So I have been getting up between 6-6:30am so that I can meditate for 20-40 minutes without interruption. I've found that the benefits are far outweighing my lack of sleep. I feel kinder, more prepared, grounded and ready to tackle the chaos of our morning ritual. 

If you're having trouble finding the motivation to meditate, would you consider joining me?

This thought follows after trying to organize a sitting group for parents and caregivers and hearing from folks that they either couldn't find childcare or were too busy. As a result, I thought I'd create a virtual sitting group. No commitment. Just community. Join me when you're available.

One important note, there is no fixed time here. Please join me anytime between 6-7am (I often start  between 6-6:20am). Recognizing that we are all busy people, I want to make sure that we enjoy our self care practice (i.e., no guilt). As such, flexibility and gentleness is often required! 

Looking forward to seeing others bright and early!

ps: I like to use "insight timer" https://insighttimer.com as it has fabulous guided meditations and simple timers. I also appreciate that I can see the larger community that is meditating along side me - being part of a sitting community is a beautiful thing. 
pps: If you're new to meditation or have no idea what I'm talking about, let me know. I'm happy to walk you through it. 

As many of you know, I was recently at a 5 day Silent Retreat Training outside Rochester, NY. And while there were wagers placed (I’m looking at you dad) about my success in being silent for five full days, I actually found that I revelled in the silence. I loved the routine and the freedom of not looking anyone in the eyes. I loved the simplicity of waking up, meditating, eating mindfully, meditating, eating, meditating, eating again, meditating and then sleeping … only to wake up the next day and do it all again!

Now if you don’t know what a walking meditation entails, let me “walk” you through it. For me, this involves walking ~15ft, slowly and deliberately with my eyes (mostly) closed. Once you hit the end, you stop, turn mindfully in one direction (I like to live on the edge and alternate my directions), and walk back the other way. The beauty of this practice is that you’re moving your body, feeling your muscles and bones and joints, all while focusing on your breath. I also love when you get to the point where your awareness completely opens up and not only are you in your body, but you are fully aware of your environment, experienced not through sight, but through the smells, sounds and textures of the ground upon which you’re walking. Walking meditation is definitely one of my favourite ways to meditate.  

Have you ever tried it? In the words of my fabulous facilitators, Susan Woods and Helen Vantine, where did it land for you? 

I want to tell you a little story about Bertie, the earthworm who may have transformed my professional outlook on parenting and perhaps, life itself. 

A little dramatic you say? Well, let me play it out for you so that you too can see how Bertie helped me to take something cognitive (in my head) and make it an embodied (in my heart) experience. 

Here I was, in the rain trying to find a space for my walking meditation. I decided to get a little wild and crazy and move beyond the ramp of the retreat centre (where I spent at least 3 hours walking back and forth 15ft), and walk up the hill to a lovely little foot path. Problem was, there were earthworms scattered everywhere! To those watching from the inside, I most likely looked like I was do the polka on my way up the hill. However, I was determined to make it up the path without stepping on the earthworms - after all, I had just spent the last two hours of my loving kindness meditations sending love and safe thoughts to all sentient beings (which presumably include earthworms). Not-to-mention,  I was staying at a buddhist retreat centre where I was pretty sure karma would bite me in the ass if I were to harm any being during my stay. Notwithstanding, I got to my “lovely little path” and again, it was littered with earthworms. After prancing about like a fool on hot coals to avoid them, I found a small patch that was around 10 feet long. I marked the beginning and the end (so as to not step on those worms that were out of bounds) and began my walk. 

But then I saw it. 

I saw this large, 3.5” worm slowly making its way across the path. With its pink head bopping about and purplish body inching its way slowly behind, I became a little mesmerized by the movement of this worm. If you haven't had the blessed opportunity to watch a worm in action, I strongly encourage you to do so. It’s a little like watching those last few teaspoons of maple syrup s.l.o.w.l.y pour out of the bottle - it’s extremely rewarding. I watched this little worm explore its way across this path that was made up of sharp, small rocks. 

My first reaction was that I should move the worm and put it to safety. Then it dawned on me. What if this worm had spent the last few hours getting the courage up to cross this path? What if this worm had made a daring escape from a stalking robin and was on its way to blissful freedom? Who was I to decide the journey this worm was taking? Who was I to take away the experience of feeling those jagged pebbles? Who was I to take away the learning that would take place from negotiating the path through those jagged pebbles. Finally, who was I to take away his experience of feeling that lone flower petal on his back, which could only have happened once he made it to the middle of the gosh darn path! 

No, instead of plucking it up and moving it to relative “safety”, I decided to draw a large circle around the worm so that I wouldn’t step on it (only now do I realize that I was essentially creating a large bullseye around it for the birds, but that’s neither here nor there). I then (telepathically, of course) told the worm that I was there if it needed me. 

I fully and completely understood that this struggle - this brave and noble adventure - would help my dear worm become a smarter, stronger and more capable earthworm. This risky journey was part of its learning process.

And that’s when it hit me. 

This is one secret of mindful parenting. 

Too often we pluck our children out of danger. Too often we take away their opportunity to experience the textures and embellishments that life offers us upon the path less taken. Too often we “protect” our children and keep them from finding their edges so that they learn healthy boundaries, as well as that incredibly important skill of trusting their own capacities and skills.  Too often WE don’t trust our children’s capacities and skills.

Instead of plucking our children out of harm’s way, what if we provided them with the skills to navigate pain, joy, love and hurt, but then drew a large circle around them and stepped back to revel in their courageous journey to make sense of this crazy and fabulously textured world? 

What if we let them know that we trusted their abilities and skills, but if they ever ran into trouble, we’d be there to pluck them out of true harm’s way. What if part of raising our children was purposefully letting them feel pain, struggle and challenges in a controlled environment that allowed them to test their edges and establish their emotional, cognitive and physical boundaries, all while knowing that if things went bad, we’d be there to “pluck them out” of danger. 

I’m not arguing for us to toss our kids in the middle of an intersection to negotiate traffic. However, I am suggesting that we teach them how to climb trees safely then let them climb trees. That we teach them how to negotiate difficult emotions, then find their own resolutions to the fight on the school yard. And, that we remind them daily that we trust them and want to support them in trusting themselves.

This is what Bertie the worm taught me that day. It taught me that parenting is a journey, full of rich textures, beautiful embellishments and lots of risks! Bertie also reminded me that our job as parents is to teach our children about those amazing textures, those beautiful embellishments and those fabulous risks, but then take a few steps back to let our children explore their own edges and learn to trust themselves from an embodied, experiential process. 

I get that this sounds kooky. Hearing your therapist talk about their conversation with a worm might sound a little odd. However, the other lesson to this tale is that you never know who your teacher might be - a child, a mentor, or if you’re lucky, it might be a 3.5” earthworm, named Bertie, on a lovely little foot path outside Rochester, NY.