Tag Archives: balance

Work of Human Existence

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The other day Mattie asked me, “When I’m  a grownup, will I work, too?” I was a little slow to respond as I thought through how to answer, but eventually just said, “Yes, honey, you will”. He just nodded his head, taking that in, and went back to what he was doing.  It didn’t turn into any big conversation about what he was going “to be” when he grows up, in part because, when I think of work, it’s about so much more than that. As grownups, we’re nearly always working. Whether it’s for income, inside our homes (cooking, cleaning and creating a comfortable, nourishing environment), raising our children, tending our gardens, or working on ourselves and our relationships, the work-to-play balance shifts in adulthood strongly in favor of work.  

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I am very grateful to be able to work part-time, from home, so that I have more time for child raising, home creating, garden tending, and the like. However, this can be a tricky thing to balance with my partner, who works out of the house more. Lately, my dear, wonderful husband, Ken, has been busy with not only his day job, but also his creative work (lots of gigs this month), and a new foray into Shambhala Buddhist wisdom and meditation training. Let me stress how completely supportive I am of all of these things — before I voice the fact that I’ve also been feeling resentment about how much everything else falls to me while he pursues these other things. Don’t get me wrong, he does his best to contribute, even when he’s out of the house so much. But when the things that feel like burdens (washing dishes, doing laundry, and cleaning toilets, for example) seem to fall mostly to me, I get grumpy and resentful.  

Fortunately, I’ve also gotten pretty good at noticing what’s happening inside me and voicing it as soon as I notice.  And, thankfully, Ken’s response is most often a compassionate one.

Take this morning, for example. After pouting silently for a little while, I realized what was going on (aforementioned resentment) and pulled Ken aside in the kitchen to share what was happening in me. I emphasized that I’m aware that it’s not just the imbalance around physical tasks, but also the lack of connection between the two of us (since we’re often like ships passing in the night) that makes me feel so stormy. Ken graciously received this with understanding and tenderness. Whew!

He even took it a step further and stayed home to do the dishes before leaving for work. This means, of course, that he will spend less time working today, which means that he’ll (we’ll) earn less money. But the relief of being seen, acknowledged, and reminded that the burdens of daily living are shared, and not mine to shoulder alone, makes the loss of income feel very worth it.  

I also notice, however, that I feel shame and guilt about sharing that interaction, and that mean voices in my head say things like, “I can’t believe you made him stay home to do the dishes.  How childish.”  Except I didn’t make him. And there isn’t anything wrong with sharing my very real feelings or asking for help. But the underlying secret feeling, that also belongs to the inner critic part of myself, is this: I should be able to do it all, without asking for help, and definitely without feeling resentful. I should be able to cook, clean, care for our child, earn an equal income, and not need help with any of it.  

What the fuck is that?!

I suspect that the answer lies buried deep in my lineage somewhere.  And, I also suspect that many other women feel this way.    

How does any family find a balance that works without resentment, or martyr syndrome, or one partner, (or both), burning out from either too many hours at the office or sweeping too many floors and changing too many diapers?

The answer lies in the ongoing paying attention and communication, I think. I know that we’re on the path to this balance that I seek, even on the days when it feels elusive. There is an ebb and flow to this, and there will be imbalances on a daily, or even weekly or monthly basis. But on days when I’m not feeling it, when everything feels out of balance and I’m grumpy, I hope I can remember that the commitment, from each of us in this particular partnership, is there in the long view.  We have committed to supporting one another’s creative endeavors, to ongoing exploration and communication, and to sharing burdens as well as joy.

I’m damn lucky to have a partner who is so engaged in this work with me.

This is the work of human existence.  

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Where I’ve landed at the end of writing this makes me want to circle back around to Mattie’s four-year-old question again. This is what I want to say to him, and to myself also:

Come to think of it, my dear boy, we come into this world working; even as tiny infants we are working to understand the world around us, ourselves, and the people in our lives. That work continues all our lives, and other kinds of work get added in to earn income, care for our homes and families, and to seek fulfillment and live out our values and purpose. It will be up to you how you choose to balance the work of human existence, but may you find joy and meaning in the exploration and the journey.  

And may that be a reminder to me, too. Let there be imperfection and mess and even joy in the exploration. It’s okay to not know how to do this. There won’t be balance every day, but trust that it will even out when you work to make it happen. Seek out nourishment and connect with others to fill your own bucket. Priorities and even purpose can change over time. Melt into spaciousness and trust, and allow the unfolding to occur.

The Gifts We Bring

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“Do you know that you are the gift?”, a wise man once asked me.  Hearing these words from my teacher and friend generated a flood of relief within me.  We were on the phone only days before Christmas and I was expressing my desire not to lose myself amidst all the pressure and expectations of the holiday.   Absorbing the meaning of this simple question allowed me to relax, to unwind from my tightly coiled state of nervous anticipation, and to breathe and find the ground beneath me. It also allowed me to move through the days that followed with more grace and ease than I would have previously thought possible.

So today, in my tense, wound-up state of efforting – of trying to manage, strategize, prepare, plan and perfect – I stop and ask myself:  “Maggie, do you know that you are the gift?”  Do you know that even without “doing” anything that you are a gift to those you love, just as you are?

This truth is easy to glimpse, but easier to forget.

Thankfully, I was reminded of this question recently.  I was attending a yoga & writing retreat to help myself remember, well, myself, and to attempt to get grounded before the chaos of Christmas time.   Though I am desperate to remember and honor the truth and the spirit of the holiday season, it is difficult to stay present and not get consumed by outer-focused doing.   Having another tiny human being who demands ALL of my attention ALWAYS doesn’t help.  But it’s hard even without that, honestly.   So it takes planned and intentional moments, like this retreat, to stop and take the time and space to turn inward and get into my body to sit, reflect, write, and remember.

When it came time to write, the prompt came in the form of another poignant and well-timed question, this time from a wise woman (the group’s facilitator):

“What are the gifts that you bring the world – the ones that live inside you?”

This question, like the one so helpful to me years ago, I am receiving as a gift and a healing medicine this holiday season; to remember my own unique and innate gifts as a daily practice.

To say that it is not comfortable for me to claim my gifts confidently, out loud, is an outrageous understatement.  Our culture does not condone this.  It is not in my nature. The mere thought of it makes my skin itch from the inside out all over. And yet.  It feels vitally important somehow to break this unspoken code of conduct and do it — to transmit the gift all the way to anyone else who may want or need to receive it.

And so …

I name some of my own gifts here in the hopes that it might help you remember and celebrate your own inner gifts in this season of gift-giving.

  • I am open.  I am eager to listen compassionately and empathetically, without judgement.  I crave deep, meaningful conversation that brings light to darkened corners and possibly even allows healing to occur.  I can go deep inside the strength and source of myself to reflect back to you what I have heard you say, or what I haven’t heard.
  • I am a writer; always have been and always will be.  My relationship with stories, words, and language has been intensely intimate for as long as I can remember.  My life-long writing practice began with a diary in second grade wherein I expounded on the benefits of learning cursive, passing love notes on the bus, and the injury inflicted by being excluded at recess.  My ability to maintain the practice has ebbed and flowed over the course of my life, but it has been a constant touchstone to return to; a source of comfort and pleasure. Writing has also served as an entrance to self-reflection, healing and transformational work.  I am surprised and grateful for the revelations that occur in me when I stop long enough to reflect and write.
  • Writing is also my work, in one fashion or another.  I think this is so because I am skilled at distilling a story or an idea to its very essence and translating it into the words that best communicate that message; the story most wanting or needing to be told.
  • I can take a walk through the woods and notice things; tiny beautiful things all around me.  I may collect some of them to bring home and display on my hutch, my altar, my table to remind me of the beauty of the natural world when I am indoors, to create an opening to the calm feeling of sacred stillness that exists in me when I am in the forest.
  • I love fiercely and deeply.
  • Somehow, I find deep wells of patience in me even when pushed to my farthest edges by my dear little boy.  I can diffuse a power struggle with a song or by talking in a funny voice or growling like a tiger or by throwing myself into physical play and affection until rewarded by the most delicious peals of laughter. And sometimes I can’t – and I explode – but then apologize later.

Though I am trying to focus on my gifts, I notice how quickly feelings of shame, judgement, and inadequacy come crashing down on me as I think about those moments when I do not have the patience or compassion I wish I had as a momma.  Perhaps because those moments happen more often than I would like to admit.  However, in large part I can see that this most often occurs when my own need is so great that it is banging down the door, kicking and screaming for time to be quiet and alone — to be noticed, explored, and attended to.

So here I am attending to you, dear need, dear me; I will try to give you this gift more often in the coming year.  It feels like a precarious balancing act though, to weigh the needs of all equally.  I am trying to keep the great teeter totter of life, of marriage and motherhood, not at an equilibrium per se … but ever-moving … so that we all get to HAVE FUN.

Up.  Down.  Up.  Down.  Balancing it all may be the greatest work of my life. Today I am at the center, as I breathe and remember my gifts — and that even without doing anything at all — I am still the gift.

And so are you.

The Fitzsimmons 2015 - Clean (15 of 78)

Where I’ve Been & Spring Through Mattie’s Eyes

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Whew, I’m back.  I made it through my big work deadline and I’m only just beginning to emerge from the long break from everything that we all needed. We took a much-needed vacation to Florida to reconnect as a family and remember the feeling of sun on our skin and dirt beneath our bare feet.   I thought I would write about it (and many other things) sooner, but I just haven’t had it in me.

My darling boy made it through my concentrated stretch of long work days beautifully (amenable to being with papa and his grandmas most of the time), but literally the day after it was over didn’t want me to leave his sight.  It’s like he knew that we’d gotten through something and he could fall apart and let all his built-up need out.  I’m grateful both that he was so adaptable during this critical time and and then also that his need could emerge fully and be met.  It’s been intense in the aftermath, as I’ve been really present to his built-up need and working to rebuild his trust, proving that I won’t leave him every time I walk out of the room.  Two months later, I think we’re finally on the other side of it and back in balance.

Balance.  Not an easy thing to achieve in any arena.  My life (our lives) feel like an undulating snake body that fills up and empties out, constricts and expands, coils tight and then slithers onward with a life and momentum all it’s own.   Too much of one thing, not enough of another…never enough. (Time, money, sleep…)  But then somehow it all turns out to be…just enough.   And like the snake, we survive.  We survive through the pain and the pleasure, and (hopefully) learn how to linger just a little longer in the moments of freedom and joy and fun, letting go of the suffering we cling to and can’t seem to live without.

(Whew.  Not sure where that last paragraph came from, but I’m trusting it’s arrival…it’s honesty…and it’s relevance to “where I’ve been”.  And moving on…)

A season of travel and exploration, it has been.  Whenever Ken and I reflect on our lives and prioritize the things we want for fulfillment, connection, happiness, (and balance?) we discuss how we can be more fluid with our physical location (jobs etc) and travel more.  So this spring we really committed to making more travel with Mattie a reality, and it’s been a great learning experience for us all.  In addition to our escape to Florida,  we just ventured on a cross-country pilgrimage to Skyline, our home away from home in northern California for my great-aunt’s 76th birthday.  It was a magical adventure (for Mattie especially) filled with throwing rocks in mountain streams, riding in the back of the pickup truck, feeding the horses and learning how to call the cows (Come, bossie!).  In addition to sweet connection with my great-aunties and my cousin, of course.  (More on this journey forthcoming, I hope.)

Maggie, Ken, and Mattie at Skyline

Maggie, Ken, and Mattie at Skyline

And while I’ve been absent from my blog, I did continue my Contemplative Writing practice, and a few weeks ago sat in the sunshine and wrote this bit below, which quite aptly describes where I’ve been in these early days of spring.

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Spring through Mattie’s Eyes

Oh sweet sunshine, soaking into my skin, my clothes, my hair, coloring the world red behind my closed eyes. How I am tempted to lay down my pen to sit and enjoy you alone, absorb your rays into my being, feeling whatever you stir in me on this afternoon of spring awakening.  You light up the world outside and in; the longer days of light, the first yellow crocuses inspiring delight, causing the frozen states inside to melt a little, soften, as we too have the chance to be born anew.

This morning we walked, Mattie and I, noticing signs of spring everywhere.  Walking at the pace of a toddler allows for noticing and absorbing more of the world than the brisk adult “busy, busy I’m so busy” way of moving through the world.

We crouched down next to the creek in the sunshine, staying in one spot for a long time, noticing. We saw a male and female mallard pair floating lazily through the water, then stopping to bask in the sunshine; robins flitting from ground to tree and back again in search of morsels to eat, I presume; a woodpecker flying back and forth, back and forth eventually settling on the tree closest to us and pecking out it’s unique rhythm again and again (causing us both to smile); a red-winged blackbird rooted on one branch, calling over and over, seemingly announcing the arrival of spring; and a blonde squirrel perched unmoving on a stump for the longest time, seemingly contemplating in the sunshine (just as we were). I named each wild creature for Mattie and he carefully repeated each name, many of them brand new to him.

For the first time he is witnessing the grass and mud emerging from the snow, being revealed for exploring with fingers (and event tasting!), the frozen sheets of ice melting into running water, and new wild creatures moving in and filling our environment with activity and sound; all of it new and amazing and filled with possibility.

I am astounded as I fully recognize my role in this, his earliest education, and how much power I have in determining what he experiences – or not.  And I am inspired to explore how I can continue to use the natural world and play and a variety of different environments to teach my son.  While it feels almost cliché to say, I am also so grateful to have the opportunity to try to see it all through his eyes, to appreciate it with the same intensity, curiosity and admiration – as though it were my first time too.  It feels like a sacred opportunity that I dare not miss – an opportunity to appreciate and admire the world just a little more, opening to all that it awakens. Today the sun and my son melt and awaken my world, without and within.

Mattie Exploring the Trees

Mattie Exploring the Trees

 

Coming To My Senses

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Oy.  My brain is tired and full, straining to remember and hold onto all the details that need to be coordinated over the next 3 weeks to submit 20 documents to the federal government on behalf of 8 clients.  I’m writing all day long, telling other people’s stories in the body of application templates — researching, analyzing, calculating, categorizing, strategizing – using my left brain far more than I’d like to.  I feel stressed and overwhelmed, like there’s too much work to be done in not enough time and the pressure is getting to me.

Especially since I’m trying to do it all – to work as much as possible AND be with Mattie as much as possible.   The result is that I feel as though I’m failing at both.  And the shift from being with Mattie most of the time to working most of the time has been tough.  I’m longing for this to be over so that I can return to spending my days with him and clear my mind to allow it to fill again with creative ideas, to play, and to write my own story.

Lately I feel as though all my senses are dulled in this all-consuming singular focus on my work.   I spend each day in our cluttered office: typing, thinking, talking on the phone, making lists, crossing things off lists, and sending email upon email upon email.  Then when I can’t stand it anymore, I get up from my black swivel chair, brush away the accumulated crumbs scattering my desk, and collect my plates & cups from the meals of the day.

I walk down the stairs that are increasingly cluttered with clean folded laundry, dog hair & other random items that (I cringe to admit) currently includes a box of brightly colored wedding thank you cards that were written and never sent — rediscovered nearly 6 years later in a recent cleaning frenzy making room for more Mattie gear.    If you are one of those people who never received their thank you card, please receive this as my formal apology!   Oh, the guilt!

I set aside the guilt, deciding to leave the collection of things in their places for one more day and complete my descent, unlatching the baby gate at the base of the old staircase.  I push open the shiny green curtain in the doorway to the living room & barely have time to set my dirty dishes on the seat of the oak foyer bench before Mattie notices my entrance.

And then I am his.

He reaches for me, needing me.  If I am lucky, I will be greeted by the two sweetest syllables I know, “ma-ma”.  But more likely, once in my arms he will just scramble to lift my shirt, desperate to nurse & reconnect after the long day apart.  We’ll settle into our spot on the worn leather sofa or a stool in the kitchen (if Papa is cooking) and drink each other in, skin to skin. I might sigh, overcome by his beauty, his sweet pudgy, sticky face and big brown eyes locked on mine.  His fingers are now busy exploring – stroking, twisting, and pinching all over.  He may pause nursing periodically to look at me intently and say “up” and “down” (pointing with emphasis), or “woof” or “naaa”.  And with a smile, I’ll confirm, “yes, that’s up, and down”; then look over to our dog “yes, there’s Girl,  she says woof”; and then locate his stuffed plush lamb strewn on the floor; “and yes, there’s your lambie, naaa”.  And he’ll return to nursing contentedly, satisfied that I’ve heard and understood him.

Maybe my senses aren’t totally dulled after all – I’m just saving them for this moment, letting them all slowly flood back in until I’m fully present.  Because this is when I need that awareness most, to engage fully in this intimate conversation between mother & son reunited, rooted in the sensual exploration of one another and the world around us.   This is what I’m living for these days.  This is what’s getting me through.  Yes, it’ll do.