Give Yourself a Gift for Mother's Day

"We do not believe in ourselves until someone reveals that deep inside us something is valuable, worth listening to, worthy of our trust, sacred to our touch. Once we believe in ourselves we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight or any experience that reveals the human spirit."  - ee cummings 

What does every mother long for, deep in her heart?

Speaking for myself, I can say that when my kids were little I longed for a weekend morning to sleep in and not have the kids come and wake me up at 6:30 am. I longed for time alone to think my own thoughts, and once I hit menopause the need to get away and was even stronger.

I did give myself permission to get away on retreats and writing workshops for weekends, and once even for a whole week. But more importantly, I began to make time during the week for little moments of reflecting time, journaling or yoga or just listening to quiet inspiring music to soothe my woman's soul.

Once I learned about SoulCollage(R), I began to integrate making card collages and images into my retreat time. These days it's usually a Monday or Friday morning, when I can push aside the emails, phone calls, house errands and laundry to just sit and breathe quietly while I write in my journal or make a collage.

Why do I do this? 

My woman's soul is fed by solitude, quiet, and creative journaling, as well as writing down my dreams. I am a very social person with lots of friends and a busy schedule, but once a week, I need to have my time alone, to focus just on me. Sometimes my daily journal only gets a ten minute jot down, but during these mini-retreats I just let myself go and write for longer, or colour in my art journal, making doodles and expressing how I feel today.

This is what today's doodles look like. How I feel, and then How I want to feel.

It feeds my soul, and soothes my agitated mind. It encourages a dialogue between my left and right brain, it helps me understand what I'm feeling. I often find solutions to questions and quandaries I have by the time I've finished writing or drawing.

So for Mother's Day, give yourself a gift - create a time and space for your woman's heart and soul to be nourished. 

And if you need help with journaling exercises, there are some great books out there - 

Sark has juicy creative stuff at http://planetsark.com/buy-stuff/sark-books/succulent-wild-woman/, 

Jennifer Louden has published several books with retreat exercises for women http://jenniferlouden.com/products/books/ 

and there's some great journaling questions for women at mid-life in my own book, The Tao of Turning Fifty, What Every Woman in Her Forties Needs to Know (free excerpt at www.jenniferboire.com), order on-line.

Happy Mother's Day!

Musemother

ps check out The Tao of Turning Fifty's page on Facebook

https://www.facebook.com/TheTaoOfTurningFifty?ref=hl

Women, Solitude and Creativity

The challenge most women face, if they are creative, is that they are never alone or uninterrupted, with all the space and time they need to nurture their inner world. Without an office to get away to, or a room of their own, as Virginia Woolf put it, their imaginations are simmering on standby or put on hold, inaccessible until the precious solitude is found, or appear only in short intense bursts that quickly fade at the sound of a crying child, a teen yelling “Mom, I have no clean underwear”, or the constant demands of daily work, or elderly care.

We are the nurturers, but we also need to nurture our creative spirit or we wither and die, at least those of us who seek creative expression – whether through words, dance, music, art or painting. We need to brood and breed our art in silence and Solitude, for the most Part. (I know some writers who work in busy cafes, and that is their form of solitude in the middle of the city). I know I need this, and feel myself getting cranky without knowing why sometimes, until I realize I haven't had enough alone time to write and think in.

Where is your private sanctuary or quiet place to create? Can you recall a special moment of solitude, either in the Redwoods, on a lake at a cottage, in your music practice space, or on retreat – even in your garden shed? That place where creative flow happens, where you get in touch with your life's peak experiences and let them have voice, where you lose track of time, experience the bliss of the timeless.

In reading Write from The Heart, by Hal Zina Bennett, I found the following exercise for creating an imaginary space, an inner sanctuary: if you don’t have one already,you can  imagine one now. Use all the sensory clues you can: the colours, smells, touch (textures), temperature, sounds, and mood of this space. Fully imagine yourself in the scene and write the description. Then find someone to read it to out loud to, so you can hear your own voice and gage the response from your reader. Bennett says it’s important and completes the writing to read it out loud.

Today, in front of my desk is a quiet foggy lake. I woke up this morning to a completely grey landscape, fogged in. Only the warble of red winged blackbirds and early bird robins gave a sign of living beings. Now the fog has drifted off, sky still grey. Swallows perched on a tree near the water, oversee the grackles  pecking the grass looking for seeds. One black crow soars from the oak tree to the yard with a worm in its mouth. 

I spent some time writing this morning in my journal, pecking at thoughts and memories like those birds, looking for seeds or worms. May you give yourself permission to create a space for solitude and get back in touch with  your favourite mode of creative expression. You deserve it.

Namaste

Musemother

Journey into Presence

The journey to the centre of the universe is not 20,000 leagues under the sea, nor is it 50,000 miles to the moon.

The greatest journey is the one where we travel through our own inner landscape. Nelle Morton says, "the journey is not much a journey ahead, or a journey into space, but a journey into presence. The farthest place on earth is the journey into the presence of the nearest person to you."

I would add that sometimes the farthest journey is the journey into our own presence.  We are often fragmented, our attention scattered in this fast-paced culture where distractions abound, pulling us outwards.  Every sense is stimulated and hyperstimulated in the quest for the 'best', the best food, the best house, the best job, the best movie, the best book.  We are urged to pack the most into the least amount of time, whether we are rushing to read our emails, our blackberries, our laptop, the TV, radio commecials...we are bombarded from without.

The journey into presence implies being in stillness, finding our ground, our root, sitting with the question, letting the answers come from within.  

I am very pleased to be offering a day-long retreat on Sunday Jan 31, in Hudson, called Journey into Presence.  It's my favourite thing to do for myself, take some quiet time to unplug from the outside world, play some soothing music, light a candle and write in my journal.  


I invite anyone in the Montreal area reading this blog to send me an email for more information.

nameste,
jenn

Solitude

Reading May Sarton's Journal of a Solitude, I am realizing how peaceful the house is when Caitie is out (she is newly returned from Italy and a cooking class), and Julien is out (away in Europe too, for 3 weeks with his backpacking buddies), and Jacques is at work.....

We spent a lovely week on vacation together, at home, not going anywhere special, at least during the day. Filling our evenings with suppers with friends, a singalong with chorus friends, an evening out at the Just for Laughs gala with his office partners, afternoon wine with friends, and supper at a golf course restaurant with J's parents. It was not 'that' quiet, since for me it was a very social week.

So back to the peace and quiet of the house alone.

And how the mind gets silted up when there is no silence in which to turn over the thoughts, impressions, people we meet, things that occur. There is a need in some of us to capture it in writing, to examine and behold a thing, even if it's a cloud at sunset, from all angles.

Nourishment for the soul, being alone during the day and having the space to do the homely tasks, water the plants, feed the cats, walk the dog, wash sheets, and yet also do the reading and writing and reflecting that are so needed too, like water or food.

Speaking of food, the least favourite activity of mine is preparing food for myself. I have a quick toast with something on it and coffee in the morning, and often reheat a frozen Indian meal for lunch - it's got the protein, carbs and vegetables all there in one plate. Taking time to prepare a meal during the 'work' hours is too intrusive.

So, although I am not living alone or in total solitude, I have the luxury of my days with the computer, with my blog, or diary, with my books to read and thoughts to think. Of course, I don't allow myself recreational books or fiction, during 'office hours' - except for last week, while on a home vacation, I got two historical fiction books read by Sarah Dunant. The Birth of Venus and IN the company of the Courtesan, set in Florence and Venice respectively, in the 16th century, and both full of great story lines and fascinating details about the period.

I have not written every day in my journal, and am only writing once a week on the blog, but since I am doing more reading the thirst for writing is returning, and I have done some revising of stories - which I realize I've kept in draft form on the computer for years without editing or attempting to send out anywhere.

Perhaps there is a short story writer slumbering in me.....given more solitude, it may just awaken.

Solitude is the water, the nourishment, the balm and lotion needed for a writer, to soothe and provide the space to work in.

have a great summer day,
musemother

Mothering, writing, solitude

notes from my journal about busyness, writing and mothering:

'I am missing the solitude of my journal, reading a book of short stories (Bang Crunch) woke that up in me, the need for self-expression or a quiet self-reflective mode - I am not obligated to write for anyone or anything but to recover lost parts of me - the urge to flaunt convention, to leap up in the face of tyrannical duty-bound daily life and its obstinancies of order. Truly, I tell myself lately, you must let go of the house-tasks, let go of cooking (alternately I berate myself for being lazy and not experimenting with new recipes). There is a battle within between the housemother who organizes and the artist who rebells, as if I can't decide which one I am.

But that black or white either-or thinking, is false, fatalistic, not creative - I am both and neither. I am all sides of myself, mother, writer, creative spirit, and I do not need to neglect either one - just satisfy the call right now for less 'outer activity' and more writing.

It is a sincere desire to create, not to escape household duties. but the frame or grid I put myself in leaves no time for 'being lazy' or loafing creatively. Thyroid issues are all about time, according to my dictionnaire des malaises et maladies, and so I imagine that my body mind soul are struggling with the same issues - what I tell myself becomes a reality. so I tell myself that time is elastic and stretches into whatever container I need to buoy me through the day. Being rigid about time allows it to pick me up and grind me in the teeth of agendas, appointments (did I really need a manicure today?) and then spit me out in pieces.

Pieces I have struggled to keep together may fall apart. I am a hostess with a unique style, not hyper orgnaized in advance (nor was my caterer for the prom cocktail, l hour late!). Being better organized reduces stress, so yes, we will improve.

I am juggling - or I am letting go of juggling all these balls - caitie julien jacques molly oreo zoe - am impatient when their needs pile on me - when is it time for me? Another typroid message. Ok I get it. I must create boundaries, limits, practise saying no, and getting down to the work at hand. Just do it! says my zena mooon candle on the desk - better to do something imperfectly than to do nothing flawlessly. (Robert Schuller)

Poet May Sarton in her Journal of a Solitude quotes a letter from a woman, who is complaining of something similar: "Can one be within the framework of a marriage do you think? I envy your solitude with all my heart and your courage to live as you must."

Then Sarton continues, "It is not irresponsible women who ask that question, but often women with children, caring women, who feel deeply frustrated and lost, who feel they are missing their 'real lives' all the time. Has this always been true and only now are we able to admit it? and what is the solution? It is partly no doubt, as women's lib has insisted, that it is time the warm nurturing powers, usually taken for granted in women, now be called out of men in equal measure. Roles should no longer be assigned on the basis of sex or of any preconceived idea of marriage, but should grow organically from the specific needs of two human beings and their capacities and gifts....no partner in a love relationship (whether homo or heterosexual) shoud feel that he has to give up an essential part of himself to make it viable.

But the fact is that men still do rather consistently undervalue or devalue women's powers . ... and women, no doubt, equally devalue their own powers. But there is something wrong when solitude such as mine can be envied by a happily married woman with children. "

Happily married and still craving solitude, I have just had my first day totally alone, with only the dog and 2 cats, in a long time. Caitie has flown away to Italy, J & J are fishing till tomorrow, and the silent lake flows under a pewter sky.....

jenn

Gift of Solitude

Hope your mother's day weekend was pleasant, restful and socially full - can all those go together? it depends who is doing the cooking I guess, and the numbers of extended family that descend on you.

Our brunch was somewhere else, with Chinese food ordered in, with both my mother and my mother-in-law attending, as well as 16 other family members. So it was fun, sociable, and exhausting - only because the night before my daughter had her last dance show and invited 30 of her fellow-dancers in the graduating class to come and celebrate at midnight! Needless to say, our sleep was cut short a bit.

This morning, while sitting at the osteopath's office waiting for Caitie's appointment to be over, I read A Gift from the Sea by Anne Morrow Lindbergh. I have seen this book quoted, seen the book title on other blog lists, but can't believe I haven't read it before now.

It is exactly the book I would love to write - on the importance of solitude and alone time for women to find themselves, to nurture their souls, and not only once a year on vacation or retreat, but every week, and even every day.

We give and give outwards, and need to spiral back inwards, like the shells Lindbergh picks up on the beach and uses as metaphors for the stages of a woman's life. How easily she writes! And she writes from experience, having had five children, a busy home life, and authored several books.

It's not only artists or monks who need and appreciate solitude. But it is a foreign topic to most of us, who fill our days with radio, TV, newspapers and 'busy-ness'. We are perhaps afraid to be alone, to be silent. Since our young childhood we are taught how to occupy ourselves, how to be sociable, and the worst punishment is to be sent to your room, alone, cut off from the world.

Yet I feel as Lindbergh does, that our nourishment comes from within, from our own thoughts and reflections, from the time we use to center-down, as the Quaker's say.

Here's to centering within, in the midst of your day. Take a minute to look out the window, refresh your gaze, let your mind wander. Daydream a little, or watch the clouds, and see if this little break for your mind can replenish the well.

If you have a chance to plan for a half-day retreat somewhere, or even a daily walk in the woods, make that a priority on this lovely spring day.

nameste,
Jenn

Flu forces surrender

Careful what you ask for, that's what I say, after a week in bed with the flu, chills, fever, coughing, weakness, aching lungs, and all that fun stuff.

I had been feeling like I needed to surrender the reins for a while, give in to the Universe and its guidance instead of worrying about the future all the time. I remember writing in my journal that I was ready to accept what the fates decree, trust that even if I didn't know what lay ahead, I surrendered needing to know.

My heart wanted to lead the dance, I said, and I would follow any insight from within. I even thought I needed softening.

Well, that prayer was answered. The flu has a way of forcing you to surrender the battle, give up the illusion that you can control your life. One has to give in, lay low and wait for the the germs to give way.

I lay in bed a lot, and rested. I managed to read almost a whole book, in French no less. Gabrielle by Marie Thiverge (sic). And I let my husband do the suppers and drive kids to appointments and feed the cats and dogs. I didn't have the strength to battle with my teenaged daughter over her outings. When the fever slays you, you have to ask for help from those loved ones still standing, and be on good terms with them.

Thank goodness he had his flu shot. I have revised my resolution to never have a flu shot, by the way. It now seems like a huge waste of time to lose a whole week, end up on antibiotics because of fear of infection in the lungs, and cancel all the wonderful activities I had to cancel last week, including my class on Mini-retreats.

But one thing is true, I do feel less belligerent about things. I do feel a small amount of trust in the Universe and my connection to spirit. I may have surrendered a tiny bit, the way feeling weak and tired forces you to give up and let go.

Is this the beginning of a new wisdom? too soon to tell, but I'm glad to be out of my bed, fully dressed, and able to drive again.

As long as I remember it's not just me in the driver's seat,

nameste, keep healthy,
musemother

Snow Day and Mother Daughter Hair Colour

Snow Day: not for the kids, but for me. Heavy snowfall yesterday, freezing rain overnight, and more thick fluffy flakes this morning means, stay at home. Cancel yoga (do some stretches on the rug in my room), a delivery was cancelled too, all smart people stay off the road today (those who can afford to - my husband made it to work, Caitie is at school).

There are days like this when the lake is whited-out, a hazy dark shoreline on the island across from us, a thin open patch of water greyish and closing in, the muffled sound of crows cawing in the big maple, a few workers on a saw below (oh yeah, the shingles are going up in back, slowly but surely).

I was going to say, there are days like this when I remember why we moved here. Believe me, I haven't had much time to look at the lake and enjoy a peaceful cup of coffee or read a book. Still finding boxes of DVD's and video games, or CD's that need unpacking, files that need filing (a huge pile of paid bills), and my closet is full of 'stuff' that I should have given away.

But this morning I am grateful for the snowy slow-down day. Grateful to find a few moments between phone calls and list making (I am an eternal list maker, but still disorganized), to look at the white expanse before me.

Christmas cards have not been sent, the Christmas rush has barely begun, we have a huge open house to show off our new place this Saturday, but today, just for today, and really, all I have is this moment, I am not going to panic, not going to rush left right and center. Just accept the moment, one heartbeat at a time.

I invite you to put aside the list for a moment, and look at your window. Is there a cardinal calling to you? is there a squirrel burying nuts? or is there a blank slate, a white board of fluff, for you to gaze at and relax for a minute.

enjoy the pre-holiday, pre-rush if you can.

musemother
ps I must write to you about discussions with my daughter about hair colour - she's 16 and already streaks her dirty blonde hair with darker brown and lighter highlights. Now she wants to go dark brown! and I say, too much money every 6 weeks, and too much hassle with roots showing and getting it done all the time. Vanity permits me to cover the gray, but why does a 16 year old have to change her colour?

The Secret inside the Secret

just back from the Gaspe and a bucolic wedding at Lac Bijou, wee man-made lake with a tiny island and a bridge to the island. lit by torches at night, fairy like. the giant white tent with 3 peaks, big enough for 170 people, the dancing 'villagers', musicians and singers and talent, the family love, the huge heart-filled space we created as we celebrated my brother-in-law and his wife/love.

driving back 11 hours yesterday, it was sun and rain, sun and rain, huge banks of cumulous clouds, black nimbus, green marshes and flowers blooming along the roadside in clumps of yellow, blue, white and purple.

the St-Lawrence river by turns slate coloured or blue, shining or misty, curving or straight, and the mountains we drove through, winding and smooth-paved new roads easing our delivery back to Montreal

there are travel days like that when time is suspended, punctuated by french fries, doughnuts and iced cappucinos or Tim Horton's homemade soup....watching the Tudors on dvd in the back seat....or chewing gum to stay awake at the wheel

and the many stops for Mollie the shitzu mix to stretch her wee legs....

and now we're home, the pool needs filling, the flowers were watered by rain, but bedraggled, the wash is in the washer, smells of bleach in the kitchen and I'm here, writing about the return to normalcy after being suspended in a 4-day party mode.

what I want today is to travel deeply into the thirst for quiet that has surfaced, the need for re-collecting, re-vising, re-viewing, settling into thought and words again. the white room that is empty of all stimuli is not available, the chalet or cabin in the woods not ready yet, but there is this inner space, this separation from time and 'doing' and 'going', this place where I receive myself, sit and listen attentively and find out where and what the impulse is, the in-pulse.

Bella has reminded me of Rumi's heart-logic, so here's what I read just now:

Food for the soul stays secret.
Body food gets put out in the open

like us. Those who work at a bakery
don't know the taste of bread like

the hungry beggars do. Because the
beloved wants to know, unseen things

become manifest. Hiding is the
hidden purpose of creation: bury

your seed and wait. After you die,
all the thoughts you had will throng

around like children. The heart
is the secret inside the secret.

Call the secret language, and never
be sure what you conceal. It's

unsure people who get the blessing."

from Coleman Barks' the Soul of Rumi

I am hungry for the secret heart's revelation. Back to the bakery, then,
adieu,

jenn/musemother

Anger and Menopause

Before having children, I was not aware of all the anger simmering inside. If it was ever provoked, it came out in tears. A situation at work or in a relationship could make me feel helpless, teary, overwhelmed, but not like hitting someone or yelling.

Once children came along the floodgates were opened. All kinds of emotions rose to the surface, comfortable happy giddy, or irritable, cranky and angry. Was it because of the hormone release in childbirth? was it because there were now vulnerable small people to take care of and I had no idea how to deal with their crying fits or tantrums? their obvious disregard for my needs? or simply because my own emotions were so raw from lack of sleep, nursing babies, being on call 24-7?

For whatever reason, it was always a shock to see my anger burst out, to find myself slamming cupboard doors, or needing to take a brisk walk around the block, get out of the house, let off steam. It felt even worse when I saw a white handprint on my 2 year old's red behind.

I needed to find out more about anger. I was part of a Babysitting Coop and Moms and tots group that welcomed speakers, so I found a psychologist to speak to us. She described anger as an iceberg, with sadness underneath the surface of the water. I saw a therapist at the university where I taught part-time and began to uncover the legacy of emotional hurts from childhood and the connection to mothering. A book was born along the way, "Little Mother".

A pattern emerged. It seemed that 3 days before menstruating, emotions were definitely peaking. As I grew closer to menopause, my episodes of PMS grew longer, more intense. I especially felt bad when I would blow up for no good reason, some small disregard of 'rules' or schedules by the children, now pre-teens. After one particular shrieking incident where I lost it completely, I began to see a family counsellor again, for help in dealing with my emotional overload. My father had just died and I was two years away from complete menopause.

Now, in reading about peri-menopause, I find references to anger as being a signal from our inner wisdom. I found another speaker on PMS, who also describes it in these terms, as an ally, a messenger, a loud voice that won't be shushed, uncovering the wounds and slights that I have shoved under the carpet the rest of the month. It's the way my inner self calls out for attention.

Instead of giving in to anger, or allowing it to control my relationships, I want to find out what is underneath these uncomfortable feelings, because although the outburts are less frequent, my children still receive the brunt of it, now that they are teens and mood swings are affecting all of us. Here is why it's important to act:

"Your emotions are your inner guidance system. Your thoughts, attitudes, beliefs have a most profound effect on your health", says Dr. Christiane Northrup. "Listen to your anger, discover the underlying issues and take action or it may turn inward and cause depression - a risk factor for heart disease, cancer and osteoporosis." (Wisdom of Menopause)

If I don't learn to speak up about what is bugging me, if I avoid conflict and confrontation and act like a people pleaser to keep harmony and balance in the household, if I allow myself to 'do too much for others', it always backfires and ends up exploding out of me anyway. Or I feel sad and not listened to, like I have no voice. This is no one's fault but mine. It estranges me from the people I want to be close to.

When I am courageous and say what I feel, when I stop hiding my real emotions from others, and simply state what I need in a non-threatening tone, I am surprised by the change this provokes in others. We find a closeness, a connection that is nourishing. It may be that my programming for serving others first gets in the way of my truth-speaking. Maybe I can let go of 'feeling selfish' about staying in bed one morning instead of getting up to make coffee and toast for fully grown people who know how to work the coffee machine and the toaster....

There are so many ways I want to practice being true to myself, allowing myself to feel what I feel. In this role of 'housewife' and mother that I am growing out of....in the perfectionist attitude that doesn't allow me to focus on my own work because I might be a bad mother....in the limiting belief that my joy, my expression of creativity is less important because it doesn't bring in as much money.

Menopause has taught me a lot about myself. It is the 'mother of all wake-up calls' as Dr. Northrup puts it. The emerging self is crying out for its own needs to be met. The solution is to learn to take better care of myself, find a balance between caring for others and caring for me.

"In truth, you are being urged, biologically, to pause from everyone - from mankind in general - in order to do important work on yourself.... [one of the most common feelings is] "the longing for time alone, for a refuge that provides peace, quiet and freedom from distractions and demands.

"Even if you can't charter a plane to a deserted island, odds are that if you acknowledge and validate your need for solitude then you can clear some time and find a private corner to which to retreat daily." [away from telephones, noise, interaction with others]

This has been my medicine for anger: to rock my soul, soothe my body and mind, with precious time alone. It's not just for the hermit in me, but a good practice.

nameste,
musemother