When I’m leading a guided meditation or counseling session, people sometimes ask me what exactly “mindfulness” is. The term is used in so many ways to mean so many things. Like most of the words we use in daily life, it’s taken on a lot of meanings since it was first brought into the world (by the Buddha over 2600 years ago).
Another common question is, “If the process of becoming more aware is so non-linear, how do I know if the skills I’m developing are working?” What most of people really want to know, in most cases, is this: Can I have faith in this practice? What’s the truth behind mindfulness? Is 24/7 wisdom a realistic goal? I’ve asked myself this a lot in the last few years.
Most of us who have a mindfulness practice feel calm, wise or loving on the cushion at least some of the time. If we didn’t, it would be hard to keep going. Maybe we even sit every single day, go to retreats, and study with masters and come home feeling like we’re somehow transformed from who we were before we left. But we still have moments where we feel, speak, or act in ways that let us know our “wise self” was clearly not behind the steering wheel.
Some days it’s hard to focus.
Some days it’s hard to make it through the morning rush of the city, or the 90-minute commute with bumper-to-bumper traffic.
Some days, anxiety about the world or our own personal traumas still feel crushing to us.
Being a part of the wellness, mental health, and mindfulness worlds in NYC has convinced me that spiritual teachers are no less likely than the general public to do horrible things from their own confusion. When we see teachers doing harm, it’s only normal to start questioning our own practices, and wondering if all those mantras are worth the time. If so many messed up people practice meditation, shouldn’t I have some doubts?
I’m not a person who’s necessarily inspired by the idea of enlightenment or perfection anymore. And I don’t always love spiritual terminology. The older I get, the more I learn that wisdom is all relative to where you’re standing. One person’s sage advice is another persons poison. And a lot of what makes advice worth listening to is about how loved and seen you feel by the person who offers that wisdom in a given moment.
When that shared wisdom is genuine and free from ego – or as free from ego as anything can be – we feel it.
In my earlier life, I was a nanny to a little boy I totally adored: Max. He was affectionate, sensitive, smart, generous and funny. Still, being with him all day was tough at times. He was like a lot of kids: his emotional volume was turned ALL the way up. Transitions were hard. He would sometimes act impulsively and intensely. Physically, he was strong and fast.
Sleepiness or hunger could trigger a screaming-and-kicking explosion before I could find the keys in my purse and get us home. In the blink of an eye, he would start running as fast as humanly possible in the direction of water or traffic, the danger in front of him the last thing on his mind.
Let’s just say cardio endurance was necessary for our mutual safety.
A few years ago, we were hanging out at one of our favorite adventure spots: The Museum of Natural History. Max was in heaven. He held my hand and led me around the museum, reminding me of what was around us in every direction. He named each animal before slowing to a stop and getting really quiet to show me the “most beautiful thing”: The pair of wolves on the 2nd floor. We rode the elevators as much as I could stand before we hit the final floor, the dinosaur exhibit.
When we arrived, I looked at Max and realized I had miscalculated his emotional state. I must not have been as connected to him as I thought I was during our elevator games. I let him play too long.
Although it wasn’t nap time yet, I could see in his movement that he was TIRED, and overstimulated. I realized we needed to make a quick exit... and quick exits were not our thing.
Slowing down could be an epic task for us, and I braced myself at the idea of communicating that we had to go... without taking every elevator up and down a few more times. Before I knew it, his arms were flailing and he was screaming as loudly as humanly possible, “NOOOOOOO.” I’m pretty sure the people around us were as nervous as if a dinosaur had come to life.
So I did the only thing I could think to do: I scooped him up, sat down right where I was, and held him close in my lap. I talked to him as gently as possible, as he, in all his inconsolability, exclaimed, “SYDNEY, HOW DO I FEEL RIGHT NOW?!?!?” I was stunned by his mindfulness around the intense feelings he was experiencing. That was one of the things we had practiced together: Naming our feelings when they got overwhelming.
We would talk about what colors and shapes our feelings were, try to point out the moments where they changed, discuss what images they reminded us of, and where they were in our bodies.
My own impulsive, tired, frustrated voice spoke first in my mind, as we sat on the floor of the museum... I wanted to tell Max that he must’ve been feeling “oppositional” during his breakdown. But that was me, projecting a fight. And oppositional is not a feeling. I took a second and realized that’s how I was feeling: Annoyed, fearful, angry, resistant and tense about what could come next… oppositional, you could say. I felt the anxiety and cultural conditioning around using coercion to make our exit easier.
Shame came up. I was the adult. And in that moment, I was tired, too. I found myself thinking: I wish I had been more aware of the time. He deserves a more organized caretaker. Like Max, I was swept up in the joy of the day, and it was my impulsiveness that placed us both in hot water.
In Buddhist traditions, we use the term “the second arrow” to point to the way our minds create meaning from painful situations, and how this can exacerbate our suffering. The idea is that when we're mindful, we’re able to notice the suffering that's present, and respond in more skillful ways.
We can lengthen and deepen our out breath. We can release tension that our bodies are holding. We can practice compassion, and coach ourselves toward a more supportive response, for us and everyone involved in the situation.
Someone wise once told me that the first thought you have in any instance is your conditioned thought, and it’s the second one that matters. The truth was in my second thought: Max and I were on the same team. And luckily, between his mindfulness and mine, we could use relational tools. I looked up at the dinosaur bones around us, letting out a slight giggle at the thought of our reptilian brains being activated.
I mean, hey, at least we didn’t actually have to worry about being chased by a T-Rex… even if our brains were responding that way. I felt my heart soften.
“Sad,” I told him. “I think maybe, if I were you, I might be feeling sad, because we love this place and it’s difficult to leave. And maybe you are also feeling mad at me, because I’m making the decision for us to leave. But I think you are also feeling sleepy, and that’s why your body is so heavy. Why don't we find out? How does your body feel?” In that moment, he softened.
I stood up and we started to breathe together. Within minutes, we were in an Uber, on our way home. I know that having a daily practice which includes mindfulness and loving kindness offered me more clarity in that moment. And that that is what helped us build trust and deepen our connection instead of exacerbating our mutual frustrations. I’d been repeatedly setting intentions to soothe myself and recognize my projections when less was at stake.
That’s what I look for in my life – the ability to respond in a way that reduces suffering and increases connection.
Meditation does not automatically smooth every moment of conflict. And thank god, because those are the moments where we get an opportunity to grow. On its own, it won’t transform your life. But it prepares you to better handle intense situations.
There’s a good chance that, for the rest of my life, I’ll sometimes slip into mental chaos when difficult feelings come up. And I’ve made peace with that. I’ve made peace with the fact that meditation is not a panacea. And that 24/7 insta calm is not a realistic goal for most of us on this planet in human bodies, with human nervous systems.
But meditation does give me more agency; more moments like the one with Max, where I can be loving and wait for the second thought. My practice gives me just enough space, in a difficult situation, to act outside of my conditioning. To act like a person instead of a dinosaur.
Some people think that being a meditation teacher grants me the tools to eliminate suffering. To always be fully present, at ease, and beneficial to everything and everyone around me. Unfortunately, none of that’s in the contract. When people come to me seeking comfort around their doubts, fears, and pain, I always offer them the truth: I have doubts, fears, and pain, too.
I remind them that it’s irrelevant how many retreats a person’s been on; we have rough weeks, and we have triggers. Sometimes I revert to old behavior. Sometimes there is nothing to anchor me to the moment, and I get swept away in a sea of racing thoughts. Sometimes my time on the cushion feels stale and frustrating, riddled with aversion, or full of fantasy and longing.
It helps a lot to have someone older and wiser to hold us close, energetically, and to remind us of our wisdom. But luckily, as adults we don’t need a teacher to guide us when we’re triggered or overwhelmed.
I hold onto this personal truth: There’s a part of my awareness that softens me and helps me access a place of deep knowing.
A good practice is one that helps you stay more in touch with that part of yourself. The best a good teacher can do is offer you clues on how to connect with it. In that moment with Max I was able to engage my wise mind and calm my lizard brain.
When you need some access to the more human part of yourself quickly, practice these steps to help your body know it’s safe…
1. Lengthen and deepen your exhale, this engages the relaxation response.
2. Name the emotion to bring the more evolved parts of your brain back online. If that feels too hard, you could start by just naming what’s happening around you: we’re at the museum, we’re tired, we’re upset.
3. Remind yourself that you’re loved and that you’re an adult who’s capable of shifting or changing the situation.
There have been moments when that extra bit of clarity meditation offers has the ability to shift the world for me, and for the people I love. If you’re struggling with embodying your wise self in your intimate relationships, therapy can be a huge help. I work with couples by teaching them to practice calming and soothing each other in moments of stress, anger and exhaustion.
I’ve witnessed this enough times to know that when I engage in practices that cultivate the conditions for wisdom to arise, I have these moments more often. But I risk missing them if I’m only on the lookout for an immediate, radical behavioral shift, or earth-shaking insight.
In bits and pieces, I find myself arriving at that place I know is possible – that part of my awareness that softens me and helps me access deep knowing – with doubt still present, just in the backseat.
For more support working with intense emotions in meditation check out my contemplative therapy and meditation pages. If you want to learn about using mindfulness skills in relationships click here to learn more about how it supports couples therapy.
<3 Syd
PS - From the moment I started building this business 10 years ago, my plan was to offer a pricing structure that would never turn someone away because of money. In the last few years, due to the expense of running a business in New York, that's become harder and harder.
If you've benefitted from a free offering like this blog or even working with me on an ongoing basis, one way to help make sure integrative health and emotional wellbeing stay available on a sliding scale is to donate to my PayPal: paypal.me/sydneyfaithrose
All donations made are used ONLY to fund sliding scale services (usually trauma therapy) for people who would other wise be unable to find support. If every person on this mailing list sent $10 per month that would fund weekly sliding scale spaces for 10 clients for a whole year. A small amounts can make a HUGE difference in peoples lives.
