Good
July 7, 2011 § 25 Comments
Eat a good breakfast
A few months ago I went to a book group at a yoga studio in Georgetown. The group was going to discuss Momma Zen, by Karen Maezen Miller. Finally, I thought, when I first saw the flyer. When I lived in Ventura and my son went to Oak Grove School in Ojai, we had parent meetings every month. The early childhood teachers were present and we discussed topics such as sibling rivalry, anger, creating partnership with children. It seemed a given that we were all good parents, all trying our best. I came away from the meetings feeling more knowledgeable, better equipped, and supported by other parents.
I was excited as I drove into Georgetown. I thought I might make some new friends or finally find a sense of community. But the book group was as much like my old parent meetings as DC is to Ojai. The yoga studio owners and book group leaders were kind and genuine. I think they wanted the same things I did. They asked questions about our challenges as mothers and about the areas we wanted to improve. It was the answers that did me in. The grim, pinched faces. The tired voices expressing how hard it is to be patient, to stop saying “just a minute,” to go on a quarter mile walk that takes an hour. I just felt sad as I sat there and very, very homesick for Ventura. The unkind part of myself felt virtuous (so good!) when I saw that I have changed a bit since I my early days as a mom, but another part of me felt equally hopeless. As much as these women depressed me with with their unhappiness, I knew exactly what they were talking about. Before I had children, I ran at 100 miles a minute. Slowing down back then, seemed to be a huge waste of time.
Children make you slow down, no doubt about that. They demand your presence in every single moment. At my son’s school, I learned that if you relax into it, if you let yourself fall into the present moment, it can feel like flying. It feels like joy and happiness and safety. It feels like love.
But it’s still a bit unnatural for me. It’s something I have to work at every day, and as I sat in that book group, I wondered why slowing down seems to be such a challenge for many mothers in my generation. Maybe it’s the technology we all adapted to in our twenties: the email, the phones, the web. Or maybe it’s that motherhood is what we were told to avoid. Go to a good school. Get a good job. Make good money. To some mothers, parenthood is the thing that robbed them of their success and freedom. To others, motherhood became another job, the ultimate career. Many days I hear Jackie Onassis’s words in my head: “If you bungle raising your children, I don’t think whatever else you do well matters very much.” Be a good mother. Or else.
I loved Claire Dederer’s memoir Poser because she explores our relentless pursuit of good in motherhood and shows how it robs us of the real. The fun. She writes about her own “goodness project,” her constant quest for the admiration that would confirm her virtue, and she brings forth an idea that her perfectionism has to do with growing up in the late sixties, during the time in which many women – who were wives and mothers – were leaving their homes. They were joining communes, going back to work, or moving in with hippie boyfriends.
I was born almost a decade later than Dederer in 1973. I grew up with Title IX, the ERA, and Billie Jean King. Geraldine Ferraro and Mary Lou Retton. Those Virginia Slims ads. My mom’s friend lived in Manhattan and wrote for Working Women Magazine. I still remember the covers. Those women with their feathered hair and their briefcases. You’ve come a long way baby.
I remember the books I loved growing up, the trail of breadcrumbs that might have led to such a thirst for achievement. There was Herstory and another one called Anything Boys Can Do Girls Can Do Better. You can guess what that one was about. I was inspired by that book and maybe a little bit scared. It was clear that as a girl, I was going to have to work my ass off.
If Dederer drove herself to be good in order to make up for her own wayward mother, I wonder if my generation is so strident about motherhood, so relentless in our quest for virtue because we know no other way. We have always had to be better than the men in order to be considered as good as. Quite probably, I could relate most of my failings to growing up in the late 70’s and early 80’s. I could blame Reagan and Madonna and Gloria Steinem. Wasn’t it also Jackie O who said, “There are two kinds of women: those who want power in the world and those who want power in bed.” Yowza.
But there is something in blaming our youth that doesn’t ring true to me, just as I didn’t buy Dederer’s assertion that Seattle hipsters treat attachment parenting as a religion because their parents got divorced. There just has to be something else that drives us to mash steamed carrots for our toddlers and sign up for Mommy and Me Yoga. (Um, yeah, I am talking about myself here.)
Motherhood, too often, feels like a competition. Another endurance event with the prize being your child’s perfect behavior. Or maybe it’s just me. I’m so competitive it drives me crazy most of the time. The other morning I went out for a run – a slow jog, I told myself – and before I knew it, I had caught up to a girl whose ponytail had been bouncing in front of me for a mile or so. “Hey crazy lady,” I asked myself as I charged up the next hill, now committed to my new pace, “What are you doing?”
Sometimes I wonder if we are so relentlessly strident in our quest to be good because we are so afraid of what will happen if we stop trying to hard. We’ll get fat. We’ll get fired. We’ll mess up our kids’ chances to go to Harvard.
Last week, Bruce at Privilege of Parenting wrote a fabulous counterpoint to Lori Gottlieb’s Atlantic article, “How to Land Your Kid in Therapy.” I’ve gone back to that post a few times because there was so much wisdom there. I found tremendous comfort in this paragraph:
On the 4th of July, a new friend from my yoga teacher training took me to my first hot yoga, or power yoga, class. “Is it Bikram?” I asked, apprehensively. I went to Bikram once, years ago, and couldn’t get out of bed for the rest of the day. I was not going back to Bikram again. She shook her head. “No, it’s not that hot. You’ll be fine.”
So off I went. For the first hour I was fine, despite the heat. I was sweating like mad and it really stunk in the room, but I was okay. Until I wasn’t. Until the room started to spin and my heart began pounding in a way that did not feel right. I had chills up and down my neck and was hugely grateful I hadn’t eaten breakfast. The instructor told us it was time to move into handstand. “Challenge yourself,” she shouted and I told myself to buck up and ignore the pounding in my body. But it was the Fourth of July. There were fireworks to go to. We had people coming for dinner. I couldn’t spend the day in bed.
I decided to lie down right there, in the middle of the room. The thermostat near me read 96 degrees so I closed my eyes and listened to the 66 other people in the class jumping up and standing on their palms. I felt like an idiot lying there. Water was dripping on my head from the ceiling and I realized that it was the condensed sweat of all the other people in the room who were working so hard to be good.
Last summer, as our family moved from California to DC, I told the boys and Scott that 2010 was going to be The Funnest Summer Evuh!!! I needed something to spur me on and ignite my sense of adventure when I felt such sadness. I haven’t quite settled on a theme for this summer yet. I thought it might be The Most Peaceful Summer Ever as the boys have been bickering a bit. But lying there in that crowded yoga studio, I thought that maybe this was going to be the Summer I Let Myself Off the Hook. I am going to let myself off the hook for my bad days. For the lovely mornings I sometimes interrupt by saying, “Hurry up, put your shoes on. We have to get to the park!” The days I focus more on the crayons under the couch, the Legos strewn on the floor, the spilled milk, the incessant shouts of little boys than I do on the fun parts. The evenings I spend beating myself up for not signing the boys up for swim lessons or Yoga 4 Kids or music camp. For giving in and buying the assorted pack of sugar cereals that I normally don’t allow into the house. The nights I spend beating up other mothers in my head for making me feel badly about what I am beating myself up about. Better than. Worse than. It seems like a two-way street, but really, it’s a dark alley that leads to a crack house.
Freedom. I always thought it meant something you fought for. Something earned. But maybe it’s also the act of gently emancipating yourself. Maybe it’s as simple as dropping the chains we are twisting around our own necks. Last year, I thought that walking on my hands – embracing uncertainty – was the full expression of freedom. But this Fourth of July, it seemed that lying on my back was more authentic. This Independence Day, for me, seemed to be about allowing other people’s sweat to drip on my face and not needing to add to the heat. Because we are all working so very hard. And maybe we already are good enough.
Walking on My Hands 
This is something that has always illuminated things for me: How we do anything is how we do everything. So when we let ourselves off the hook, we let everyone off the hook. No more comparisons, no more competition, no more disappointment, no more shame, no more homesickness. But it takes practice. Your children will show you how.
Love reading your work Pamela. Always can takeaway a new insight into my parenting as well. Although, we don’t celebrate 4th July here & it is our winter, I may adopt your philosophy & let myself off the hook too, (well at least for as long as I can – may not last all of winter though!)
The Summer I Let Myself Off the Hook. Ohhhhh yes. That sounds perfectly lovely (and ridiculously hard). And Maezen’s comment is like the cherry (fresh from the farmer’s market) on top of your delicious cake of a post. Thank you. I’m breathing more deeply now.
That quote is amazing! Thanks for sharing. I’m off to read that post even though I’m not a parent!
That bit about Bikhram Yoga made me laugh so much. I was planning on doing their 60 day challenge. I’m thinking I’d better do it at a time when I can get lots of bed rest!
As always Pamela, what beautiful insight. I’m learning so much about parenting from you. I’ll be practicing on my nieces when I get back Stateside so thanks for the tips.
Namaste 🙂
Pam, do you have any idea what a gift this post is to every good-enough, working-too-hard mom? Your beautiful, honest words create a space, a place on the floor, for the rest of us to lay down and be still for a moment as well. “Challenge yourself!” that teacher said. But I think that only a true practitioner can hear that command and know that challenging yourself really means being willing to offer yourself what you actually need in the moment: tenderness, rest, kindness to body and spirit. I think you’ve found the theme for the summer. (Maybe for your life. Maybe for your book.)
Once again you blow me away. Yes, yes, and yes. We are so much alike. There is such a fine line for me, when it is truly authentic to let myself off the hook, and when it is being “lazy” or not “trying” hard enough. I cringe as I write those two expressions because I can already hear the yogic voice saying: you were taught this, but it’s not so… anyway, you know I struggle with this as you do, know this is a muddle I’m in the middle of as well. Thank God for your company on the journey. Or lying next to me on the floor. xox
This, my friend, is the very root of my personal abyss, the one I fell into so many months ago, when the race became too hard for me to keep up with. That was the moment that I stripped my life to the most bare essentials, when I began to see the virtue of shedding expectations and just living. But IT IS hard work to do that, to be mindful and to live it every day. I’m still struggling, probably will all of my life, but I’ve come so far and I see it now, I see how wonderful and meaningful a life lived this way can really be. So I’m glad we’re in it together, I’m glad we’ve found each other even if we are so far away, because it is in this community that I found the ability to nurture this new perspective.
This is wonderful and honest and very very timely for me (between snow make-up days and a new school calendar my kids have a very short summer break. I chose to underschedule it. I felt guilty about it.). We should all let ourselves off the hook and give our family and friends permission to do so as well.
I struggle with the concept of *good enough* all the time. I need to learn that slowing down does not mean that I’m treading water. When I slow down, I think. And oftentimes, I don’t want to think…which is why I don’t slow down. I’m going to try harder to just lie down on my back if I need to.
ps: Bruce IS awesome, isn’t he? As are you.
Oh, Pam! This is just so, so good. I love the image of you on your back. Your “slow jog” reminded me of the mom (Tea Leone) in the movie Spanglish – have you seen it? Wanted to share something I heard a yoga teacher say at the end of a class I took years ago. “And, please,” she said, “don’t beat yourself up. There’s already enough pain and suffering in the world without you adding to it.” I’ve pulled those wise words out of my back pocket many times when my own chains have started to tighten! Namaste.
Thank you for speaking directly to my heart. Did you know that you’ve written the same thoughts that I’ve had that have been whirling internally for too long? You are a treasure. Those and those two handsome meatballs of yours 🙂
Trish
patriciadolan@comcast.net
such an awesome post. thank you so much!
Oh, Pam. Thank you for the conversation. There is so much I want to respond – to your writing and your readers comments. Reading here feels like I just took one of those white dandelion weeds and blew it, and trying to gather all the pieces up. I will think on this for a while – I am on my way out to watch my big kids play tennis (and feeling like a bad mother because I don’t want to….and feeling like a bad mother because they are overscheduled) and wondering what I should do with my youngest child – leave her in front of the TV (her dad works at home), or bring her with me and pretend to color and play games with her while I am watching the big kids…neither seems like the best option for her. So I am wondering what I can do to make up these hours to her. Oh, and should I pack up extra gatorade and snacks for the kids – do they need it – will the other mothers do it? Is it worse to be late to their match or not bring snacks? and on and on and on. I have a long way to go for this to be the summer I let myself off the hook……..
oh, I didn’t mean to rant. But now I know just what to say to myself, thanks to you,
“HEY CRAZY LADY, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
Even if its just for today, I will be off the hook, for reading here.
thanks be.
Pamela, every word you’ve so beautifully written resonates with me and I hope you don’t mind a kindred spirit sharing your summer theme. I wish collectively we could, with ease and grace, let ourselves “off the hook” as much as our dearest friends and loved ones do. But, I suppose it’s our own work to do, to give ourselves permission and live in a different way. It’s not easy to undo what’s so familiar, to slow it down when speed feeds many of our needs, yet there’s comfort in knowing there are so many women here on the same journey toward a more joyful, peaceful way of being in the world. Thank you for sharing your experience – I love your posts!
Great realization, Pam! You have a beautiful family, enjoy them! I am so jealous. You have such a way of writing about your inner struggles that everyone can relate to. I enjoy reading your entries.
Pam,
I am so happy to see you getting to the place of being good enough. We all need to hear it now and again.
Yes, we are already good enough. I’m so glad you let yourself stay on that floor. You gave everyone in that room permission to do the same. Brene Brown says that we try to be perfect so that we will never be shamed again. But the fact is that those people who have the sad need to chronically shame-shift will find anything they can. Even if we are “perfect”. Their unprocessed and unregulated shame will leak out onto others for any little flaw it can sniff out. It is tragic, The more we practice vulnerability, (lying on the floor, unashamed) the more we further a revolution. The revolution is imperfection, glorious imperfection. And the final result is authentic connection. No more pretending we have our act together, Nobody does. Hallelujah.
Yes, my friend, yes. This is what we all need to know, that in every moment, we are enough. And in pointing this out so very beautifully, you have given a gift to us all.
Thank you.
Hi Pam, Thanks so much for including me in your mix, and for weaving the good enough fabric to bring us comfort and connection. It warms my heart when I hear your voice and the other comments and can trust that there really are plenty of us who want to live, and connect, and love in this less destructive, less competitive, less perfectionistic and less defeating way. Namaste
Pam, this post is a revelation – and the exact balm I need today and this week when I am rushing us from swimming lessons to tumbling class making everyone miserable, including myself. I need to bookmark this essay and read it again and again and again.
Thank you for reminding me that there is another way to do this parenting gig.
And can I just tell you once again how much I love your writing, how much I adore your blog?
So, so pleased to have met you here in the blogosphere. xo
Oh my goodness Pamela. Just. So. Good. I’ve quickly learned that you are so good at putting the monkeys in my mind to rest–your words give them a firm talking to and allow them to nap. Your words are a salve. I struggle so much with these very same things and find solace in your space here.
Thank. You. So. Much. xoxo
Stunning, Pamela! Of course, as pictures say many thousand things, the photo you chose says it all… What a perfect picture of absolute goodness is your son!
Thank you.
[…] my last post, I wrote about letting myself off the hook. I wrote about lying on the floor in a yoga class while everyone else was trying to do a handstand. […]
[…] months, that studio has served and protected me, which I never would have thought possible after that initial class, which I wasn’t sure I could even finish. On that morning, last July 4th, as we celebrated […]