Mindfulness Matters

The pressure to live up to expectations denies us the gift of living mindfully.

“Serenity comes when you trade expectations for acceptance.” -unknown

In late August of 2009 I was involved in organising an alternative therapies fundraising day for a children’s arts festival. Mal (my late husband, who I barely knew to say hello to at the time) was one of the therapists volunteering on the day. During a lull in proceedings, I popped into a lady who was doing angel card readings. In the course of conversation she asked if I was single and if so what were my hopes around that. I explained that I was single and that I hoped I wouldn’t always be. She asked very directly if I compared every man to my Dad. I laughed because it was something I had been accused of on numerous occasions by various friends. She told me I needed to stop or I would never find anyone. She went on to say that actually my soulmate was very physically close at the time…Mal was in the next room doing Reiki treatments!

I knew she was right that I needed to stop comparing men to my Dad - there was never going to be another Seán Staunton but there could be someone equally special. My Dad was wonderful. He was kind, loving and generous to a fault. He had no interest in material possessions (apart from some DIY tools that he had no idea how to use). If anyone admired anything in our house, they were likely to be given it to take home with them - sometimes to the dismay of my mother. Dad was a very proper, dignified man. He always wore a suit and tie -even as he chopped down a tree one day in my garden! He had a strong faith. He had the right words for every situation and always seemed to do the right thing. He was heavily involved in politics and was loyal to a fault to his chosen party. Everyone knew Dad and Dad knew everyone.

Being ‘Seán Staunton’s daughter’ brought with it lots of expectations…expectations that others had of me as well as expectations that I had of myself and until Mal came along I largely lived up to these expectations. I worked hard at school, I never rocked the boat too much as a teenager, I made a sensible career choice becoming a primary school teacher, I endeavoured to do 'the right thing’ whenever possible, etc. I was more or less predictable in every area of my life.

Then in September 2009, along came Mal and expectations went out the window! From the very beginning I was behaving in ways that surprised both myself and those around me. There was nothing sensible or predictable about our relationship. In ways he was the polar opposite to my Dad. He was an English Protestant who wore combats and t-shirts on a daily basis. He had tattoos. He practised Reiki and angel channeling and had little or no interest in history, politics or current affairs.

I fell in love with Mal almost immediately and although I suspected he felt the same, I knew that if I behaved as expected and waited for him to make the first move then nothing was going to happen. So I laid my cards on the table and told him how I felt. Thankfully, the feelings were mutual but he said because of the age difference (he was 15 years older than me) that he never would have made a move. From then on life was a bit of a whirlwind. We started dating in September, he moved in in November, we got engaged in March and married (in Gretna Green : ) ) in June. We had our first little girl a year and a bit later and our second little girl a year and a bit after that! Life was hectic but life was utterly wonderful -full of more love than I could ever have imagined I would be lucky enough to have in my life.

As many of you know by now, Mal passed away suddenly in April 2016. Our little ones were 3 and 4 years old at the time. I was, and am heartbroken. If I had 'lived up to the expectations’ of myself and others back in September '09 and disregarded my strong feelings for Mal, I could have saved myself a lot of pain but I will be forever grateful that I lived in the moment that fateful night and shared my feelings with him. I am deeply indebted to the 'mindful’ part of me who scorned expectations - ultimately allowing myself to experience incredible love and happiness with my soulmate and our beautiful children. Mal was a precious gift in my life and even in his death he continues to give. Mal’s death has served to gradually release me even further from the shackles of expectations.

Just a few hours after he passed away the undertaker asked me to gather some clothes together for him to dress Mal in. 'Expectations’ reared their ugly head and I found myself with his one and only suit in my hands before I came to my senses and threw it aside and gave the undertaker Mal’s favourite combats and a t-shirt which read 'This Daddy belongs to Lottie and Rosie’. Mal looked like himself when he was laid out. He hated wearing suits and in the throes of deep shock and grief I knew he was pleased with my choices.

Escaping the expectations of yourself and others can sometimes be very confusing and distressing but that doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing - at least you are being real. I started seeing a therapist very soon after Mal died. She has been an amazing support and I’m so blessed to have found someone I completely trusted so quickly. A few months after Mal died I was going through a particularly rough patch and during one of my therapy sessions I stood up and I hit the wall. I was horrified - completely shocked at my own behaviour. Hitting walls was not something I did! However, with support from my therapist, I endeavoured to be compassionate towards myself and realised that at that precise moment that was the action my body needed to take. I tried not to judge my action harshly despite it being completely at odds with the expectations I had of myself. That night I wrote this poem:

Stranger Hitting Walls

Who’s that stranger hitting walls?

Me? Don’t be absurd- I don’t do that.

Or maybe I didn’t do that before…

Before I lost him,

Before I wasn’t there for her,

Before I was a 'me’ not a 'we’,

Before no one held me in bed,

Before no one kissed my lips,

Before no one touched my face,

Before I was everything for them,

Before the notes stopped coming,

Before I was a 37 year old widow,

Before I ached for a hand to touch mine,

Before the overwhelming uncertainty,

Before the devastating pain,

Before part of me died.

Yes I guess the stranger hitting walls is me and I don’t bloody blame me!

On a lighter note, as expectations continued to loosen their grip on me, I did something else quite out of character. About a month before Mal’s anniversary I was out for a spin with my nephew David (one of my best friends in the world) and I asked him what could we do to celebrate the anniversary that wouldn’t be sad and depressing. He immediately suggested that we all get tattoos as Mal had a number of them ( including a large, full colour one of two koala bears hugging on his stomach with my nickname underneath it, which he got for me three months after we started going out! I was horrified but he was so proud of himself and said he just wanted me to know that I was 'forever’. I was tempted to ask if he had ever heard of eternity rings but managed to resist!). I told David not to be daft, I hated tattoos! If anyone else had suggested it that probably would have been the end of that but because it was David and I value his opinion so much, the seed was planted. I thought about what design I would get and where I would get it. I emailed the place where Mal had his done and asked did they do walk-in appointments as I didn’t want to actually commit to getting it done. They recommended that I make an appointment and to cut a long story short on April Fool’s Day this year I found myself sitting in a parlour in Galway with my dear friend Dalva with me for moral support, waiting to get a tattoo! I had chosen a 'love and light’ symbol as Mal used to always sign off his letters and cards 'love and light, Malcolm’. Dalva said “I bet this is the wussiest tattoo the guy has ever done on the most worried looking person.”. When I was called in, Dalva asked could she come with me so she did and sat beside me as I had it done. The tattoo artist asked why had I chosen to get my tattoo done there. I explained that my husband had had his done there and mentioned what they were. He said “oh yeah I remember him cos they were such unusual tattoos - how’s he keeping?”. At this question Dalva burst out laughing out of pure nerves and that set me off and the two of us were nearly crying with laughter. I eventually pulled myself together and said 'Actually he passed away last year". Given our hysterical laughter, I’d say the poor fella thought we were lesbian lovers who had killed Mal and buried him in the back garden. He didn’t know what to say! The end result was a small tattoo on the inside of my right wrist that I am very pleased with indeed.

On Mal’s actual anniversary I once again turned a blind eye to expectations. There was no anniversary Mass (Mal had great faith but was not religious as such) or memorial notice in the paper. These are lovely traditions for some but they just wouldn’t have been right for Mal. Instead the girls and I came up with a far more fitting celebration of Mal’s life. I asked our little ones “What did Daddy really like?”. They considered it for a moment and came up with “coffee, cake and Mocha” (our favourite coffee shop where we had spent many happy times together as a family). I instantly knew their suggestions were perfect so we invited family and friends to join with us in Mocha on the evening of Mal’s anniversary to share coffee and cake in his memory. It was a beautiful gathering. There was lots of laughter and smiles and sharing of stories and memories. The love was palpable.

They are just a few examples of how I have begun to live more mindfully by allowing expectations to have less of a hold on me. Had I not met Mal, I would probably still be living up to expectations as 'Sensible Sarah’ but I am giving her a well deserved holiday for now and attempting to be true to myself in my actions and in the choices I make. Don’t wait for a terrible tragedy to befall you to examine the expectations that might be denying you the gift of living your life mindfully and meaningfully. As Shakespeare said “Expectation is the root of all heartache”.

Love and light, Sarah

Who’s teaching who?

“Aren’t the sun’s rays beautiful coming through the trees Mammy?”

These were the words uttered by my five year old on our way to school a few weeks ago a mere fifteen minutes after she had thrown a cup across the kitchen in anger!

Initially I felt like saying “I don’t care about the sun’s rays!” – my head and my emotions were still back in the kitchen trying to deal with the flying cup! I caught myself and I agreed with my little girl because she was right – they were truly beautiful. My frustration and anger gave way to a sense of pride and awe……for here was my daughter teaching her Mammy how to be mindful. Here she was genuinely living in the moment.

I really couldn’t blame her for feeling like shouting and throwing cups. If I was honest I felt like doing the same. She had every right to be angry – only months earlier she had found her doting Daddy dead in his bed and I, her Mammy, wasn’t there to help her. In that moment of throwing the cup she had owned that anger (I’m not saying it was the healthiest way of owning it but that’s an issue for another day!), expressed it and then moved on with her day – allowing space for other emotions to move in and out. I, on the other hand, was struggling to let go of the stress of the situation. I was replaying it over and over in my head, all the while missing out on, among other things, the beauty of the sun’s rays coming through the trees.

Children know how to live mindfully. They are our greatest teachers when it comes to living in the now. Our role as educators is to name it for them, to help them to realise when they are being mindful, to guide them in the different approaches that support mindful living so that as they get older and the ‘busyness’ of life begins to take over, they always have the capacity and the skills necessary to assist them with noticing the sun’s rays!*

But as well as teaching them, we desperately need to learn from them. We need to embrace the opportunities that arise so often where we can gain from their innocent and pure wisdom. ‘Not now’, ‘maybe next time’, ‘I don’t have time’, ‘we’re going to be late!’ are phrases that most of us as busy parents/teachers say to our children on a regular basis. Of course sometimes it’s absolutely necessary to say these things to our little ones but on other occasions we are missing out on so much precious learning and sharing for no real reason – these responses can become a habit and sometimes we don’t even realise how often we say them.

This morning Lottie was outside bouncing on the trampoline as I dashed around doing a few last-minute tasks before the three of us left for school. Suddenly I heard her shout “Mammy come and look at the clouds”. I was just about to shout “Not now Lottie, get in the car” when I caught myself. I went out and lay on the trampoline for five minutes with my two little girls lying either side of me and we looked at the clouds that resembled “a giant’s sled”, “a bunny on an elephant’s trunk”, “a loveheart” and “a crocodile eating a banana” among other things! Yes we weren’t as early as usual getting to school and I wasn’t as organised as I might have liked to be starting the day but the three of us had shared those five minutes in a very intimate and special way and that was far more important.

Challenge yourself in the coming days to catch yourself when you’re about to use some of these phrases when speaking to your children or pupils, ask yourself is it absolutely necessary to say them and if it’s not, see what learning could you take from the given situation. Enjoy a little bit of role reversal and allow your little ones to become your guides.

*If you’re a teacher looking to help your pupils to identify when they are living mindfully and to develop further approaches to ‘living in the now’, I would highly recommend that you enrol on one of the Mindfulness Matters summer courses. Both courses include a huge amount of excellent resources and practical approaches to assist you in promoting mindfulness in your classroom. See below for further details on the brand new course being offered by Mindfulness Matters this summer and for details on how to enrol.

Teacher well-being is always number one for Mindfulness Matters!

Dr. Ann Caulfield’s research and Mindfulness Matters’ interaction on their on line forum with 6,000 teachers has formed the basis of Derval and Ann’s practical guide to well-being for teachers. This BRAND NEW follow up on line course includes tips on WSE with ease, opportunities to really rest body and mind, simple ways to weave peace and calm into daily life, resilience, mindful communication and self-compassion. The perfect way to EPV with ease!

This innovative new Mindfulness Matters course Well-being, Mindfulness and Resilience for Teachers and Children also has a creative cross-curricular theme covering SESE subjects Science and Geography, SPHE, PE, Art, Irish, literacy, and support for planning whole school well-being. Dr. Ann and Caulfield and Derval Dunford, pioneers of mindfulness and well-being in Ireland, continue to pave the way to wellness in the Irish education system!

BOOK NOW Mindfulness Matters course 1 Developing Mindfulness and Well-being in Primary School Children

INTO http://moodle.intolearning.ie/login/index.php

Mayo Education Centre http://cpdcourses.mayoeducationcentre.ie/summer-courses/on-line-courses/sm-17-373

BOOK NOW Mindfulness Matters course 2 BRAND NEW follow up course Well-being, Mindfulness and Resilience for Teachers and Children

INTO http://cpdcourses.mayoeducationcentre.ie/summer-courses/on-line-courses/sm-17-1224Mayo

Mayo Education centre http://cpdcourses.mayoeducationcentre.ie/summer-courses/on-line-courses/sm-17-1224

To book SPECIAL OFFER course 1 & 2, gain an extra EPV day and save money http://cpdcourses.mayoeducationcentre.ie/summer-courses/on-line-courses/sm-17-373-1224

Teacher’s kind words on Mindfulness Matters course 1:

‘This course was funky and edgy’ ‘Creative and inspirational’ ‘The best course of my professional career’

‘Life changing’ ‘It enabled me to relax and make the most of my summer’

}

mindfulness mindfulnessmatters summercourses

Mindfulness and Me

The request – write a blog for Mindfulness Matters. My reaction – blind panic, doubt, feelings of inadequacy and the urge to say no straight away – to take the easy way out. However, saying no to people (especially people I like, like Derval and Ann) is not something that comes easily to me and so here I find myself attempting to formulate my first blog.

I have been a primary school teacher for sixteen years and have always had a particular interest in developing and supporting the emotional well-being of the children in my care. I have completed a number of professional development courses in the areas of mindfulness, building resilience, yoga for children, confidence building, etc over the years and have previously facilitated on the Mindfulness Matters summer online course.

So why the big deal about writing a little blog?? Because these days I struggle to identify with that ‘old me’ – the me who although not brimming with confidence, felt competent and secure in her ability to express her views and opinions coherently and in a meaningful way. That me has given way to someone who on a daily basis searches for the appropriate words to express the craziness that’s going on in my head so naturally I questioned the wisdom of undertaking the task of writing a regular blog.

Allow me to take you back to April 2016 in an attempt to explain this change of personality, this, to a certain extent, loss of self. On April 24^th, my 37^th birthday, I spent a lovely day with my amazing husband Mal and our two beautiful little girls – Lottie, four and Rosie, three. That evening with a heavy heart, I kissed them all goodbye as I left to attend a course in St. Patrick’s College, Dublin for the week. I had never spent that long away from them and I knew I was going to miss them terribly.

When I woke on the Thursday morning I remember my initial sense of relief that I had only ‘one more sleep’ left before seeing my little ones and being back in my husband’s arms at night time. That relief quickly turned to a sense of uneasiness when I looked at my phone and realised there was no message from Mal. (I had asked him to text me every morning just to let me know they were all ok – which he had done on the three previous mornings). I texted him but got no reply, phoned him but got no reply and finally phoned my Mam who lived in an adjoining granny-flat and asked her to check that everything was ok with Mal and the girls. Minutes later she phoned me back and uttered the following words – words that I will never forget as long as I live - ”He is unresponsive”. Panic ensued but the end result was that my beautiful, warm, kind, caring, loving husband had died during the night from SUDEP, Sudden Unexpected Death in Epilepsy. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, it was our four year old daughter who had found him.

That day my whole world turned upside down and part of me died forever.

Mal and I, though it sounds clichéd to say, were truly soulmates. We met and married within nine months and had our little girls soon after. He brought the sort of love and happiness into my life that I had always dreamt of but never imagined I would be lucky enough to find. He completed me.

As I write this, a year after losing ‘my Mally’ I am amazed that I am still here – amazed that it is possible to regularly feel that you are being ripped apart by grief but to still survive.

Am I saying that I owe my survival to the practice of mindfulness? No – not exclusively- but it has undoubtedly been an extremely useful tool in my toolbox and one that I have endeavoured to share with our little girls. We regularly listen to some of the Mindfulness Matters cds, practise yoga and breathing exercises and do simple mindfulness meditations together.

These pursuits have not been easy to persevere with in the midst of profound sadness, loneliness, exhaustion, despair and anger. There have been days, indeed weeks, when these practices have fallen to the bottom of the list of priorities – when, to be honest the only thing we were doing as a family was existing. But it is very apparent to me that it is precisely the times that these practices fall by the wayside, that we really need to be engaging in them.

It is called Mindfulness ‘Practice’ for a reason. It is not easy. For some, children and adults alike, it is almost impossible … at first. It does undoubtedly get easier the more you practise. The challenge, like most things worthwhile is creating the habit and persuading yourself to do it even on those days when it is the last thing in the world you feel like doing.

Without doubt, my greatest source of encouragement to continue with mindfulness practice has been my children. I feel very strongly that if I equip them with this skill early in life, I will be doing them a great service for their futures. They have experienced a profound loss and of course it has, and will continue to affect us momentously as a family but I am determined to help them to realise that the pain, sorrow, loneliness, anger, shock, etc. that they feel in any given moment, hour or day will categorically not last forever. I need them to understand that all of our emotions are transient so that they don’t allow themselves to be swallowed up by the negative ones that will invariably come along.

Mindfulness Practice is one of the most powerful aids I have to assist me in achieving this goal both for my children and for myself. A terrible thing has happened in our lives but our lives are not terrible. We were blessed to have had the most exceptional husband/father anyone could ever wish for and although we desperately would have liked many more years with him, I have no doubt that there are lots of couples together for a lifetime who will never experience the love that Mal and I shared and there are children whose Dads live to a ripe old age who won’t have spent the amount of quality time with their fathers as our two princesses spent with theirs.

My own Dad, when times were tough, used to say “the sun will shine again” and those words sum up for me the essence of mindfulness. As I write these final words, I am going to be honest and admit that now, at this moment, the sun is not shining for me and that’s okay because I know that tomorrow there’s every chance it might be again – here’s hoping!

Stay tuned…..I’m looking forward to the ‘blog experience’ and to sharing my experience of Mindfulness and how we, as parents and educators, can use it to support our little people.

Day seventeen ..the last photo

Day seventeen ……the last photo…………Thank you so much for joining us…An seachtú lá déag……..An lá deireanach…….míle buíochas as ucht a bheith linn……. more