Parenting Excerpts

Finding Your Inner Mama edited by Eden Steinberg

Reprinted with permission from Trumpeter Books.

Children as Spiritual Teachers essay by Cheryl Dimof.

Like most mothers, I did not come to this wonderful, crazy world of motherhood looking for a spiritual path. My reasons for wanting to become a mother were the usual ones: the joys of watching children grow, introducing them to the beauty of the world, teaching and parenting them alongside my husband. Perhaps I romanticized the concept of motherhood; I was definitely not prepared for the real thing: the sleepless nights, the messes, the constant repetition, the distractions, the lack of time to myself. The big questions of my life turned from “What is the meaning of life” to “How can I get a shower today?” and “How much sleep did you get last night?”

After my second child was born, I left the workplace to be a full-time, at-home mom. I was tired of the frenzied pace and conflicting demands of trying to both parent adequately and work a full week. At first I was ecstatic. Here I was, doing the job I loved best with the people I loved most, my kids. Yet as time went by, a question began to gnaw at me: “Isn’t there more to life than this?”

It wasn’t just that I missed the more immediate sense of accomplishment that comes from being praised for a job well done, or that I missed adult interaction, or the sense of contribution to the family’s coffers that came with bringing in a paycheck equal to my husband’s. Perhaps the somewhat slower-paced (although, I’ll admit, very busy) life of an at-home mom had given me more time to reflect on the meaning of my life, and had led me to grasp something that would bring an even deeper feeling of purpose.

Over the years, I had been sporadically interested in Buddhist philosophy. I found myself seeking out Zen practice and meditation, wanting a way to “calm down” from the stress associated with the full-time parenting of young children. I also wanted to enhance my creativity and effectiveness in my family life, and, possibly to try to re-experience the sense of oneness I had felt at earlier times in my life. I was also attracted to the Zen idea of “just sitting.” Mothers rarely get to just sit.

In the face of the demands of parenting, just sitting is not an easy thing to do. There is always something else parents must do. As I sat in meditation, my mind constantly wandered to writing checks, doing dishes, going over the myriad household chores that needed to be done. It was difficult to schedule in meditation around early risings, bedtimes, dance classes, and all the other demands of motherhood. Yet I persisted, continuing to see my meditation practice as somehow separate from my role as a mother….

In his book Wherever You Go There You Are, Jon Kabat-Zinn compares children to live-in Zen masters, and raising them to having an 18-year meditation retreat. As Zen masters go, my oldest daughter, Jessica, isn’t bad. At five years, she has just the right mixture of fierceness and … well, we’re still working on the compassion, but I know it’s there. As I sat at the table one morning, eating and reading the newspaper, she exclaimed, “Mommy! When you eat, don’t read, just eat!” Talk about reminding me to pay attention!

Jessica also asks me the most wonderful koans. (In Zen practice, a koan is a story or question that cannot be solved using the rational faculties and is designed to bring one closer to enlightenment.) One day, she was anxious to play with a friend who was going to be home in one hour. Every ten minutes or so, Jessica would ask me how much longer she had to wait. Once, after I answered, she asked, “How do you know?” And when I said, “Because I’m looking at the clock.” She asked, “How do you know you’re looking at the clock?” Question reality!.…

Children certainly can be our teachers. They often act as mirrors, reflecting both our positive qualities and, frequently, those qualities in ourselves that we do not want to own up to or accept. Looking in the mirror of my daughters, I have seen my own shadow and faced my own dark side more than any other way.

The Japanese Zen master Shunryu Suzuki spoke of “beginner’s mind,” in which the number of possibilities is unlimited. Children have the ultimate beginner’s mind. By the time we are adults, we have so much “knowledge,” so many preconceived ideas, that it limits our creativity and the possibilities we are able to visualize. Seeing through our children’s eyes can help us re-open to a wider range of possibilities....

Vietnamese Zen master Thich Nhat Hanh recommends posting a note to ourselves saying, “Are you sure?” reminding us to check the reality of our perceptions. Since I have had children, I no longer seem to need that note – my daughter Jessica asks me this question frequently. Her other questions – about everything from how life began, to the minute details of everyday life – frequently remind me of how much I don’t know, how much I have yet to learn. This is a humbling and important lesson, especially for those of us who want our children to look up to us as powerhouses of knowledge….

An oft-told Zen story…goes like this: A student asked a Zen master to write something very wise. The master wrote one word: “Attention.” The student, disappointed, asked if that was all he had to say. In response, the master wrote: “Attention. Attention.” The student again felt disappointed and frustrated, and complained to the master that he had asked for something wise. The master responded by writing: “Attention. Attention. Attention.” The student, now quite irritated, asked what attention was supposed to mean. The Zen master replied, “Attention means attention.”

Mindfulness is an important part of Zen practice, but this word is just a fancy way of saying “paying attention.” If we can slow ourselves down a bit from the hurried rush of western life to go at our children’s pace for a while, we might notice things we would otherwise miss. “Look, Mommy!” Jessica will exclaim, “This tulip is so pink!”…I remember how beautiful each flower, each sunset, each bug was to me when I was a child. When I can quiet my mind and look through my daughter’s eyes, I am able to recapture some of the beauty and innocence of childhood.

Along with helping us to pay closer attention, raising children forces us to ask questions about what is most important, what is “enough.” I was confronted with this when my first child was born and I felt I had to return to work to contribute to the family income. Although I enjoyed some aspects of my work, I missed my daughter terribly and I feared that I wouldn’t be there as she achieved all the big milestones – first steps, first words – and I wanted to share in all of her new experiences. Eventually I realized that I could concentrate more fully on the parts of my life that are most important by changing my attitude toward what is enough….I have realized that I have it within my means to claim the family time I want if I am able to live more simply and learn to be satisfied with what I already have.

The speed at which children grow can remind us of one of the most important ideas in Zen, that of impermanence. The idea of impermanence often seems depressing – I think most of us have trouble letting go – but impermanence can also make things more precious. Knowing things will change and pass out of existence makes us appreciate them right now. Isn’t it the continuous dance of birth and death, growth and change that keeps life interesting and meaningful?

Finally, children can teach us direct lessons in nonattachment. Of course, we’re all attached to our children – we care about them and want what is best for them. Yet we cannot fit our children into a mold, or make them conform to an idea of who we think they should be. Children will be who they are; all we can offer is the right environment for their growth and development, whichever way they unfold.

In searching for a path to help make my life more meaningful, I tended to separate things into the “spiritual” and the “nonspiritual.” The spiritual would include such things as meditation, prayer, attending religious services or ceremonies, and communing with nature. The nonspiritual would include things like housekeeping, preparing meals, and changing diapers. It seemed difficult to infuse everyday, mundane, repetitive chores with any meaning beyond the obvious….

I then encountered the idea of making everyday activities into a path of practice. If I can do all the myriad tasks that mothers do – changing diapers, cleaning, doing dishes, cooking, chauffeuring – with my full attention (ha), each can become a meditation in itself.

Zen master Shodo Harada Roshi writes, “In the workshop, in the home, while walking, while talking, while hiking; in the very midst of these we develop and realize our mind’s true peace. Wherever we do this is a dojo.” That my home could be a dojo was news to me. My home usually seemed more like a maelstrom of chaos and disorder. But then it occurred to me that perhaps I was thinking of it in the wrong way. Perhaps learning to maintain some inner calm – learning to remain centered in the midst of all the messy, crazy, chaotic, and wonderful demands of family life – was my lesson to learn.

Now, when I remember, I try to follow Thich Nhat Hanh’s advice about showing appreciation and gratitude toward my children, my little Zen masters, by bowing to them in a small Zen-style bow – a gassho. …Although I am still interested in Zen and in meditation, seeking out these small daily practices has helped me open up a little more to learning lessons from my own little teachers who are with me all the time. Though I still find sitting meditation to be beneficial, right now motherhood is my primary path, my practice.

back to nutsense