In mindfulness meditation classes I’ve noticed that there are two distinct groups of people. There are those that attend because they are interested in self-improvement and those that are there for self-care. Spoiler alert: those in the self-improvement camp tend to have a higher drop-out rate. Though self-improvement and self-care share some similar traits, making a distinction between the two can make a big difference when it comes to maintaining your mindfulness practice.

Self-improvement and self-care both assume that we have the power to create more health and happiness in our lives, but when we slow down to examine the motivation behind each, we find that they are distinct experiences. For example, my self-improvement voice says things like, “If you don’t meditate today, you’re a failure,” or “You should be better at meditation by now.” The emotional tone of these moments is one of striving. The underlying belief is that there is something wrong with me compared to others. The sneaky hope is that I won’t just be ‘good at mindfulness’, but that I will be outstanding, better than all the rest.

On the other hand, my self-care voice offers up things like, “My back is hurting and I’d like to do some gentle stretching,” or  “I’m feeling anxious and I’d like to take some deep breaths.” The emotional tone is caring and the belief is that I am worthy of having my needs met. The hope is that I will feel physically and emotionally well.

Of course we all want to be the best version of ourselves and the world of advertising knows this. There is a lot of money to be made from having us believe that we are deeply flawed. We are bombarded by messages telling us that happiness is always just out of reach, to be experienced after that next meditation retreat, fitness class or superfood feast.

I’d like to offer another perspective, one that has grown quite naturally out of siting and being with myself exactly as I am over the years. The best version of ourselves is the one we are experiencing right now. When we let go of our past and future imaginings, we realize that this present moment self is the only self that exists. It is the winner by default every time. This doesn’t mean that we never change, it just means we know that if nothing about us changes, we’re ok. As John Kabat-Zinn, the father of secular mindfulness said, “As long as you are breathing, there is more right with you than wrong with you, no matter what is wrong.”

Acknowledging our completeness in each moment also means we accept our needs rather than perceiving them as flaws that make us less than whole. Needs are a part of what make us human. They are a call to be our most fulfilled selves according to our own selves.

The more I practice mindfulness, the more I realize that meaningful change doesn’t come from trying to live by society’s values, but from cultivating an attitude of respect for the unique demands of my body, mind and heart. When we let go of trying to change ourselves and start taking care of ourselves, we find there is a place where we can just rest, a place where we are always enough. And there is no improving upon that.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the challenges we face when try to be more present in our daily tasks. What stops us from just being in the flow of experience? Everything from cleaning to biking to brushing our teeth has the potential to engage our curious present moment awareness, but we often encounter resistance as we attempt to interrupt thoughts of the past and future.  

My resistance usually shows up this way: there isn’t enough time. If I don’t focus on completing my to-do list then I will let down myself and the people that depend on me. Slowing down is a selfish luxury, something best enjoyed in an imaginary ‘later’.

However, there’s a phrase that’s changing the way I approach everything today. I’ve been repeating it to myself since I heard it this morning in Tara Brach’s talk, How Intention Frees Our Heart.

We have no time to rush.

This was the mantra adopted by a woman with cancer who had a four-year old daughter and one year to live. Thankfully, we don’t have to have a terminal illness to acknowledge that life is too short, too uncertain, to rush through all of our moments. Taking some time to imagine what we’ll value at the end of our lives, as that mother with cancer was forced to do, can clarify our intentions and help us to show up for ourselves more of the time. The sadness of impermanence can transform us if we let it.

This doesn’t mean that we abandon dirty dishes forever, or whatever your version of dirty dishes may be, but rather that we bring attention to the choices we have in each moment. We take the time to notice when circumstances can be changed. We also notice when the only thing that can be changed is our perspective. Then we consciously decide how we want to live in that moment.

In the case of dirty dishes, that may mean that instead of focusing on our worries while we wash, we stop to marvel at the fact that we have clean hot and cold water available to us instantly. We may notice that warm water on our hands is pleasurable and that the sight of a tidy kitchen brings us some peace. We may put on some music and dance the dirt away.

It might also mean that we notice that we’re really tired. In this case, we could stop to offer ourselves some compassion. Perhaps we can let those dishes soak while we enjoy a soak in the bath. The choice is ours and mindfully acknowledging that we do have choices in each and every moment can empower us. When I’m feeling overwhelmed by tasks and time, I often think of the following quotation from Victor Frankl.

“We who lived in concentration camps can remember the men who walked through the huts comforting others, giving away their last piece of bread. They may have been few in number, but they offer sufficient proof that everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms — to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.”

People may ask themselves what they would do if they had one more year or one more month to live, but I think it’s important to ask what you would want for yourself if these moments, right here and now, were your last. When we focus on moments, ever-changing circumstances become less significant and we have a chance to connect with our fundamental attitude towards ourselves and others.    

So how can we bring a sense of peace into our daily lives? How can we always have enough time? By regularly reminding ourselves that this time is the time. 

Recently a friend interviewed me for an article she was writing about the inner critic and it was fun to reflect on how the practices outlined in Dr. Kristin Neff’s book, Self-Compassion, had positively impacted my life. I answered her questions as honestly as I could, describing how I was increasingly aware of moments of self-judgment and wiling to offer myself kindness. However, in the following days I developed pneumonia (unbeknownst to me) and didn’t feel like meditating, teaching mindfulness or offering myself compassion.

As I dragged through each days’ tasks, I became less objectively aware of the critical voice in my head and instead began to adopt its judgment as my new mantra: “You’re failing. You’re failing. You’re failing.” All the challenges I was able to see in a balanced way when I was healthy suddenly seemed entirely my fault and completely insurmountable.

Just when I thought I understood self-compassion, new circumstances and information, this time in the form of a lung infection and a kindly stranger, rushed in to alter my understanding once again. So here I’d like to share a comment I made in that interview alongside a different perspective I gained in the throes of self-loathing that followed. 

Is being self-compassionate easier said than done? What are some barriers people face when trying to be self-compassionate?

“I’ve found Dr. Kristin Neff’s self-compassion exercises very easy to apply in my daily life and I am happier as a result of these practices. I think the biggest barrier to self-compassion is the belief that if we are nice to ourselves, we won’t ever accomplish anything. But Dr. Neff has proven that self-compassion is actually more effective at motivating us to pursue and achieve our goals.”

Shortly after I made this statement, there I was coughing and putting up a poster for an upcoming meditation workshop with the inner critic insisting that the entire undertaking was futile. Rather than stepping back and recognizing this as a voice of fear, in my weakened state I felt that judgment hardening into an opinion.

Then a squat, untidy, older man approached and began to read my poster.  “Ah, meditation. I’ve been meditating for 20 years,” he said smiling impishly. I wasn’t sure if he was being facetious, but I decided to take the bait. “Wow, that’s pretty amazing.” As I looked into his eyes, I realized that he was neither joking nor pestering, but quite likely to be a friendly person. “You know what the longest journey a person will ever make is?” he asked. I stared back at him blankly. “It’s the journey from here,” he said, gesturing to his head, “To here,” he continued, placing a hand over his heart. “And do you know what the hardest part of meditating is?” More blank staring from me. “It’s convincing yourself that you’re worth that journey.” He laughed heartily here, seeming to remember all the days when he really didn’t think that he was worth it.

I could blame the cold medication, but truth be told his words opened a floodgate of emotional relief and I was thankful to be wearing sunglasses. All the hardness of my harsh self-judgment softened in an instant. I don’t know what that statement meant to him, but here is what I heard: believe the kinder quieter voice that wants you to thrive on your own terms. Believe that this compassionate voice is always there, believe that it is right, and create the stillness it needs to be heard every single day. Or maybe he just meant that being self-compassionate can be really fucking difficult sometimes. Either way, I think he’s right.

Join me for the Mindful Self-Compassion Workshop this Sunday, October 29th from 10am-12pm. To register, email info@greenthoughts.ca

Mindful Eating: An Experiment in Joy

“Using mindfulness we will find that anything we bring our full attention to will begin to open up and reveal worlds we never suspected existed.” Jan Chozen Bays

I don’t know what I have survived on all summer, but the muffin tins have somehow ended up in my toddlers toy chest and the crock pot is dusty. However, all it took was a couple of cool autumn evenings for me to start fantasizing about cornbread and chili and eagerly preparing a feast of filling foods.

That familiar urge to eat rich, hot, homemade food as the fall chill sets in is what Jan Chozen Bays, Zen monk and author, would categorize as cellular hunger. While our lives and minds may feel as busy as ever, our bodies are connected to the seasons and our cells urge us to slow down, stay home and eat well to prepare for the winter. Cellular hunger is just one of seven (yes, 7!) types of hunger that the author describes in delicious detail in her book Mindful Eating.

As Chozen Bays emphasizes, mindful eating is not a diet plan or a quick fix. She writes, “Will you lose or gain weight if you bring mindfulness into cooking and eating? I don’t know. What you could lose is the weight of the mind’s unhappiness with eating and dissatisfaction with food. What you could gain are a simple joy with food and an easy pleasure in eating that are you birthrights as a human being.”

I have spent the past few months paying close attention to my hunger, trying to determine, as Chozen Bays suggests, what part of me is truly hungry at each meal. Is it my belly or is it something more? If I sit just a little bit longer with my hunger, I may notice that my belly is fine but my mouth is bored, craving texture and taste for entertainment. In truth though, what I find more often than not, is that it is my heart that’s hungry. Grilled cheese and a pickle on a stressful day are an enormous comfort that remind me of when I would stay home sick from school with mom.

By paying close attention to the type of hunger we are experiencing in a moment, we create an opportunity to respond thoughtfully to the complex demands of the body, mind and heart. I still eat that grilled cheese on a tough day, but I do so as a conscious act of self-compassion. I keep in mind how the sun, rain, insects, farmers, shop owners and especially my mom have all donated their energy to feed me and I feel nourished. I think about the very building blocks of my food; the carbon, hydrogen and iron and where they originated. Before each meal, Tich Naht Hanh states, “In this food I clearly see the presence of the entire universe supporting me.” It is this feeling of being embedded in a web of interconnection that gives me a lasting sense of being full. In those slow moments, I finally have enough.

If you’d like to learn more about Mindful Eating, you can join me this Sun., Sept. 24th from 4-5:30pm for the Mindful Eating Workshop in Roncesvalles. Email info@greenthoughts.ca to register!