The Good & the Bad will Happen: How Mindfulness can help us decide what Matters.

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~
Shortly after returning to work following the birth of my eldest son, I awoke to the sound of rain.

I could hear it pattering against the windowpanes and splashing on the roof of the girls’ dormitory where I lived and worked as a school counselor. My mood soured immediately. Returning to work meant leaving my three-month-old son in the campus day care center—a painfully ambivalent experience to begin with—but today would be my first attempt at negotiating this new routine in the rain.

I stomped around our tiny apartment, dreading the inconvenience of trying to keep myself and my infant son dry while hauling a purse, lunch box, laptop, and umbrella out to the car.  I silently (or perhaps not so silently) cursed the weather, the fact that I “had to” work at all, and, just for good measure, my gelatinous postpartum belly that now had to be squeezed into office-appropriate clothing. When it was finally time to leave, I anchored my son on my hip, gathered up all of the day’s paraphernalia, and headed outside.

The walk to the car wasn’t long, perhaps 50 footfalls. Still, I moved as quickly as possible (surely with a scowl on my face), in an effort to avoid the rain. About halfway down the walkway, I heard my son start to giggle. I’d largely forgotten about him, lost as I was in my own grumpiness.

Turning my head to see what had captured his fancy, I noticed that he had extended his chubby little arm outside the protection of the umbrella in order to feel the droplets of rain on his fingers.  He was gazing up at the top of the umbrella—mouth open in a wide smile—clearly delighted by both the unexpected colors of the umbrella as well as the sound of raindrops bouncing off the waterproof surface. How am I staying dry? I could almost hear his little mind marveling at the scene. Is this some kind of magic?

I took a deep breath. Even trained therapists can use a reminder once in a while about the power of our thoughts and their influence on our emotions. Because I considered the rain an inconvenience, I felt irritable and put out. My son, on the other hand, viewed the rain as an absolute wonder. As a result, the weather became a source of delight and fascination.

Rain is just rain; it’s the meaning we assign to it that determines its emotional impact.

I’ve returned to this story often, both in my work as a therapist and in my personal life. Most recently, my son—now 14 years old—was scheduled to attend the boarding school where his father (to whom I am no longer married) works. I began stressing about this eventuality a full year before it went into effect. I exchanged testy emails with my ex about how the custody schedule would change, who would pay for what, and how I would be compensated (as if one could be compensated) for giving up my child.

I worried about how we would maintain our relationship, despite the fact that the school is only 45 minutes away and I would still be able to see him regularly. I felt trapped between my desire to have my son at home and the opportunity for him to receive a world-class education at virtually no cost.

When the time came, I tried hard to be the proud parent and to focus on my son’s excitement and the opportunities ahead of him. I remembered the lesson he had taught me all those years ago as he stretched his hand away from the protection of his mother’s umbrella in order to experience the world through his own unique lens. I would miss tucking him in at night and hearing his voice around the house, his up-for-anything attitude infusing the rest of the family with energy we didn’t know we had.

But I also knew my son was in for the adventure of a lifetime: peers who, like him, were bright and motivated and kind; a school culture that eschews screen time and drugs and instead encourages service and face-to-face interactions; the independence that comes from looking after oneself at such a young age. To be sure, there were losses and gains, but I knew I had the power to choose where to turn my attention. In the end, boarding school is just boarding school.

While I initially used my umbrella story to increase clients’ understanding of Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT), in recent years I’ve come to appreciate it as a great example of mindfulness as well. One can focus, without judgement, on the immediate sights, sounds, and sensations of rain, or one can live in an anxiety-producing future in which one’s clothes might get wet or a walk to the car could prove slightly precarious. A mother can glory in the pride on her son’s face as he sets a personal record in a cross-country race, or she can fret over the moment later in the day when she’ll have to say goodbye.

Both will happen; both are true—the record setting and the leave-taking—but, with mindfulness, each of us can choose the moments on which to focus our attention.

The next time you’re aware of having labeled a circumstance as “negative,” see if you can suspend that judgement—just for a moment—and instead take in some other aspect of your present experience. That might mean paying closer attention to ambient sounds, noticing the color variations in a single leaf, or taking a deep breath and being fully aware of your abdomen filling up with air.

Decide to pay attention to that which engenders curiosity, if not joy. It won’t make the negative aspects of a situation disappear, but it can have a powerful impact on your moment-to-moment experience.

Let me know how it goes.

~

author: Allison Banbury

Image: Author's own

Image: Geetanjal Khanna/Unsplash

Image: Naomi Boshari

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Every time you read, share, comment or heart you help an article improve its Rating—which helps Readers see important issues & writers win $$$ from Elephant. Learn more.

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Lindsay Klein Jan 15, 2019 4:46pm

Dear Allison, I appreciate your words and perspective. I do try to practice this, but my difficulty at the moment and question for you is, how do you balance being mindful, but also hold space to process and deeply feel difficult emotions?

    Allison Banbury Jan 17, 2019 11:15am

    Hi, Lindsay. Thank you for your response and your question. I would say that each situation is a little different. For example, when I am with my son I work hard to stay present and if difficult emotions arise (e.g. jealousy that he now lives with his father, sadness at the thought of saying goodbye) I try to remind myself that I’ll have time for those feelings later and that it would be a shame to have them infect this present moment with my son. At other times I try to *notice* emotions rather than “deeply feeling” them. I notice the pain, anger, frustration, and fear…but try not to let them take over. This may just be semantics, but to me “processing” is a different matter and I would never want to shortchange that step. I just approach it more from a curiosity perspective (i.e. “I notice anxiety and resentment are often present for me when I’m on this campus. What is that about? What could be gained from finding a way to view this campus as a deeply loving place of growth for my child rather than a sign that I have lost something?”). I hope that helps. Again, thank you so much for reading my piece.

Andy Sweet Jan 15, 2019 8:28am

Wonder. A powerful word. I did catch an unedited biased skew of a mother that I didn’t expect from the title. Assignment and ascribed perceptions are powerful words to presence as well!

Nina Triolo Jan 15, 2019 7:05am

Beautifully stated. As a single mother with my ‘baby’ graduating college and moving into his own world soon I can relate. The joy, pride and sadness all come at different times. Thank you for the reminder to breathe and choose the joy.

Natalied Jan 8, 2019 1:41pm

Insightful article containing information I was able to immediately apply. Thank you for sharing.

eemens Jan 8, 2019 9:25am

Beautiful and insightful piece. Thank you.

meganpinand Jan 7, 2019 5:44pm

This is wonderful, thank you. I have to believe there is beauty in everything and it is possible for us to change our thinking and find a way to focus on it. It’s definitely at least worth a try!

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Allison Banbury

Allison Banbury, a licensed mental health counselor, works at the University of Delaware’s Center for Counseling and Student Development. In her 27-year career, Allison has worked as an English teacher, dorm parent, school counselor, mindfulness instructor, and dean of students in both public and private school settings, as well as owning her own private practice. She is ecstatically married and the proud (and sometimes frenzied) parent of two sons and two stepsons. Allison enjoys traveling, reading, outings with friends, and spending time outdoors. She has flirted with writing on and off throughout her career, and is hoping Elephant Journal turns out to be a great fit!