Today I went to a special two-hour hot yoga class. Not Bikram, but a vinyasa flow class in a hot room. It was awesome. Loved it. It was challenging. Humbling. Exhilarating. I was going to write this post about how I am content doing yoga DVDs at home casually—my “brown bag yoga”—how gratifying that is, etc. but being in this class kind of took it to another level.
I guess it was just a really good class (Jennifer at Mind the Mat). I’ve tried classes now and then, some were alright, others just bleh. Now, I want to find ways to go again—same studio, same instructor. It was just that good. She had the perfect pacing of challenge and rest. She incorporated partner assists that were actually really effective and not awkward. I did an assisted handstand! I never do handstands! I sweat my ass off. It was wonderful
I will still do my at-home practice, of course, because really I can go to a studio, at most, once a week. I really saw today, though, how complacent I’ve gotten just doing my DVDs. It is hard to focus in your own home. Your kid needs something. There’s dust under the TV cabinet. My laptop is right there. Do I have e-mail? I am re-committing to make more of an effort in my home practice, but I think this is the year that I will add real, live classes.
I’ve actually been doing yoga semi-consistently for a couple years now, and posted about it before in past blogs, below, but I can’t say I’ve progressed in my practice. So, in addition to “brown bagging it” I am going to enjoy feasting on classes with some regularity this year.
From July 2010
I came across an article in the NYT that showed a side of yoga I don’t really know. I mean, it’s not that hard for me to see that this side would be out there, that it would exist, but I guess it’s just not on my radar. It makes sense that anything people enjoy could also become a source for business and enterprise, but it’s just not what yoga means to me.
The article opens saying “There is so much going on in John Friend’s life right now that an assistant once teased him about waking just before dawn and calling to ask for coffee, only to be reminded that he, Friend, was in Quito, Munich or Seoul, while the assistant was back at home base in the Woodlands, a cushy suburb north of Houston.”
That’s funny. Too busy, too crazy, scattered. The exact opposite of what yoga is supposed to be. To me.
I do yoga in any old comfortable clothes, in my house, with a DVD, while my kids plays around me. It brings me peace. It gets my blood flowing. It cleanses me, centers me, balances me. I need this. Alot.
I don’t get the expensive classes, retreats and gear. Yoga is almost like brushing my teeth, but more special. Maybe it’s like a religion, too. People go on religious retreats, I guess. But, for me, it’s just a part of my day I really love that I need to use to keep me on track, mentally, physically and spiritually.
From March, 2010
I came across a post on Slate’s Double X blog the other day that was a great intersection of some of my most keen interests—work-life balance, feminism and yoga! The headline was “Yoga Mats Won’t Solve Your Stress Issues” and the HTML title to the web page was “Buying things won’t keep you from stressing out”; both intriguing titles that may misrepresent the point the poster was trying to make, but that play nicely into a point I would make.
First, about the post: It springboards from a recent New York Times Magazine piece, “Depression’s Upside,” arguing that the contemporary norm of alleviating the discomfort of depression through drugs short-cuts the important problem-solving process we need to go through to attack why we’re sad. The post asks “Could the same be said about stress?” And points to an article in Feminism & Psychology that makes a similar case—that efforts to stamp out women’s stress ignores the very real problems that are stressing us out, namely working for a living while running a household. What’s more, when mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy, so women’s stress also can have deleterious effects on the kids and husbands in our lives.
Double X’s post says “She’s got to remain calm at all costs. Thus, responsible women are on a perpetual quest for so-called ‘balance,’ which, of course, is impossible to achieve.” And, according to the Fem/Psych piece, society is telling women they can resolve work-family tensions by fixing themselves. “As long as women are increasingly helped to view stress—and their own emotional reactions to it—as the enemy to be vanquished, possibilities for widespread social critique and social action will be effaced.” Double X says, “Women see their stress as a personal problem and not a structural one, such as lack of family friendly workplace policies or affordable housing… it would be nice if the few things that busy women did for themselves [to relieve their stress] weren’t regarded as a new category of ‘work.’”
Now, I agree that women, working moms in particular, are stressed. Who could deny that? Recent pieces/blogs in the Washington Post and New York Times dealt with this, and I became fully absorbed in them, almost like watching a horror movie, reading about these tales of endless days, endless chores and no light at the end of the tunnel. A big feature in the Washington Post magazine really delved into the harried lives of working moms, with one woman’s personal account of where her time goes. Especially troubling was the Washington Post piece talking about how some people actually lose money by working, by the time they are done paying for childcare. Ouch! Thing is, I am one of the lucky ones, as I am not particularly stressed, anymore.
How did I become un-stressed? I have to credit yoga. It could be something else, too, but I do think yoga has so much to do with it and its the biggest, most clear change I’ve made. Ever since January of this year, I’ve been doing about a half hour of yoga 5-6 mornings a week (basically just skipping the day I go running for 2-3 hours, because I just feel too selfish doing all that). It makes alot of difference in my mood. You may remember, I had some rough times with stress previously then finally recognized that things were getting really bad late last year (although I approached that post mostly with good humor). I started out doing yoga as a tool for my weight loss efforts because I thought that doing something to focus my mind and my intentions for the day before mindlessly stuffing random food into my mouth for breakfast would help me make better food choices. Also, it would be a way to start the day with at least a little exercise that would be OK if it was interrupted by my small child (unlike cardio and such, where you need to keep your heart rate up, etc.) And, maybe, just maybe by kid would join with me in some of the poses or at least the spirit of it, and it would be a togetherness thing. It all worked out just like I hoped.
Of course, my child sometimes interrupts me when I’m doing yoga, but as a general rule, I don’t stop what I’m doing unless it’s an emergency or it’s during a transitional pose or something really quick. I do talk to her, if she talks to me, responding to her chatter and such, but it’s all very pleasant and I still feel that I reap the benefits of doing yoga. I still am moving my body in a deliberate, yet flowing, way, that stretches me physically, emotionally and mentally and makes me feel so good. I still am paying attention to my breath. I still know I am doing something with a centuries-old, sacred tradition and that if I am going to be mean or bitchy or petty that that is dishonoring this tradition. The tradition of yoga reminds me, with its opening and closing greeting or wish “namaste” that I am part of the universe and all of the universe is within me, and so I better be nice and not hate because what I am hating is in me, too. But I don’t think of all this consciously at the surface, it’s just kind of there, deep within. And no, I am not perfect. I still lose my temper with my kid sometimes and I still bitch at my husband, but I do it much less and I feel I am on a gentle ramp up to more peace and acceptance as each day goes along.
It took me a long time to like yoga. I tried it many times in various forms and it never really took completely til recently. I think its because this was when my life needed it most, and, because I found a really good, capsulized routine that worked for me. I had the DVD for a few years and tried it now and then, but only recently did it click. For me, it’s the perfect routine because it’s simple enough for me to lose myself in the breaths and the flow, but it’s athletic enough for me to actually feel things and the poses aren’t held too long to the point of boredom or discomfort. That, and the fact that it’s only about 40 minutes, and there are decent breaks in the flow at 20 minutes, 25 minutes and 30 and 35 minutes, if you have less time. The DVD is the Crunch Perfect Yoga Workout and I do the “Fat Burning” one. Seriously. I love it.
Doing something specific for yourself that takes you out of your usual mode and that you know if good for you can do wonders for your attitude and can give you alot of hope. For me, this is yoga. For someone who doesn’t run already, it could be running. (I already ran and so I needed something else, and something with a more spiritual side, although I can find alot of peace in running, too.) I would argue that every person, no matter how busy, can find a half hour a day if they want to.
As to the idea that yoga or other earnest forms of stress-relief are just a band-aid and don’t solve the real social problems that are at the core of why women are so stressed, I’d say that you still have to make it through the day. And frankly, when I dwell too much on the large problems of the world, that gets me down and I feel helpless. Let’s face it, some of these things are just too big, too complicated, and we have to make it through the day and try to do it with some joy and grace, right? We do need to take care of ourselves first, and at the same time we need to be tuned in to the fact that if we are, honestly, stressed out all the time, that it’s just not sustainable. I do believe in working toward bigger social goals that we may be interested in, like gentler workplace policies (for all people, not just families, everyone needs work-life balance) but in the mean time, we do need to take care of ourselves. And, perhaps dropping out a little from the rat race, whenever and wherever possible, instead of this madness of always striving for more and keeping up with the Joneses, is a way of passive resistance that can, over time, effect social change. Maybe doing yoga or participating in some other kind of mindful practice that has nothing to do with paying the bills or keeping up in society would provide the mental cleanse women needed to empower themselves further. Just think, if all these stressed out working moms just said NO, all at once, to being over-extended, what would happen?
Full disclosure: To many, I may not qualify as a woman who would be stressed out, so my reflections may be discounted. On the other hand, my situation may also be viewed as an example of what might be, if one so chose. I do not work full time outside the home at this point in my life. I have a pre-school age child and I work part-time from home. I do not outsource childcare, but she does attend a low-key neighborhood preschool 8 hours a week. I work on average 15 hours a week, sometimes up to 20. For this, I recognize, I am pretty lucky. At the same time, I worked to set the situation up, and, we live a little differently than some peers who have two full-time incomes. On the other hand, in this economy, we are also better off than many who are scrambling to get by on two full-time incomes. It’s not for me to solve all the complicated issues at play in the world, just for me to do the best I can within my own framework and approach others with compassion and understanding.
Life is (still) good
Wednesday, January 18th, 2012I often think to myself how good I have it. I am so over the blog posts and feature articles about how hard parenting is. Yes, I have my grumpy days, but most days I really do think, “Damn! Am I lucky!” This “Don’t Carpe Diem” one was really popular recently, and while I get it, it really didn’t resonate with me as much as it annoyed me. I kind of actually do carpe diem (to use her parlance), and while at the end she gets to the point that we should pay attention to the good things and be grateful, and offers some lovely examples, I really don’t buy the “parenting is like climbing Mt. Everest” analogy. Really? Something like 1500 people in all of history so far have climbed Mt. Everest. Billions of people have had children. In the comments to the Carpe Diem post, there were actually people saying that if you don’t think it’s hard, you’re doing it wrong! I don’t think people should feel bad about themselves or feel guilt if they have a bad day—or week. But, I think people need some perspective.
I just saw another one today—14 Reasons Why Being A Stay At Home Person Sucks. And then there’s the pissing contest about who’s got it harder, working moms or stay-at-home-moms. What an odd thing to want to argue—I’ve got it harder than you! Well, I’m here to say that I love my life—sure it probably is easier than many people’s, but “the complainers’” lives are also probably easier than most of the world’s population, and people throughout history as well. And I am so grateful.
I am hesitant to post this because in some ways, in the “mommyblogosphere” it actually seems subversive to be happy, without qualifications, about your life and your kid. People will think you’re bragging, or maybe just misery loves company more than someone saying how wonderful things are when another person may not be feeling so wonderful. But, I think it’s important to talk about when we’re happy, too. I think the “parenting is so hard” meme has just gone way too far.
I would challenge the Don’t Carpe Diem types to actually, yes, try to savor the moments, even the “screaming Target” ones (I seriously don’t understand how asleep at the wheel one has to be to find themselves in a situation where their kid has taken merchandise off the shelf or opened food in the store unbeknownst to them, and I don’t get the tantrums in stores thing, but I digress, maybe those anecdotes are for effect). But savor those, too, yes, do try. Much has been written about mindfulness and how it actually alleviates stress and makes people happier (Google it). Counting the minutes til your day ends? On a regular basis? Something is wrong with how you manage your days.
I remembered in the back of my head a post I’d written before, generally on this topic, though I didn’t remember it being quite so far back in time—actually when my kid was in the supposedly “terrible” twos! It’s heartening to know that more than two years later, I still feel the same. Maybe the good times can last! My post doesn’t even touch on comparisons between the average American mom and those in Africa who have to walk 5 miles to get water or something. Doesn’t even touch on the blessing of having healthy kids (as most of us do) versus a kid in the cancer ward (imagery my dad, who works in a hospital, was quick to invoke when we were discussing the relative hardness of parenting). My post is about much lighter things than those.
I was discussing this with my mom the other day. How happy my life is now, these golden years of long days (but for me, seriously not long enough) at home with my young child. I worry about the transition out of these days. I often envision my mom with me, back in the 70s, before my siblings came along, just us. Long days. Baking. Playgrounds. Doing art. Reading. A young, young mother just in her early 20s. I envision idyllic days for her. But, they had less money than we have now, and presumably more worries (?) She didn’t have the internet (for better or for worse). And, she was so young. I asked her if she had any fears or anxiety in her time about what would happen someday if X, Y or Z happened—because the flipside of gratitude can often be anxiety about losing what you’ve got. At least for me, if I don’t keep it in check. She told me she used to think, “OK, what is the worst that could happen?” And, she told me, she saw those “worst things” actually happen (including the death of a child). She observed that all these things happened, and, there she was, surviving. And there she was that day on the phone with me, dropping some serious knowledge on her daughter. Maybe she ought to have a blog.
Anyway, here is my old post:
From October, 2009
Reading The Women’s Room, fiction from 1977 that paints a really ugly picture of women’s lives in the 50s and 60s, I am struck with what a very easy and pleasant life I have. My mom suggested we read the book; one of her friends is reading it for a book group. So far, so good, if not a little much. Nobody’s happy. I suppose there are moments of happiness, or at least of relief, but overall, the women seem so unfulfilled, oppressed, and, well, sad. In addition to this novel feeding my obsession for mid 2oth century American socio-realist entertainment, I have become a big fan of the popular Mad Men series, watching every new episode and catching up on the old ones on DVD. The women of Mad Men do a little better than those in The Women’s Room, but there’s still much to bristle at.
I want to know, was it really like this? My mom was a hippie artist type in the 70s, married to my dad, a long-haired herb toking guitar god who worshipped her as his “primordial woman,” while making the modest living a non-college grad with smarts and a work ethic could still make back then. So this stuff was actually before her time. She told me she didn’t think it was quite like this for all women, reminiscing about her own mother, who would’ve been living this life during the period covered in the book, and thinking of her own mother-in-law. Both worked outside the home (one in a canning factory—sad, monotonous labor—the other as a milliner and in retail—something she liked) neither were sexually repressed (as far as we can tell), and both had nice husbands—my grandpas. My mom said she thought maybe it was a New England upper middle class thing, these tortured women. She said our lowly Eastern European immigrant people in the working classes in the city were different. Our people simply didn’t have time for the ennui. They were too busy getting by. I don’t know, but, boy is life different for me now than what’s described in The Women’s Room and what I see on Mad Men.
I live like a queen.
I don’t have to keep a particularly sparkling clean home. Although I keep it orderly, basically clean, and bug-free, my husband doesn’t really have any expectations of me in this area. Or, maybe I just haven’t tested him, but why would I want to? I have a certain standard for my own surroundings, of course. I get to go to the gym, go shopping (I’m not a big shopper, so by this, I mainly mean grocery or house supply shopping or toys), hang out with my adorable one girl child. It’s a dream! I also get to work a little bit, earn some money, stimulate my brain and interact with serious adults just enough to keep myself “sharp” with a foot into the door of the “real world.” We’re not wealthy, but I don’t worry about money when I go on myfrequent stops to Whole Foods for a snack, Starbucks for a smoothie for my girl and a coffee for me, Walgreens for some fresh Play Doh or new markers, Macy’s for an occasional Clinique treat for myself, or books, books, books from Amazon. (I swear, this post is not a commercial and I am not being paid by any of these companies!) Oh, and my husband is not selfish or brutish in the bedroom, either, although he can be a little bit messy in other rooms of the house. He’s just a normal guy and my best friend.
Women back then were expected to keep a spotless home (or so it seems) and had fewer modern technologies to help them do so. The “exotic” foods that light up my days (sushi, kombucha tea, chips and salsa, dark chocolates, microbrews) weren’t readily available. I mean, in Mad Men, even cosmopolitan Don Draper admits he’s never had Mexican food! Most women had more than one child, increasing the work load and decreasing the magic significantly, in my opinion (but that’s fodder for a whole other post, and purely a matter of individual choice). Women didn’t get to choose whether to get pregnant, at least not as easily as we do today, with so many birth control options available to us on one hand, and fertility help on the other. Women didn’t get to choose whether they were going to work or not, what they would do for work, or when, either.
I realize that even today many women don’t have that choice about work. Some need to and don’t want to. Others want to and can’t get it. And then there are the very lucky ones, like me, who have the rarefied experience of doing just enough satisfying work, on their own terms, and I get to do this while enjoying the cool experience of raising a “perfect” (wink wink) daughter in her early pre-school years from the comfort of home.
I gush about my girl because she is so gorgeous, so smart and so good. She is a genuine pleasure to be around. I actually enjoy hanging out with her, going to the coffee shop, doing art at home, going on outings to farms, playgrounds, museums and such—just us. Sometimes I think a mom who really likes her child is rare, too (from some of what I read online), and I don’t know whether that’s just them or their lousy circumstances that detract from the pleasures of parenting. (Or maybe complaining makes for more of a sense of camaraderie? Or website hits?)
Anyway, so often I find myself thinking how good I have it and that maybe it’s not so common to have it so good. Other times, I do get into minor slumps, feeling a little bit of that spoiled, suburban ennui that seems so shameful. I get testy with my husband, thinking he doesn’t help enough around the house or something. But, when I look at the whole picture of the world around me, and history falling off behind me, I am struck by what a glorious time in my life these years are, spent basically just chilling out and enjoying life with my small child at home.
Someday, I will have to either go back to work for someone else or build my business with more intensity. My girl will get older and will want friends other than me. Maybe the fact that these golden years of my daughter’s babyhood are but a short stage of my whole life adds to their fun and beauty, and tolerability—knowing I don’t have to stay home, forever, with a gaggle of children and do housework, the lifestyle that seemed to ruin so many women back in the day. (But, maybe I would even have liked that, who knows? I could see finding happiness in that.)
Everything changes. And, I do worry, just for a minute here and there, about what if this all got taken away from me. What if I lost my contract or my husband lost his job? Things would be harder. We’d be OK, but the ease of it all would vanish and I’d have to readjust a few things, for sure. I don’t even venture into the territory of worrying about if something happened to my child. That’s too scary.
I’m sure I will find plenty of happiness in my future, but damn, are things great for me now, and I just want to be able to look back and remember it in this post.
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