I'm sitting in a cafe, tears streaming down my face.

I've just finished 'Tiny Beautiful Things: Advice on Love and Life from Someone Who's Been There' (Cheryl Strayed). It is a hauntingly beautiful and redemptive collection of advice 'columns' written in response to heartbreaking letters to 'Sugar', the author's pseudonym at The Rumpus.

My tears are for Brandon, the boy at the center of the response entitled 'Ten Angry Boys',... and for myself.

A mother with a chequered family history of her own writes asking for advice when she witnesses herself flying into uncontrollable rages at her two young children. Echoes of her past ring in her ears, despite her best efforts to craft a childhood experience worlds away from her own. She begins to despair that the change she hopes for will never eventuate and that she is doomed to become trapped in the generational cycle of pain.

In reply, Cheryl recalls her experience as a Teen Advocate, running Tuesday dinner nights for angry, 'at risk of expulsion' teen boys and their families. It is heart-rending and brilliant.

I am 'Helpless Mom' at times. So horrified by my failures to be the mother my children deserve. At risk of defining myself as the 'angry mum' or hey, even the 'Very Cranky Mummy'. Flying off the handle over something trivial and ludicrous. Except that at the time it seemed to hold crucial and exceptional importance.

And yet. If I allow myself to become defined by these failures, I become Brandon's mum instead. Believing that we are helpless to an irreversible fate simply pushes the story in that direction.

To another reader, Sugar writes: "The narratives we create in order to justify our actions and choices become in so many ways who we are. They are the things we say back to ourselves to explain our complicated lives".

"When it comes to our children, we do not have the luxury of despair. If we rise, they will rise with us every time, no matter how many times we’ve fallen before. I hope you will remember that the next time you fail. I hope I will too. Remembering that is the most important work as parents we can possibly do."

These words are now reverberating in my heart.

I really doubt that anyone feels qualified or prepared for this crazy, exhausting, beautiful, shattering, heart-melting, mind-bending role that is parenthood. I sure as hell do not. But we have to keep picking ourselves back up, dusting off the debris of failed decisions, and trying again... and again. The alternative is simply not an option.

"Parenting is serious business. It brings out the best and the worst in us. It demands that we confront our brightest and darkest selves." 

And when we do choose to participate in that confrontation, the beauty that is formed out of the shattering of the 'false' self is breathtaking... and so completely unexpected. 

A surprise package arrived in the mail this week.

It was a book called 'Finding Spiritual Whitespace: Awakening Your Soul to Rest' (by Bonnie Gray) that my friend Zoe had so thoughtfully had sent to me after reading of my 'spiritual awakening/breakdown' last month.

Through the haze and fog of self-rediscovery I'm starting to see a couple of strands pulling together into the promise of hope.

I stumbled upon a age-old monastic practice recently which involves a daily practice of naming your 'consolations' and 'desolations'. The idea is that at the end of the day, you examine your experiences and find those that gave you spiritual energy and life (consolations) and those that drained you and pulled you down (desolations). After a few weeks of engaging in this framing of a day, I'm starting to see more clearly the habits that I perpetually fall back on (frantically cleaning, doggedly multi-tasking, busily burying myself in to-do lists) are the soul-drainers that I am consistently identifying, and the choices that don't come so naturally (sitting down to watch the kids play, taking time in the garden, losing myself in 'The Eleventh Hour' with Eli) surprisingly keep cropping up in the 'energy-giving' column.

Reflecting upon my 'desolations' of the past few weeks, it became clear that the moments that suck the most life out of me and drive me to explode in anger or frustration, are the moments that I overreach out of my realistic capacity and struggle to juggle all the balls that I've thrown into the air at the same time. And then, after the failure to manage, comes the wave of shame and self-criticism. This morning it hit me that this defeating cycle is kind of like throwing a fistful of rocks into a bowl, grabbing the hand blender and lamenting the shortcomings of the appliance instead of realising that the task was completely outside the scope of the instrument's capabilities. Hopefully this moment of clarity will allow me to extend myself a little more grace when I end up letting a couple of the balls drop for a moment.

In the book, Bonnie Gray pleads with us to find ways of making rest a regular rhythm and to stop perpetuating the notion that stopping to pause is an optional extra. It is in these moments, the 'whitespace', that we find clarity, perspective, space to breathe, flashes of inspiration, focus, spiritual connection and relational riches. Only a few weeks ago I would have potentially scorned this  message, or glossed over it as applicable to other people, instead of allowing it to shoot into my soul as the truth that it is.

Now, I find myself gravitating to the hammock to watch the sunset after blowing kisses to the last child having tucked them into their cosy beds. I actually enjoy going to the cafe to read a book and journal by myself. I savoured the relaxing head massage prior to getting my hair cut this week and didn't let my mind drift to to-do lists or dinner preparations. With mango ice-cream and strawberries in hand, I interrupted Dave's PhD work, telling him to follow me out to the front lawn to sit in our cane chairs and enjoy the twilight together. I staved off the artificial urgency of dinner preparations (which usually hit around 4-4:30pm) setting up an intricate water slide construction for two excited little boys. Dave picked up some Espresso ice-cream on special last night and we shared it together on the hammock while reflecting on the richness of the day.

Inefficient lingering. It's not one of my natural strengths. My mind is always ploughing forward to the next task, the next plan, the next party.  Staying in the moment, watching the fire, staring into the sunset, savouring the last sip of coffee, standing next to someone without saying a word, lying on the grass and looking at the intricate wings of a ladybird.. all these things are gradually becoming 'the way' in my mind, gently pushing aside the task manager in me to make way for greater things.

It's as if my character DNA is (slowly) shifting, though it definitely helps that Dave is now on school holidays and the summer weather lends itself to lingering and being in the moment. But I'm trying to be more brave in my choices, to prioritise relationships, shrieks of laughter and just 'being' over mess, chaos, routines and naptimes. Hopefully, by the time the seasons shift and the house is solely my domain once more, I can carry over these lessons to the new year.

 

Last week, for the first time in our ten year marriage, I stormed out without letting Dave know where I was going.

It had been an emotional day, filled with misunderstandings and disappointments arising completely out of left field, though Sundays generally tend to be tough on our family, with all the tasks and to do lists that attach themselves to the running of a lunch gathering. I'd left Belgrave Heights early to get the kids to bed, though I'd dawdled due to the 'rediscovery of toys and playing nicely' phase that seems to coincide with returning to the house. By the time Dave arrived home, I'd only just put Ivy and Hudson to bed, and was about to send Eli to rest time.

To be honest, I don't even remember why it was such a big deal but the way it played out, I felt like Dave's strategy of attempting to make a deal with Eli completely undermined my arrangement with him that was already in place, and it just didn't end well. I leaned into the 'bad cop' persona as the warm and fuzzy option had already been taken, and Eli didn't want a bar of it. I felt redundant, betrayed, frustrated and helpless. So I grabbed my keys and journal and just left.

I'm really good at withdrawing into a sullen zone if I'm struggling to classify my reactions, but this was a new level of running away. In one way it kinda felt empowering as it was so completely out of character to do something so dramatic, but I did feel a little childish and guilty.

After an hour or so of journalling and pouring out all the hurt and frustration to a close friend, I felt ready to face the world of parenting again. Dave was pretty magnanimous about it all, texting me to spend more time away if I needed to, or to head out to Savers if I wanted. I sure wouldn't have been as generous if the roles were reversed... Later he admitted he was secretly impressed (in part) at my theatrical exit as it was somewhat unexpected.

It has been a whirlwind of sickness, paperwork, kinder information nights, school tours, paperwork, hospitality, health appointments and paperwork since we have been back. After the initial sickness died down, I did feel that we've hit a sort of equilibrium with the kids that seems like either the calm before a storm, or a new phase of developmental clarity in which each are moving forward and complementing each others' stage of being.

Eli has well and truly progressed to the insult phase now which was not entirely unexpected, but being called a 'mean mummy' every time something doesn't go his way is not super fun. Mostly I try and let it roll over me, but he has received a few lectures about how I'm actually a good mum who cares about how he turns out, but I suspect that not much is being retained if the steely eyed glare I receive in response is anything to go by.

The battle I do find more difficult is the 'I want DADDY to put me to bed' one, where either child can throw an epic tantrum if they find out it is Mummy's turn to go through the routine. Not so great for the self-esteem. I usually start off trying to see the humour in it, but after about five minutes of wailing I just get pissed off! Dave chides me for taking it personally, but it does hit hard, after we've usually spent a day filled with fun, craft, cooking and outside games together, suddenly I become the lousy second choice. I don't want to brush if off and pretend it doesn't hurt, but I don't want to be the dramatic wounded soul either. Still working on how to balance that one!

On a more positive note, I've been reading a book that keeps popping up in blog posts and books I've been reading: 'How to Talk So Kids Will Listen, and Listen So Kids Will Talk' by Adele Faber and Elaine Mazlish. Already, I've been practicing the lessons from the first chapter with good results. The main gist so far is that instead of denying the feelings that the child is presenting (anger, frustration, jealousy, hunger etc), you simply state what you think they are experiencing. I have noticed that I do a lot of the practices the book says to avoid, like lecturing them, giving advice, dismissing their feelings, trying to rationalise the situation, when really at the heart of it we all just need some empathy. It has defused a number of situations so far, though not so easy when I'M the one feeling angry or frustrated, usually at being completely ignored in my 'nice voice' the first five times I've said something.... Hmmm, maybe the next chapters will deal with that problem!

On the whole though, life is good. Despite the battles and misunderstandings, we have so much to be thankful for and excited about. We had a buzzing neighbourhood barbeque today and the turn out was so great, with face painting, live gypsy folk music by the Scrimshaw Four and loads of amazing meats and salads. I'm also very inspired to start a Cookbook Club based on this article I came across recently. So many things to learn, try, experience and savour...