her.

Lucy, on Monday night. On a dark night of the soul. I was able to physically hold her. Sleep by her side. Put a hand on her.

The energy of holding, in both situations, was the same.

I can’t help but further trust that when I am physically gone from this earth, that this holding will be the same. It has to be the same. Because it is the same now. I think this is why there is meant to be no fear in death. Because this idea makes it no longer about having faith that you have chosen the right belief or having faith that you are doing things that are somehow serving some ladder of fortitude upward towards heaven. It is not about having decided or having done anything.

Rather, it allows life to become living through the reality of the nature of consciousness and one’s own awareness of the infinite peace within us.

The envelope of skin, yes, holds us; but the actual way that we are is boundless.

I imagine fathers feel something similar. Yet, it seems to me that, as women – as portals for souls coming through us – that there is a potency and an availability to pray for your child through what in yoga we would call the bliss body, the most subtle layer of our existence.

There is a lot of power in this, for me. A strong sense of knowing. A deep sense of peace.

May you be happy. May you be healthy. May you be well. ✌🏽erin

Words in Sentences

Theme for January: What Stays the Same in a Season of Change

by ErinLeave a Comment on Theme for January: What Stays the Same in a Season of Change

On Sunday, January 5th, 2020, I began teaching a 7a yin class at the studio in Maplewood where I had a regular restorative offering.

I got there early, around 6, with a leather bound journal and cleared the room. I set the lighting dim, put the battery operated candles all around and covered the supply shelf with a blanket, added height and dimension. Once the room was set, I put books of ancient text, my mug of hot water and – of course – the leather bound journal & pencil – out on the floor and I sat in the space I created and prayed.

“Backwards, moving, warming. The words are underneath my brain all the while things kept moving…”

Those are the first words I scribbled in the journal, waiting for the flow to begin… to be told what to teach. I approached that Sunday morning yin class as a door for me and others – a sacred opening for us to maybe even come fully alive in a pose or in a breath – and feel that awesome feeling we get sometimes when we are truly fully present: that suspension and peace.

Each Sunday, I held myself to the same practice: preparing the space, sitting and waiting, sketching the thoughts and the poses. Until March 22nd, 2020 – the last class in person before we went into lock down. I remember the 9a teacher arriving early for her last class and our students mixing in the lobby… a few tears… what is going on? Are things really like closing?

2020 was the first year I started with a practice and kept it up until disrupted by the world. I remember considering continuing with a weekly morning email for folks to practice at home. Doing the same thing in my own home and sharing. But it did not feel right. So I did not.

Now we are on the 2nd of January – the first Sunday in January – and having a Sunday morning practice of sitting with an open heart and listening feels right. This year, it is not a yin class I prepare for, but the continual growth of Appletreemagic.com and the four books I plan on putting into the world this year.

I am prepared to let go of any of those four books should the world force my hand while also I am confident enough in what they are and how I know them to say they are what I am doing. This is the balance of effort and ease. Trusting yourself to hold on to something with diligence while being open to the way they will be shaped, the way your hand may be forced to let go, the way creativity may ebb….

And so here lies the January theme:

What do you know well enough to allow to be constant?

What do you know well enough to allow to change?

We get our kids back over the course of this afternoon and the next couple of days from their other parents’ house where they have been for a week. David and I have had a week of hiking, eating well and rest. We feel good. I can tell we feel good. But, when you look around the house we live in – you would see our current crux: our “endless loop” of shifting a room’s purpose and furniture and stuff to work for our family.

Even with all the ideas floating around as to how to set up the family room, dining area and sitting area, I still hung four pictures in the corner of one of the rooms. Because it is where my desk is… This corner is my constant in my house of change. It’s an anchor that will baseline the evolution of how the rest of the house falls into place as well as how the year goes.

In closing, at 40 years old, I have gone through enough iterations of myself with full head on awareness of what I wanted to spin out of or step into that I know one of the tricks is to allow some thing to be constant. Overhaul as much as you want, but keep the thing that works the same. At least try to until the world forces your hand. Because even in that case, the sacred place and priority you gave it will make it fun to see how it comes fully circle.

I believe what you allow to be constant and what you allow to change is a reflection of how you keep your heart and – thus – what your life presents to you as the things you must work through. Think about it.
Words in Sentences

Nice Wide Turns @ David’s Office in Bellingham 8.4.20

by Erin2 Comments on Nice Wide Turns @ David’s Office in Bellingham 8.4.20

Feeling compelled to write current thoughts after a lunch break comprised of kundalini yoga for the hips & a piece of sea salt caramel dark chocolate.

One of the main themes in my personal evolution is letting go of the need to address change in others. There are things I want our kids to learn (like cleaning up toothpaste on the counter or being considerate of what you leave in the sink) before they turn into college roommates.

Yet, the management of 5 project plans (one per kid) and the coordination of said plans with David layered by the actual household projects and pantry management on top of “work” work, desired creative bandwidth and personal time is just too much.

And… based on recent findings… unnecessary…

On my flight in on Sunday, I had just had one of those glorious crafty moments where I think of a game that is actually a great way to manipulate the kids into doing what I want them to do when I noticed how the plane was turning.

A nice, wide turn.

I felt the control of the plane, the perfect balance of steadiness and direction, and recalled this double stroller I had when Ellen and Lucy were little. It was a high end stroller, a gift from a wealthy aunt on my ex’s side, and it could turn – literally – on a dime.

Crowded zoo? #nobigdeal Packed Saturday market? #bringit The thing was engineered for quick control and change. The plane turned much differently than the stroller.

In my awareness of these two very different calculations of engineering, I realized the fault in my quirky little game that would trick all the kids into doing what I wanted. What I need to bring to this family is not control, it’s indeed a balance of steadiness and direction.

It’s a steady application of everything I am learning by allowing others their life.

Yesterday afternoon, David and I went walking in the park. I had thought a lot during the day of our household and how to set us up for healthy meals and virtual learning. I was excited to share slash just wanted to hear myself talk so I prefaced myself… I said, “Babe, I have been thinking about how I want to manage the household and I am going to tell you about it but don’t worry – you don’t have to have an opinion or feel any pressure to build on or expand the idea.”

He started to laugh. He was so grateful to know I just wanted to talk and he didn’t have to do the whole sharpen my iron thing. I have learned from experience, my zealousness and excitement can put undue pressure on his pscyhe… he ends up problem solving the thing I figured out… we get lost in words… I just wanted to talk to begin with, so this time? I released the valve right away.

After a brisk walk around the lake, pausing only once to social distance / check the view, we stopped by Whole Foods to pick up an order and David was growing hungry. I could tell because, when he is hungry, he exercises his world class ability to be mad at everything and mad at nothing at the exact same time.

I have learned to shoulder him, like how he shoulders me when I am tired and can’t think straight enough to sound anything other than curt.

His hunger also can invoke “hyper management protocol”. (I watch a lot of Avengers.) With the edge of his stomach somehow triggering a survival mindset, he will question  whether or not we need X or have Y, whether I have done X or if I know Y.

Historically speaking, I take this personally and feel a lot of pressure to know answers to all these questions. However – a key thing I have  learned is “No, babe” is the perfect answer and – most importantly – it is 100% rhetorical when he asks me “Now what, babe?” about things he knows I have never done before or places I have never been.

(PS: This is very much unlike when my children ask me where things are in CVS, like I work there.)

I have learned I do not need to take anything of the energetic imagination on; it is easier to smile, to be equally curious, to be kind, to continue.

I am not perfect at this. But I am prefacing and I am adjusting.

That turn into Sea Tac on the final descent was really fascinating to me. I have a feeling a lot of life is going to be served well by remembering the truth of staying steady and keeping my focus when maneuvering my proverbial plane.

With the kids, this looks like “invitational awareness” and tailored choices.

“Do you want to put away the clean dishes or do you want to wipe the table?”

“Feel this dough – it is so smooth!”

“Would you like to hang out with me and load the dishwasher or come in when I’m done and clean up the pots?”

“Next time you’re in the bathroom will you see how many things on the counter – toothpaste, trash, pants, nerf gun, gum wrapper, small plastic spider – are yours and see if you can count them up and then take care of your mess? Let me know if I can help you.”

Because I would be happy to.

I could tell them to do it, to fix it on a dime, but the nice, wide turn feels a lot more accommodating.

It also seems to make way for a lot more believable story as to how they became such a kind, helpful roommate.