Gem of peace: doing nothing out of anger

Gem of PEACE for today: A few weeks ago, the contractors restoring our house messed up and didn’t put insulation back into one of our walls.  Here’s how it went down and what I learned…about myself and anger.

I had a feeling they didn’t put insulation into one of the walls they were restoring.  I asked them.  “Of course we did,” they assured me.

But it still bugged me.  Brian and I sat with it over night.  We decided to ask them in the morning to open the drywall again.  If there was insulation, we’d pay for the extra repairs.

In the morning, Brian asked them to cut open the drywall to see.  There wasn’t any.

Brian was there when all this went down as I was at the doctor’s office (remember, I still have a brain injury!).  When he told me, I was livid.  I felt cheated.  I felt taken advantage of.  I was angry that we had been so kind to the workers (feeding them, making sure they were comfortable) and this is how they treated us.

I told Brian I was going to march into the house and talk to the manager. I walked inside and found the head guy.  I said to him, “How could you?!  How could you do this?!  We were kind to you!  We made sure you were taken care of.  We trusted you!”

I wasn’t yelling – and I felt “proud” of myself for this (I’m not proud of this now!).  Until…

The manager apologizes profusely.  He then explained what happened.  It was a mistake.  Nothing intentional.  All the guys on the crew apologized.  One guy cut the drywall and left it there. Another guy went upstairs, saw the drywall in place and just started sealing it up without checking to make sure it was ready to go.  Yes, they are responsible for slowing down and doing a good job.  BUT…

THIS is what sits with me:  I intentionally went in there to talk to the manager knowing I was angry, thinking I was justified and that my story was correct (“they are taking advantage of us!” etc).   I didn’t seek to understand first.  And really…my story was wrong. 

The bottom line is this:

my anger was coming from stress (try having a brain injury and then three floors worth of your home destroyed and tons of pounding and sawing) and from fear (feeling vulnerable — I know nothing about home repairs).  It was also coming from old habitual ways of thinking…past experiences making their way into my analysis of the current situation.

Anger does this — we get a story going in our head.  Our thinking becomes really myopic (“they did this to pull one over on us!”).   We feel vulnerable, taken advantage of, like a victim, and powerless.  We get justified in our anger.  And we act out.

I am learned that even though I was correct in that they did not put in insulation, it didn’t serve me (I felt awful later) or the situation to act out of anger.  I am learning and learning that when we are angry, it is better to do NOTHING.  Don’t talk.  Don’t reply to an email.  Don’t text. Goodness don’t post it on Facebook.  Don’t do ANYTHING out of anger.

Instead…breathe.  Long exhales.

Tend to the vulnerable feeling.

Tend to the feeling of powerlessness.

Treat yourself with the utmost kindness and tender regard.

Soften. 

Wait.

A reaction out of anger is always from fear.  And it holds an empty, short-lived, ultimately deflating sense of power (often then filled with guilt and shame).  It hurts others.  It hurts ourselves.  It disconnects us from others and our own hearts.  It feels sticky, ugly, yucky.  It’s laden with regret.

A response out of groundedness, tenderness, and self-compassion comes from love.  And it holds a sort of power that is spacious, full, uplifting, and EMPOWERING.  A true power.  It connects us to the deep power of our hearts…and this universe.  No matter what the outcome of the situation, there is a sense of peace within us because we are taking action that is aligned with love — ultimately, our true nature…our home.

I may not do this every time.  But I am going to make a commitment to try and do NOTHING out of anger.  Instead, to pause and wait… wait with kindness for my own self and breathe.  If this is humanly possible, I hope you will join me!  Do NOTHING when you are angry!  Wait.

Share with me how it goes for you!

Love,

Lisa

* Thank you for reading these Gems of Delight and being a part of the Barefoot Barn community.  Thank you for being a part of this evolution of bringing more compassion into the world by sharing these Gems with your dear ones so they can live with more delight, compassion, and connection in their everyday lives.  I hope these Gems serve you.  Visit the Barefoot Barn website for other ways that I may serve you with mindful coaching (especially for parents!), psychotherapy, workshops and retreats.  Thank you for sharing your comments — it is always a delight to hear what gems are emerging within your own heart.

the ways others love us

These days, (now weeks) that I am recouping from a concussion…oh how they are humbling me, bringing me to what is most important, softening me, and bringing me back into the lap of God…to rest, renew, and heal.  Over the last three weeks, with the dizziness and nausea, the excruciating headaches and being off balance (literally), I have been in awe of the kindness others have shown us:

~ Neighbors and friends near and far bringing us dinner.
~ A friend making luscious salt and sugar scrubs and massaging my legs and feet and head…for an hour and a half.
~ Prayers.
~ A friend writing to say that she is running for me today.
~ A neighbor saying even people in her prayer group have asked about me.
~ A grocery bag full of good things.
~ “Check-ins” ….”Lisa, let us care for you.”
~ Offerings of running to the grocery store for us.
~ The gentle presence of dear ones in our lives…just here.
~ Even friends of friends who have had concussions calling and giving their advice!

It was all so much for my heart that the other day, when a neighbor brought over dog food for us (we were watching my parents’ dog..it’s healing to have Blondie here…think “little white and golden cockier spaniel”), I started to tear up.

“I’m so humbled by such kindness,” I said.

Neighbor: “This is testament to how you all care so much for others.  It’s your time to receive.”

It stopped me in my tracks.  My heart was overwhelmed, humbled, full.  Brian and I have oriented our lives around “service” and “community.”  We care for others.  We jump in when someone needs something, we are about sharing our resources, and we offer our home and hands when our presence might lighten someone’s suffering.  It’s weaved into who we are and who we are as a family.  It has been conscious and intentional.  But it’s just a way of life.

We do it because this is how the Divine moves through us.  We do it because we intentionally live with our hearts and eyes open.  Not always.  Not in every moment.  But surely as a “posture” in life.

But when my neighbor said this, I reflected for a moment…

It’s not for thanks or accolades.  That kind of  “service” is surface deep — it trails off easily, it’s short term, it’s “when it’s convenient”, it’s when it’s EASY, it points back to the “giver” rather than the one who is suffering.  No, Brian and I are in to tending to others for the long haul…and in simple, everyday ways, and it doesn’t matter whether it’s noticed or not.

But when our neighbor stood there tearing up with me and reflecting our goodness, I saw before me the life we have created, the life we are living, and the life we are creating.
And I smiled. Deep from within my heart.
And, I praised the divine.
I bowed in gratitude to the divine — in service and humility.
And all that I could say in my heart was, “thank you.”

I thought about her words: “It’s your time to receive.” And another friend’s word: “Lisa, when you allow others to care for you, you give them the opportunity to do something for you…and that is a gift. They want to do something.”

How many times have I — have any of us — “not received”…because of pride, the need to “have it all together? Or because it was all too tender and we didn’t have the words and it felt too private to let someone in and be in that tender, vulnerable place???

Yet, this is how we love each other. We give. We receive. It ebbs and flows. There’s a season for both.

And here I am, totally humbled by the kindness of others.  Allowing others in.  Being vulnerable.  Being “not all together”. Being broken and admitting that to another. This is hhhhhhhhhard. And yet…this is how we love and learn to be loved.

I’m learning. I’m learning. Imperfectly and without words at times. But I’m learning.

~ What season are you in right now? To receive or to offer?

A love poem about the everyday kind of love…and saying yes

{I am finding it very healing as I recover from this traumatic brain injury to actually read my old poetry…and to paint. Just a little. Here is a poem that Brian is posting for me today that I wrote several years ago for a friend who was getting married.}

Saying Yes.
Again and Again.

I loved you
long before I ever met you.

Long before I ever knew
the contours
of your face,

before I ever wrapped my arms
around your waist;

before I ever knew
what made you
laugh or cry,
scared or feel alone.

I loved you long before I said

YES.

Yes
to your kisses
and comforting embrace

Yes
to snuggling with you
and making love with you

Yes
to spending the rest of my life
with you.

But what I am discovering lately
is this:

The funny thing about love
is that you have to
keep saying

YES.

Yes
to trash night and
cleaning the bathroom

Yes
to sharing a bank account
and a mortgage

Yes
to long labors
and sleepless nights

Yes
to unexpected losses
and missed opportunities

Yes
to being vulnerable
and choosing to join each other
when we’d rather jump ship.

We have to say yes –
to all of it –
the happy and ecstatic moments
as well as the sad and mournful moments.

We have to keep saying yes
year after year –
and sometimes
minute
by
minute!

We have to choose to say yes,
this moment,
this breath.

So on the day I stand
in front of our family and friends,
I’ll say yes to you –
in that moment,
with that breath,

and all the breaths
I am to have.

Lisa A. McCrohan, © 2010

This is what love feels like

This is What Love Feels Like

Laying down
for a nap
with my daughter

curled up with
my belly
to her back
my arms
around her
little almost
three year old
body

little feet
resting on
my thighs

rhythmic
breathing
deeply
together

we sleep

sacred
holy
complete

this
is
what
love
feels
like.

Lisa A. McCrohan, 2013

Everyday Courage

I’ve been reading Brene Brown’s book, “Daring Greatly.”  It is extraordinary.  What she has researched and writes about is what my heart intuitively knows.  Soooo much more to come, but I wanted to share this…

Living courageously is choosing to find, notice, cultivate, and savor the good RIGHT here in our everyday lives!  It’s choosing to connect instead of close off or disconnect because you feel vulnerable and scared, brought on by ollllllld wiring in your brain that is NO LONGER useful!

Today is hardly an ideal day.  We have one sick one – high fever.  Brian is working.  We both have to teach tonight — it’s the first night of a series we are part of facilitating at church.  We have a two year old who wants mom’s attention.  Crazy ads are appearing on my blog and website and facebook page.  We have a ton of things to do for this upcoming week.  Lunch needs to be made.  You know how it is.  You want to create, you have work to do, kids are crying and fighting, your hair isn’t done and you forgot to shave your legs (again!), let alone you haven’t exercised or meditated today.

This is EXACTLY when we need to PAUSE.  To stop right in that moment you feel a tightness coming across your chest.  And soften.  Looooook fooooor the gooooooood.  It’s right here.  In your everyday life.  This is where the magic is — right here in the messiness of our ordinary day.  Put down your cell phone.  Let the dinner-making be for a bit.  Pull out a popsicle if you need to!  And hold your little one – your toddler or teenager – and look at them!  Look at them with regard and love.

Today, I am delighting in Little C’s rainboots and batgirl outfit and how she has a story going on at any given moment of the day.  I’m holding our little five year old with a fever and…doing nothing extraordinary — just trying to be present and kind and love him.  THAT is magic.  THAT is courage in action.

Mindful Moment: Stay and Soften

One evening in December, our bedtime ritual started out like to does every night:  brushing teeth, pjs, a book, a few songs, a prayer (sometimes we sing it!), and me laying with our two year old daughter while Brian lays with our five year old son.

Our son, he is out in like two minutes.  Kindergarten does that to a boy!  Our daughter, she loves to chat, sing, lay there, ask for more milk, cuddle.  Most nights, I savor it.  I linger with Little C.  I whisper my prayers.  I lay there in the quiet, holding her, listening to her breathe…and then ask another question.  When Little C was a few months old, I wrote this poem:

My Skin Remembers

In the dark stillness of the early morning,

before the first glimmers of dawn appear through our bedroom window,

Brian brings Clara to me for an early morning feeding.

She is half awake half asleep now nuzzled next to me.

Her little feet rest on my bare belly as she wraps one arm over my chest

and tucks the other under my breast to nurse.

I am laying on my side, my left arm stretched out on the bed

and heat from the top of Clara’s head warms the inside of my elbow.

My right arm wraps around her tiny, plump, six month old body.

Our bellies touching rise and fall together in a soft rhythm.

Though my body begs for more sleep, I don’t mind being up so early

before the sunlight slowly dances into our room.

I know now with my second child that this will not last forever.

There will come a day when I will long to hold my babies again

just      like     this

and my skin will ache with nostalgia.

But this morning, I also know that when that day comes,

a smile will rise up from within me

as my skin remembers breathing in

this

very

moment.

Butttttt….there are times when I am think “O.M.G., you gotta go to sleep!”  I am tired, needing space, needing to be on my own for a bit.  And that’s when my meditation practice comes into play.

“It’s ok to feel this way, Lisa.”

“It’s ok to want time alone, to need space.”

In those moments, I try to remind myself to practice self-compassion instead of beating myself up with mama guilt “Oh I shouldn’t feel this way!  I should be oh-so-very present AND loving every minute of it.  Why don’t I feel that way? What’s wrong with ME?  So-and-so…you’d never hear that from her!  She loves everything about being a mom….”  It goes on, doesn’t it?  Well, instead of going down THAT path, ….

I pause.  I stay with what is rising up.  I don’t push it away.  I just stay.  I hold my heart and my needs and my yearnings close, with breath and spaciousness.  I soften.  And the once intense emotions and thoughts shift.

What rises up is a sense of “ahhhh, ok.  I’m ok.  This is ok.”  And then I’m able to make a clearer, more compassionate choice.

So back to this one night in December…

I thought my Little C. was asleep.  I slowly rolled out of her bed and started to get up to leave.

“Mommy, where you going?”

OHHHH I could’ve lost it.  I was tired.  It was late.  I felt my feet on the earth (on our “beautiful” carpet stained with milk and god knows what else!), I softened, breathed…

And then Little C. continued, “Mama, you stay with me?”

STAY WITH ME.  These words cut riiiight through to what is most important.  Right through any frustration, tiredness, need for alone time.

I turned back into the room, got into bed again with Little C., and said, “Yes, my Love, I’ll stay with you.” 

We laid like that for a long while.  Just in silence.  Me — softening, letting it all go, noticing, allowing.

And then Little C. whispers – half asleep, half awake, “Mommy?”

Me: “Yes, Love?”

Little C.: “I love you.”

Then she fell sound asleep.

As I pulled the covers up over her little chest, as I walked out of the quiet room, I thought about how that could’ve gone comPLETELY different.  There are times it has — when I’m like, “BABY!  You gotta go to sleep!”  Times when I lay there but I’m not really present.  Times when I am tired and under resourced.  And I react.  Instead of respond.  And as I walked out of the room, I found myself oh so grateful for the intention I set years ago to be a mindful mama, for how that has informed my practice of SOFTENING, tending to, allowing, being with, being gentle IN OUR EVERYDAY LIFE.  I found myself bowing to the community of moms and  dads who are on this journey of healing our world through being RIGHT HERE, present to and regarding our little ones.

STAY.  STAY AND SOFTEN.  With our own hearts, with our little ones.  I am finding that the more I offer myself such sweet spaciousness, the more I am able to extend that to my dear ones.  And I smile softly, with no regrets.

My word for 2013

For the past three years, I’ve chosen a word, or a few words, for the year.  Each year, these words have taken up residence in my heart, words, interactions, and daily living.  They have stretched me and shifted things within me and my life.  They are still with me — present some times as whispered prayers, other times as humbling reminders.  I still carry each word with me today.

For 2011, my three words were: soften, strengthen, and forgive.

For 2012, my three words were: silly, sensual, and connections.

For 2013, I’ve chosen one word: light.

I want to look up at the sky and notice the light – at dawn, midday, on rainy and snowy days, at dusk.  Candlelight.  Moonlight.  Sunny day light.

I want to look for and notice the light within my own self and others — to practice “noticing the good” rather than defaulting to noticing what isn’t, or what’s missing and wrong.

I want to lighten up — to be silly, to soften, to physically lighten up and lose a few lbs, to go with the flow, to remember what is most important.

Light.  In all its forms and shadows.  Noticing even when the light seems dim — in my heart, in the early  mornings when I commute to work, in the eyes of others….and to stay.  To stay there and be with that dimness, to light a candle – actually and metaphorically – and create a sacred, safe place for those shadows to appear.  Noticing even when the light is too bright — when I can no longer ignore the truth rising up within me to take action.  Noticing when I am full of light and how that feels, how that changes the tenor of our home, how that relaxes my muscles, how that changes my interactions with others.

Light.  We’ll see how the light takes up residence in me this year!

What’s your word for the year????

Give them PRESENCE

‘Tis the season…for overwhelm.  Every Xmas, I tend to get overwhelmed.  My love language is NOT gift giving – especially in “have to” gift-giving times.  I am not one of those moms who knows the “right” toys for certain ages.  I don’t know the “cool gifts”, heck I don’t even know what styles are “in” right now for me!  With our children now in full “magic of Christmas” swing, I can so see how moms/parents could get consumed by the whole present thing and lose sight of what is most important.

I found myself the other night with Brian after the kiddos were asleep and the contents of Santa’s bag spread out on our kitchen floor, seeing what we had and making sure everyone had “enough” of the “right” stuff.  I found myself spending waaaaaaaay too much time checking our “lists” and getting more and more anxious – did Clara have enough?  Is it “balanced” in terms of “girly stuff’ and stuff that actually challenges her?  What about Aidan – he’s not that in to superheroes any more and more in to magic – do we give him the superhero stuff we had left over from last year?  And Brian – I can’t find him that sweater he wants, I even had Maria on the search, what do I do if I can’t find him anything?”   In comes “overwhelm.”

It’s all self-induced.  Our families are pretty chilled.  I probably wouldn’t have to have anything for anyone (ok, besides the kiddos) if I didn’t want to.  But I want to have something for them.  Yes, yes, I could make things – and I often do.  But even then, trying to decide WHAT to make folks can leave me feeling pretty overwhelmed.

What I’d really like to give for xmas?  Presence.  What I’d really like to receive for xmas?  Presence.

I mean, come on, do any of us really “need” any THING?  “Presence” is such a hot commodity these days.  Our undivided, un-opinionated, un-rushed presence.  Our mindful attention to another person that communicates, “I see you” and “I’m in no rush.”

Could you imagine – a little note under the tree saying, “Brian, this xmas, I’m giving you my presence.  My compassionate attention when you are tired in the morning.  My un-rushed kiss as we get the kiddos off to school.  My silence when I’d rather say something about how you aren’t doing it ‘my’ way.  My eyes open to really SEE you and see how I might make your day lighter.”

He’d love it.  And that truly would be an act of love – to mindfully and heartfully remind myself to offer my PRESENCE throughout the year.

I think that’s what I’m giving my friends.  Yes, I’m pretty good about being there for my friends.  But I could add a dash of  not rushing and just “I see you.”

I recently was listening to a podcast by Tara Brach.  She told the story of a mom who had terminal cancer and decided that with whatever time she did have, she’d live by this motto: “No time to rush.” 

None of us know when our last breath will be.  None of us have time to rush.  That isn’t meant to scare us.  It’s meant to open our hearts and eyes to the reality that this life is precious and short.  It’s meant to prompt us to give our sweet, loving presence – to our own hearts, our dear ones, and this world.

Happy presence giving!

Each time you judge yourself, you break your own heart…

see the goodness that you are

 
“My beloved child, break your heart no longer.
Each time you judge yourself, you break your own heart.
You stop feeding on the love which is the wellspring of your vitality.
The time has come.
Your time.
To celebrate.
And to see the goodness that you are.
You, my child, are divine.
You are pure.
You are sublimely free.
Let no one, no thing, no idea or ideal obstruct you.
If one comes, even in the name of ‘Truth’, forgive it for its unknowing.
Do not fight.
Let go.
You are God in disguise and you are always perfectly safe.
Do not fight the dark. Just turn on the light.
Let go and breathe into the goodness that you are.”

Swami Kripalvanandaji (Bapuji)
as copied from
“Radical Acceptance: Embracing Your Life with the Heart of a Buddha”
by Tara Brach

Repost: Mindful Moment: My mom’s every day love…in a grapefruit

{I wrote this a year ago.  I was reminded of it because, lately, I find that I am being called to a deeper sense of “selflessness.”  I see and notice and am grateful for how my mom and my husband both live lives of “serving the other.”  I am being called to be “less about me” – in every thing. More on this as the adventure unfolds}.

Grapefruit.  I could’ve sobbed over my grapefruit the other morning.  Carefully cutting the outside circle of my grapefruit, I stopped.  The memory of my mother so lovingly and thoroughly cutting my grapefruit for me as a girl flooded my mind and heart.  Back then, I probably didn’t say, “thank you.”  Back then, I took it for granted that she put such extraordinary care into something so ordinary.  Back then, I’m embarrassed to admit, I never thought that it was any “big deal.”

Now, as a mom to two little ones, I get it.  The time, attention, care, focus, energy, and “groundedness in what is important” it took for my mom to cut my grapefruit and never even say anything about it – I know all too well now what a big deal that is!  To take the time, to put off showering or brushing teeth or fixing her own breakfast, to put attention into one thing instead of being a multi-tasking queen, to muster up the energy from a night of little sleep from a tending to a sick little one, to find balance in divvying up time with more than one child, to recognize in the moment “THIS. This is what matters” — THAT is extraordinary.

mom and me

And I am humbled.  Grateful.  I want to go back in time and savor every little cut out triangle of grapefruit and hug my mom and kiss her and tell her she rocks and thank her for all the little every day ways she showed me extraordinary love.  Cutting my grapefruit.  Making my lunch (yes, even through high school).  Telling me to “take a mental health day.”  Braiding my hair.  Driving me (and team mates!) to and from soccer practice.  The list goes on.   Flashes of these memories flood my heart.  And I pick up my phone to call her.  She’s asleep.  My heart can’t wait to tell her “thank you.”

Ordinary things done with extraordinary love.

Before having my two little ones, I wanted to do extraordinary things in this world.  I had specific ideas about what that meant.  None of them involved cutting grapefruit.  But the other morning, I thought about how now it’s my turn to embody this legacy of loving with great tenderness and attention in the ordinary.  And I am quietly grateful as I go about my afternoon.  I cut an apple for my two little ones, peeling the skin carefully so my little C. can easily chomp away.

beholding my little one

grandma…still lovingly regarding her honeys