The familiarity of a pandemic

It's been six weeks since our family moved towards what we now call, quarantine life.
A month and a half, already.
That amount was shocking for the kids.

No friends at school.
No coffee chats with the ladies at work.
No commute.

I've been trying all week to come up with the words to explain how we've adjusted as a family. This new life of ours is all at once very, very different.

But also,
familiar.

I know that probably sounds wild, but over the last six weeks I've noticed that many of the feelings other people have expressed during this global pandemic, have been lived in our home before now.

Frustration.
Difficulty with blurred lines between work and home.

For many who now find themselves working from home while supporting the distance learning of their children, many days are ending in tears, arguments and a sense of helplessness. I sit very comfortably in this feeling, however, because I freelanced for nearly five years. Never once during that time did I have boundaries between home and career, often working with a baby on my lap. It was some of the most exhausting work I ever experienced, and while it is truly difficult, I feel well-prepared this time around, for the most part.

Fear.
Intense, debilitating fear.

We know this beast well. We looked cancer in the eye and genuinely wondered if it would take our daughter. Fear of loss and sickness continues to rear it's ugly head when triggered, especially right now. We continue to look it in the eye at a distance, as we meet new childhood cancer families and stand behind, but always part, of their support network. This one requires the strongest mindfulness techniques to combat, from my experience.

Anxious, debilitating worry.
Never-ended rumination about what could happen.

This is our life with anaphylaxis. We legitimately worry about dairy attacking our son the way many describe their ongoing concerns about COVID-19. It's stop-you-in-your-tracks worry, but it's literally our life, every day. It's not going away. And just as the world hopes for a cure, we pray for new therapy to reduce the life-threatening nature of a simple allergen. From experience, anxious thought requires open, honest communication to lessen the rumination.

Isolation.
Being alone and feeling unconnected to others.

Ah, this feeling was also prominent during Brooklyn's cancer journey. Whether it was isolation in a hospital room, or in our home, we felt incredibly detached from our usual community. At some points we stopped reaching out to others because we were just trying to survive. My guess is that this is a very normal feeling when dealing with life-changing health events.

Who knew that five years of freelancing, a cancer journey and living with food allergy, along with a conscious choice to buy less 'stuff' and slow down our family lifestyle, could have prepared us for a pandemic.

But it has.

And I find myself oddly comforted by these familiar feelings. I lean into this crazy, wild time and find myself thinking,
if we survived all of that, we'll get through this too.
And I believe we will.
All of us.

But that doesn't mean it's been easy.

We endured two weeks of very scary germs, in the last six weeks.
Said goodbye to our sweet old dog, Moses.
I have had near daily dreams about scarcity, forgetting important items and not knowing what to do.
I cry, a lot. In fact, every one of us cries pretty regularly.

I MISS HUGGING THE PEOPLE I LOVE.
This one deserves capitals. It's not enough to see their lovely faces, I am a hugger and miss the transfer of love that comes when family and friends embrace for a moment or two, to say they care.

This is an exceptionally difficult time to be alive.
But if I am right, it's one we will look back on someday and feel really proud about.

We're learning a lot about ourselves.
Other people.
Bad habits.
Things we really didn't need.
How the earth can heal.

How will the world awaken from this pandemic?
What will people never go back to doing?
Will people see how much 'stuff' they never needed?
What family values will change as a result of this time?
Will the earth finally receive the respect it deserves?
Will healthcare heroes continue to feel the love through long-lasting changes in the availability of PPE to keep them safe?
Will frontline workers finally get the living wages they deserve?
Will the world idolize the wealthy few less, and the collective community more?

I am so curious.
And optimistic.

And I hope you are, too.
Hang in there. Ride the waves. Anchor in self-care.

We can do this.

- B R E A T H E -

It's been a week.
A wild ride, a wavy sea of change.
A never-ending tale of discomfort.

I've felt everything from gratitude, love and hope,
to anxiety, panic and fear.

We've never done this before.
Or have we?

Something I did not anticipate was how old trauma would surface.

Flashbacks to a hospital room I couldn't leave.
Feeling cagey.
Terrified.

Isolated to ourselves.
Trying to keep things 'normal.'
Exhausted.

Right now is also an old memory engrained in my soul.
My mind racing back and forth.
Then.
Now.
Us.

- B R E A T H E -

Ground into the earth.
Feel the roots of my spirit protecting me.

- B R E A T H E -

Love myself and my family.
Hug and touch and cuddle and hold.

- B R E A T H E -

Pray.
Meditate.
Journal.
Every day.

- B R E A T H E -

We can survive this.

When we live in the moment, we breathe

"Mommy! You keep asking me if I feel ok and you are scaring me!"
Cue the tears.

I didn't think much of my words. I didn't think I was panicked, in fact I was pretty sure he was having a slight skin reaction due to cross contamination of dairy.

I was upset though.
My mind was racing... how the heck? Again? What am I doing wrong?

But I didn't suspect anaphylaxis. I wasn't pulling out the EpiPen.

My words scared him.
I scared my sweet little anaphylaxis warrior into a tummy ache.
(which of course worried me even more, as this can be another sign of an allergic reaction).

Sometimes, I forget to be in the moment. Be all in, right now.

This morning I was three stages ahead thinking - what did he touch? How am I failing him? I need to watch for worsening symptoms...

I was living in the future.

If I was living in the present moment, mindful and aware, I would have noticed that I was scaring him. That I asked too many times if he was ok. That he was becoming afraid. That he wasn't showing any signs of it getting worse.

This is the difference that mindfulness makes.

When we live in the past, our kids become weighed down by our own grief, trauma and depression.
When we live in the future, our kids feel our fear, anxious thoughts and trepidation.
Hard to admit, I know.

When we live in the moment, we breathe.

We notice the space between stimulus and reaction.
Formulate a response.
Breathe again.
Notice again.
Act calmly.

Mindfulness is a practice, one I take very seriously. But as you can tell, I am only a student. This practice is a way of life that is always teaching me to turn back to present moment awareness.

Simply noticing the now.

This morning I failed and felt horrible for upsetting my sweet boy.
He was totally, 100% fine.

But trust me, I'll dust myself off and keep trying.
Mindfulness just works like that.

xo

The waves are back

I am feeling really tired right now.
Deep down in my soul tired.
Hurts to sit, tired.
Depleted.

This exhaustion is not new to me.
I've lived with these waves a long while.
They are here, again.

It's written all over my face.
Engrained into my bones.
Weighted my spirit.
It's not going away.

It could be memories.
It might be winter's cold.
Maybe even the disease of busy.
Or perhaps a combination?

It doesn't matter why it's here.
I know what I have to do.

Breathe.
Find gratitude.
Love my people.
Accept help and hugs.
Repeat.

This is life, after all.
And sometimes we can only wait.
Let the tears fall as they may,
then keep floating along.

A little about love

I've been thinking about love, lately.
The way it holds my life together.

Love for my kids.
Husband.
Parents.
Family.
Friends.

Love is permission to fall apart.
And know someone is there to hold me.

Love allows me to finish short of my word.
And know all will be forgiven.

Love is being held in a space which says; nothing has to happen right now.
Nothing is perfect and that's ok.
It's ok.
I'm ok.

That's love.

Love is when my heart races with worry.
Love is nagging doubt that I've made the right decision.
Love is hope, when there's nothing else to hold on to.

Love is a state of being where there is warmth.
It's a safe place.
An honest one.

Love permits disagreement, but always with respect.
Love allows anger, but quickly finds forgiveness.
Love is exhausting, for all the right reasons.

I've found, as I've aged, that when I centre on love, I simply cannot go wrong.

Sometimes it's a longer journey.
Sometimes it hurts so much more.
But love, as my reason, my wrapping, my motivation, never leads to regret.

I've lost friends, on account of loving them so much my honest words hurt their feelings.
I've hurt my heart, following hope and forgiveness to a place where I was trampled on.
I've literally lost hours of my life worrying from a place of deep love for others.

But I can say for sure, it was my authentic self.
It was true, honest to goodness love that led my actions.

And so, I'll continue to show up.
Sometimes exhausted, battered and bruised.
Sometimes afraid of speaking the truth.

Because I know this for certain.
I am my most authentic self when my thoughts, words and actions come from my heart centre.
And I do not intend to change this instinct. Ever.

Know this about me;
If you choose to hold space for me, I will for you.
I'm probably already quietly praying for you.

If you need me, I will be there.
In times of great joy, my heart celebrates with you.
And in times of trouble, my heart aches, walking with you.
Even if you don't see me there.
I am.

Love, as I see it, is the single greatest, most honest way to honour the divinity that created me.

And this year, now this new decade, I will no longer feel shameful for sharing it with everyone, every cause, every thing out there in this great big hurting world that needs it.

Love.
Only love today.
Only love every day.
This is my pledge.

xo

Protecting their roots

This year is really stretching my parenting muscles, as my oldest is now eleven. I find it hard to navigate his lived experience with him, as childhood has amplified, as far as I can see.

Children are growing up faster.
Exposed to infinite amounts of knowledge much earlier than I ever was.
Technology is glued to their every day.

Kids are still making mistakes,
but now it's captured on cell phones.
Posted to social media.
Repeated when they don't learn from their mistakes.

Friendships aren't enough to satisfy.
Children yearn for followers.
Online gaming communities.
The social thumbs up.

It's an incredibly fast-paced world for little brains.
More often than not, it's too fast for mine.

And I think to myself,
if cell phone and social media streams can suck the life out of me some days,
bait me with nonsense and trolls,
leave me feeling more worried and angry than before I scrolled,
why on earth would I allow my son to navigate it, now?

Why would I permit 24/7 access to a world of overwhelm?
I've come to feel very strongly otherwise.
It's not yet time to plug in.

He needs family dinners.
Snuggles on the couch.
Time to read, play lego and shoot hoops in the driveway.
Teamwork and leadership at hockey.
Freedom to navigate the library.
Hours spent in nature.

He does not yet need to plug in to a hurting world.

Sample it, sure...

Let's discuss politics.
Trauma.
Death.
Cancer.

Let's explore ethics.
Injustice.
Addiction.
Homelessness.
Sexuality.

Let's learn about mindfulness.
Love.
Peace.
Religion.
Friendship.
Family.

But I've come to believe that my children deserve time to grow.
Engage their own experiences.
Observe life.
Explore.
Before plugging in.

I believe that my children have the right to explore their personal boundaries.
Find their own passions.
Think critically.
Learn.
Before plugging in.

I believe that my children need time to relax without technology.
Play without structure.
Worry less.
Love.
Before plugging in.

I want my son, and all my children, to feel grounded in themselves.
Content to be exactly who they are.
Able to observe the motives of others.
Free to make peaceful choices.
Connected to nature.
Full of faith.

I want them to grow roots in life's natural experience. 

So for now, they won't be plugging in.
There will be no cell phones.
No social media.
Only moderated gaming, tablet use and internet search.

They'll sample it all, absolutely.
We'll discuss, explore and learn.
But they will not plug in.
Not yet.

For now, I'm protecting their roots.

Riding the wave

My anxious thoughts are at an all-year high, right now. I've been riding a wave of some pretty intense feelings.

Anger.
Disappointment.
Exhaustion.
Fear.
Worry.
Sadness.
Grief.

I've been feeling as though I need to make some significant changes in my life. I feel like I am circling this place where I try hard to 'do what's right', it drains me, I get overwhelmed and burn out, then I do it all over again.

My husband mentioned I've slipped away from my meditation practice.
A friend noticed I worry and check in more on my friends than many do on me.
My mom said to stop the chatter in my brain, as best I can.

Noted.


Yet I am still here, wondering about the root of it all.
Why am I feeling so unsettled?

I reach for gratitude.
I have so much to be thankful for.

I lean on love.
My husband and family are 100% holding me up.

I pray.
For patience, peace and so much more.

Yet still, I struggle.
So badly right now, I am struggling.

I love very deeply.
I think very deeply.
I hurt very deeply.

Right now I am so deeply unsettled.

Sometimes, I've noticed, there is no answer.
Only the wave.
Perhaps time.
A return to self-care
Or even some serious sleep to settle me down.

Just know that if you are feeling this way, I am too.
And our mental health matters.
So keep riding the wave.
I'll do the same.

Calm will come soon.
xo