momma zen

You don't have to work so hard at this. You don't have to do so much. You don't have to endeavor to be natural, normal, and good. It happens by itself when you least expect it. If you are confused about what you should be doing, try this. Stop what you are doing. Take care of what is in front of you, when it is in front of you, and the confusion will pass. This is called the effort of no effort. No effort is what powers the universe.

With time, your roots grow deep and your branches long. You lean a little less backward in fear and a little less forward in doubt, resting solidly right where you are. When the wind blows, you bend. When it stops, you straighten. Your boughs provide shelter and shade. Your strength supports the sky. Sitting quietly, doing nothing, spring comes and the grass grows by itself.

Your baby will be okay.

-Karen Maezen Miller

I found this passage last night in a book given to me by my mom when I was pregnant called, Momma Zen. It's funny because I began reading it when I was about seven months along and it didn't really resonate with me. I wasn't even sure if I liked it. I just picked it up again the other night and I realize that it didn't resonate because I so didn't get it. I just had no idea, then, how much of me would shift and strengthen and solidify when my little girl entered the world.


I've been thinking lately about "leaning backward in fear." Yesterday I had a ski lesson. Without getting into it too much, for whatever reason, skiing terrifies me. My teacher, who is also a friend, yoga instructor and life coach, had me take off my skis and hike with her to a cliff that overlooked the whole valley. We were looking down at the fog, the craggy peaks, the insanely gorgeous valley that I now call home. It was literally breathtaking. And totally uncomfortable and scary. She told me to close my eyes, stare into the sun and breathe deeply into my belly.


When I opened my eyes, the fear of falling from that cliff hadn't disappeared. I wasn't suddenly ready to conquer the mountain. I was still my same, anxious, "big mountains scare me" self. But I was grounded in my body in a new way. I was owning my body and my mountain and my relationship with my mountain. My relationship that all returns to my relationship with my child and to myself as a mother. Because I know that my girl will grow up rushing down these runs, and I know I so want to be a part of that. In order to do so, I have to get over myself and my issues. And when you make it about you and do it your way, it somehow doesn't seem so hard.

And, of course, this skiing metaphor, is just one teeny example of all the fear and self-doubt and caution and "what if" that is being a mama. That is being a human. But being a mama seems somehow magnify everything. Everything gorgeous and everything scary.

So, just like Ms. Miller says in the Zen book, I had to only look at the snow right in front of me. And then stop thinking and just do. Just make the turn. Just know, that at the end of the day, my girl and my man would be waiting for me at the bottom of the hill. And we would all be stronger for making the journey up.