by Sindy Warren
It was a Thursday afternoon in Cleveland, Ohio, circa 2000. I should have been at the law firm where I worked, preparing a legal brief in an age discrimination case. Instead, I was lying in bed feeling like I was about to have a heart attack. I had binged again. I ate so much so fast that I thought I might die. As I lay there in abject misery, full of self-loathing and extreme physical discomfort, a voice inside my head said “it’s time to get help.” It was a whisper at first, but the voice became louder and more insistent. I’d ignored this voice before. This time, I listened.
A few days later I sat in the office of the woman who would be my therapist for the next couple of years. She introduced me to mindfulness practice. She told me about the famous and prolific Buddhist monk, Thich Nhat Hanh, who spread the teachings of mindfulness all over the globe. I read his book Peace Is Every Step: the Path of Mindfulness in Everyday Life and began to dabble in mindfulness-based meditation. I started to learn how to sit with uncomfortable feelings, which always precipitated a binging episode, without the need to push them away, numb them with food, or otherwise reject them. This was the beginning of my path of healing from my binge eating disorder.
As I continued to heal and move away from self-destructive behaviour, I became more committed to my own mindfulness practice. This dovetailed with my introduction to the practice of yoga, which began in earnest shortly after the birth of my daughter in 2003. I had heard over and over that yoga was a “great workout.” It is – especially the kind that I practice and now teach. But it was the mental shift that turned me into a devoted student and teacher of the discipline. I left class more connected to my breath, body, mind and heart. For me, the physical practice of yoga (called asana in Sanskrit) became an embodied practice of mindfulness. I learned how to stay and breathe while physical sensations arose and intensified. The parallel to my mindfulness practice was unmistakable. Whether seated in stillness or moving on my mat, the discipline is the same: sensations, thoughts, or emotions arise in the field of my awareness. They abide for a period of time, and then they inevitably dissolve. My work – and the work of all students of the practice – is to take the seat of the witness, to observe without simply reacting, to stay and breathe in a place of acceptance rather than resistance.
By nature, I tend towards the inpatient. Slow driver in front of me? I was the person who honked. On very rare occasions I still am (insert sheepish shrug here), but I now know how to sit with whatever arises without needing to immediately react. My mindfulness practice has literally rewired my brain in a way where I am less enslaved by my emotions. Learning to sit with my feelings – the good, the bad and the ugly – was not only an essential step in my recovery, but also the single most important skill I have learned as a practitioner. This is not something most of us are taught how to do, at least not in our early years. Yet it is at the heart of mindfulness teachings and has made a world of difference in my life, and in the lives of those around me, slow drivers included.
In addition to learning how to relate to myself and others more skilfully, the philosophy underlying mindfulness practice has taught me so much about the nature of the world and my place in it. Understanding the truth of impermanence – that everything in this world, including my thoughts, feelings and physical experiences, arises, abides and then dissolves – has freed my very human tendency to cling to what is or how I think things should be. Not all of the time – trust me, I still get caught up in likes and dislikes and the double-edged sword of attachment and aversion – but a good portion of the time. This has helped me live with compassion, both for myself and others, and to be less reactive when dealing with the inevitable ups and downs of daily life.
Mindfulness is, for me, an almost-daily practice. I sit in a comfortable chair or on my meditation cushion, close my eyes, and let my awareness settle. Each day’s practice looks a little different, as I have compiled a veritable toolbox full of techniques that all serve me in different ways at different times. Some days, my practice consists of simple breath awareness. I notice where in my body I feel the inhale begin, and then I follow its flow. Other days, I practice open awareness, where I notice whatever arises, such as sound, smell, sensation, thought, emotion. Still other days, I practice mantra-based meditation. A mantra is a word or a phrase that I repeat silently inside my head. There are a number of Sanskrit mantras I love, and sometimes “I am here” serves me well, reminding me that in this moment and each one that follows, I am safe, grounded and present. I am also frequently drawn to metta (which translates as loving-kindness) meditation, where I mentally send well wishes to myself, others, and all beings in a systematic way. Whichever technique I choose on any given day, I approach my practice without an agenda, other than to cultivate a witnessing presence that holds whatever experience arises. I try and do so softly and with care.
Some days I feel agitated and impatient. My practice lets that be. Some days I am focused and present. My practice lets that be, too. However I show up, my practice holds space for me to simply be who I am, with whatever thoughts and emotions arise. On occasion, I tap into a sense of interconnectedness with the natural world and all of the beings within it. More often than not, though, I notice the trappings of my own mind: to-do lists, seemingly random musings, and judgments, of myself or others. Regardless of the quality of any particular practice, I notice significant positive changes off the cushion. First and foremost, in my willingness to process my emotions without reacting to, resisting or avoiding them. Second, in my ability to concentrate more fully on any endeavor. And finally, in my increased capacity to bring a sense of compassion to all the ways I relate to myself and others.
Nearly fifteen years after my introduction to mindfulness, I became a mindfulness-meditation teacher. Not only have I experienced tremendous personal growth through this discipline, I have amassed knowledge and experience to help others live with more skill and intention as well. The transformative power of this practice lies in the quality of our relationships – with ourselves, others, and the world around us. I think of my mindfulness practice as a way to skilfully manage my mind, which determines how I show up in this world, each and every day. I bring all of these lessons to the coaching work I do as well, as I know that self-awareness and acceptance are absolutely necessary first steps on any path of personal growth.
Sindy Warren is a mindfulness and mindset coach. Sign up for her Mindfulness Meditation Guide and blog at www.bluetree-coaching.com.
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