There I was, body softening into my yoga mat, monkey mind quieted, breath slowing, perfectly relaxed, oil diffuser humming, and probably only 1 short minute into a 7 minute savasana. Ahhhhh. Yeeeeessss.
And then slam of the door and “Mooooooooooommmmm!?” just above me. I held that softly flowing breath for a second — maybe it was a phantom yell like those phantom infant cries I still hear sometimes — and then again, “Moooooooooom, Pax’s neck is bleeding!”
And this, my friends, is why when someone says “put on your oxygen mask before assisting others,” or “self care first,” “prioritize your needs,” or “you can’t fill from an empty cup,” when giving me mothering self-help advice, I just do the unhinged laugh.
Because, seriously, if you finish the last 6 minutes of your savasana before putting eyes on your child’s bleeding neck, there are two possible outcomes – 1) that last 6 minutes is anything but restorative and you come upstairs to a child with a mere scratch with a whole lot of rage and exasperation, or 2) that last 6 minutes was a big ol’ traumatic mistake for everyone involved. One is a whole lot more grim than the other, but neither option leaves you and your nervous system in a state of rest and restore.
Now, I did eventually go back downstairs to rewind that 7 minutes of meditation. I laid my body back on my mat and reclaimed my breath and my thoughts (after cleaning and dressing a wound, swapping out laundry, vacuuming the floor, and popping a burrito in the air fryer). The monkey mind was back in full effect, the deepened breath was back to normal, and the softened focus was back to sharp. It wasn’t the same, but it was a promise kept to myself, at least for today, that my needs can be met, too, albeit not necessarily on any specific timeline.
It was a reminder to my nervous system that high alert is not a place to live. It was a necessary reset to my busy mind. It was a chance to notice the state of my muscles, including that big, strong pumping heart of mine that needs the invitation to soften sometimes.
My mantra: I am ok (even when plans aren’t executed without interruption); they are ok (minor necks wounds or not); we are ok (you and me, sweet heart). We are here; we are alive; we are enough; we are doing the right things. And even when we are interrupted, tense, scattered, or asleep (when we’re just supposed to be resting), we are doing our very best to show up for ourselves (and our families) always.
A memory from my past life in yoga teacher training came back to me just in time: the goal of meditation is not a still mind but constantly coming back to stillness when the interruptions come. As a really tired mama, that is a sexy goal I can get behind.
