Last Updated On May 5, 2014

 

Helpers

 

 

For me, the worst is when I get so mad and feel stuck, it really feels like I will remain in this untenable position forever. That I will be trapped in this dynamic with my kid for the rest of our lives together. This place feels large. Barren. Final. A dead end with no options except to wait it out. I am flattened. The immobility is unbearable.

I feel crushed and defeated by the onslaught of questions pummeling me. Why am I here again? How did this weird and volatile combination of parent and child that is Us ever come together in the first place? Why. is. this. so. hard.

I need help. I am consumed with seeking release, the tiniest anything that will yield the slightest emotional movement or awareness of the most barely imperceptible glimmer of possibility.

The mother of cardigan-wearing children’s advocate and eponymous PBS tv show host Mr. Rogers, used to redirect his attention during the evening news, saying, “Look for the helpers,” encouraging him to find the people doing good. I need helpers.

I’m wild-eyed, swirling in desperation for relief. I notice a hawk soaring overhead. The sky is huge and open and welcoming, and some of my barren hopelessness hitches a ride on her wings. I am reminded that I am more than this feeling.

A weird bug I’ve never seen before crawling across my windshield during a stop at a red light. Its odd shape doesn’t trigger me, it actually fascinates me. How might it be if I used this curious, relaxed lens to view my own daughter’s differences.

I’m Googling about the edibility of skunk cabbage, and one of my favorite poets, Mary Oliver, randomly pops up: What blazes the trail is not necessarily pretty — I am affirmed in my messy and clumsy humanness, my striving to let go of an authoritarian construct and connect with my child in a real and respectful way. I delight in the very existence of a skunk cabbage poem, let alone by Mary Oliver.

I impulsively pick up a tiny Pema Chodron book while checking out, only to realize later that it’s an excerpt of a book I already have, The Wisdom of No Escape. Those few words offer me direction and rich comfort, assigning purpose to this difficult time. I get it. Be here now.
These hints, supports, reminders, gifts, blessings, they help to scaffold my day when I seek change from these habits of heaviness, pain, and old story, helping me to cultivate a practice of mindfulness that helps me to be with my children in the way they require. To be with myself.

 

© Erica Chase Salerno 2014

Find out more about Erica here: http://www.illuminousflux.com/?page_id=76

 

Last Updated On May 5, 2014

 

Helpers

 

For me, the worst is when I get so mad and feel stuck, it really feels like I will remain in this untenable position forever. That I will be trapped in this dynamic with my kid for the rest of our lives together. This place feels large. Barren. Final. A dead end with no options except to wait it out. I am flattened. The immobility is unbearable.

I feel crushed and defeated by the onslaught of questions pummeling me. Why am I here again? How did this weird and volatile combination of parent and child that is Us ever come together in the first place? Why. is. this. so. hard.

I need help. I am consumed with seeking release, the tiniest anything that will yield the slightest emotional movement or awareness of the most barely imperceptible glimmer of possibility.

The mother of cardigan-wearing children’s advocate and eponymous PBS tv show host Mr. Rogers, used to redirect his attention during the evening news, saying, “Look for the helpers,” encouraging him to find the people doing good. I need helpers.

I’m wild-eyed, swirling in desperation for relief. I notice a hawk soaring overhead. The sky is huge and open and welcoming, and some of my barren hopelessness hitches a ride on her wings. I am reminded that I am more than this feeling.

A weird bug I’ve never seen before crawling across my windshield during a stop at a red light. Its odd shape doesn’t trigger me, it actually fascinates me. How might it be if I used this curious, relaxed lens to view my own daughter’s differences.

I’m Googling about the edibility of skunk cabbage, and one of my favorite poets, Mary Oliver, randomly pops up: What blazes the trail is not necessarily pretty — I am affirmed in my messy and clumsy humanness, my striving to let go of an authoritarian construct and connect with my child in a real and respectful way. I delight in the very existence of a skunk cabbage poem, let alone by Mary Oliver.

I impulsively pick up a tiny Pema Chodron book while checking out, only to realize later that it’s an excerpt of a book I already have, The Wisdom of No Escape. Those few words offer me direction and rich comfort, assigning purpose to this difficult time. I get it. Be here now.
These hints, supports, reminders, gifts, blessings, they help to scaffold my day when I seek change from these habits of heaviness, pain, and old story, helping me to cultivate a practice of mindfulness that helps me to be with my children in the way they require. To be with myself.

 

© Erica Chase Salerno 2014

Find out more about Erica here: http://www.illuminousflux.com/?page_id=76

Last Updated On May 5, 2014

Helpers

For me, the worst is when I get so mad and feel stuck, it really feels like I will remain in this untenable position forever. That I will be trapped in this dynamic with my kid for the rest of our lives together. This place feels large. Barren. Final. A dead end with no options except to wait it out. I am flattened. The immobility is unbearable.

I feel crushed and defeated by the onslaught of questions pummeling me. Why am I here again? How did this weird and volatile combination of parent and child that is Us ever come together in the first place? Why. is. this. so. hard.

I need help. I am consumed with seeking release, the tiniest anything that will yield the slightest emotional movement or awareness of the most barely imperceptible glimmer of possibility.

The mother of cardigan-wearing children’s advocate and eponymous PBS tv show host Mr. Rogers, used to redirect his attention during the evening news, saying, “Look for the helpers,” encouraging him to find the people doing good. I need helpers.

I’m wild-eyed, swirling in desperation for relief. I notice a hawk soaring overhead. The sky is huge and open and welcoming, and some of my barren hopelessness hitches a ride on her wings. I am reminded that I am more than this feeling.

A weird bug I’ve never seen before crawling across my windshield during a stop at a red light. Its odd shape doesn’t trigger me, it actually fascinates me. How might it be if I used this curious, relaxed lens to view my own daughter’s differences.

I’m Googling about the edibility of skunk cabbage, and one of my favorite poets, Mary Oliver, randomly pops up: What blazes the trail is not necessarily pretty — I am affirmed in my messy and clumsy humanness, my striving to let go of an authoritarian construct and connect with my child in a real and respectful way. I delight in the very existence of a skunk cabbage poem, let alone by Mary Oliver.

I impulsively pick up a tiny Pema Chodron book while checking out, only to realize later that it’s an excerpt of a book I already have, The Wisdom of No Escape. Those few words offer me direction and rich comfort, assigning purpose to this difficult time. I get it. Be here now.
These hints, supports, reminders, gifts, blessings, they help to scaffold my day when I seek change from these habits of heaviness, pain, and old story, helping me to cultivate a practice of mindfulness that helps me to be with my children in the way they require. To be with myself.

 

© Erica Chase Salerno 2014

Find out more about Erica here: http://www.illuminousflux.com/?page_id=76