Breathe.

By: Amanda Lynch

I awaken to the sound of stillness--birds chirping at my window sill. A flutter of sunshine quickly enters my peripheral eyesight, as I slowly open my eyes. I smile. I look to either side of me and notice that my youngest daughters, Hazy and Rosebud, have climbed into my bed, perhaps fleeing the darkness of their room. Perhaps in search of sanctuary? Perhaps they miss the days when they could leave the house? Perhaps they miss school? Their grandparents? Friends? I’ve tried to keep things as normal for them as I can under these very unusual circumstances. Filling our days with play-based learning, baking, long walks, and meditation. Are they worried? Stressed? Where are they holding this in their bodies? How will they remember these days? Are they even okay? Am I okay? What do I need from others today? What can I give?

These days we aren’t guided by the morning rush of carpooling to three different schools or the dread of alarm clocks. I don’t even know what time it is. I smile again. This rest feels like a longed for ministry. I slowly climb out of bed.

Feet pulsating against the coolness of my barren floors, my awareness shifts. What sensations am I experiencing? Where do I feel these sensations in my body? Am I feeling tension anywhere? The answer is “yes”, and I relax my jaw and shoulders. That’s better. I feel a chill against my arms and I make a mental note to check the weather and slip a sweater on before waking my oldest children. They each have virtual classes. My son, a Joffrey Ballet Trainee, is stretching on the floor in our den, and my daughter Ava is quietly finishing an Algebra lesson in her room. She looks frustrated and  I make a mental note to check-in after she emerges. If they are already up, it must be nearly nine o’clock. I resist the urge to panic.

I stop and take a deep breath. “Slow down and enjoy the freedom of flexibility”, I remind myself. Paramount to my self-care has been giving myself permission to be, to rest, and to release unnecessary expectations. 

Hearing the pitter-patter of little feet, I know my littles have awakened before I can check my calendar. I don’t even know what day it is. What do I have to do today? The days have all started to run together. I realize I have less than an hour before my mediation class starts. I text Ava and remind her to grab breakfast and to feed the dog. Next, I pull out cereal for the littles, and steal away to grab a few moments to ground myself. My youngest daughter protests, as she isn’t interested in cereal again. 

I stop and take a deep breath and give her permission to grab something else. 

“Flexibility”, I remind myself again. 

I silently scold myself for not setting my alarm and then I release that judgement. I imagine that I’ve placed it in a red balloon and I watch it fade away into the sunrise.  I still have time to catch my breath and to sip tea while watching two mourning doves leisurely rest against my bird feeder. I remind myself to make a note of their appearance in the field guide that rests on my nightstand. This global pause has allowed me to birdwatch, a hobby that I’d missed. Had I gotten up earlier, I wouldn’t have seen the doves. “We show up to the circle when we are meant to be there”, I hear Kay Pranis whisper to me. I smile. 

It’s time to lead members of a local recovery community in practice. I am thankful to recognize many of the students from the previous week. They are still here. They are still working their recovery. I thank them for their commitment to practice and remind them to “just keep showing up”. Innerwork is hard work and it takes a while for many of them to get settled. Mindfulness can be disruptive if you’ve experienced trauma, so I remind them to listen to their bodies and that everything is by invitation. I silently offer them the mantra, “May each of you be safe. May each of you be healthy. May each of you know that you are deeply loved.” I watch as they sink into the rhythm of practice.

Rosebud rushes in as I begin to offer loving kindness to those seated before me. I quickly mute my audio, breathe, and remind myself to be flexible. I’ve come to realize that this global pause is about balance and self-compassion, but I wonder if balance truly exists. I often feel that I am juggling glass balls in the air, but my family is one ball I can’t afford to drop. Rosebud is three and doesn’t understand boundaries and why should she? All she knows is she is home with her Mama, her safe space, and she wants my attention. I breathe and softly rock her to sleep in my lap and return to practice. For the remainder of class, she rests quietly against my chest. 

My awareness begins to shift in the stillness in the room. My thoughts flow into the margins of this experience. They pour into every unfilled space. I look at the students seated before me and I inhale hope and exhale fear. I am committed to offering these practices to marginalized communities and to those on the fringes of society. This week’s meditation is rooted in self-compassion and forgiveness for those who may have caused you harm. I remind them that all we truly have is this moment and to release anything that isn’t serving their practice and recovery. 

As the call ends, I begin to softly sing the Devi Prayer, while continuing to hold on to my precious daughter. 

It’s time for another Zoom call.

I breathe. 

As we move into another week of this global pause, let us be reminded to slow down and to offer grace to ourselves and others. We must simply keep showing up and offering love and kindness to others. We should remind ourselves to be flexible and to continue to allow our calmness to be contagious. Be flexible, take breaks and set boundaries. For me this time has been a privilege and not a consequence.