Ready Set Grow

Ever feel inadequate raising your kids, like you can’t quite get it right? Ever feel like you are out of balance and you aren’t sure how to tip the scales to find those elusive moments of equanimity?

Maybe it’s just me - but I don’t think I’m alone. The exhaustion and confusion of being a parent in the early years (Or maybe forever? I don’t know… I’m still in the early years.) can be overwhelming. I often find myself not meeting my own expectations and left feeling deficient.

I often find myself lacking warmth, humor, and kindness as I fumble through learning how to parent these amazing and challenging little humans who call me “Mom.” I often judge myself against a pre-parenthood version of me when my well runs dry. The days can feel long without self-compassion.

Self-compassion helps me be kinder to myself as I navigate the challenges of raising children. And this is good for me and good for my children. When I’m self-compassionate, I’m a good role model for my kids. By role modeling kindness to myself, I’m helping my kids learn that it’s okay to make mistakes, forgive myself and try to do better next time.

It’s a work in progress. I’m a work in progress.

May we all give ourselves the compassion we need as we try to care for our children.

If you are interested in exploring some self-compassion practices, check out Prenatal + Postpartum Yoga Wind Down in our class offerings!

𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐃𝐚𝐲. ⁣
It is also an important day for me and my family as we lost my mother on this day 11 years ago. Two of my children never got to meet her and my oldest for only his first year or so. I was her only child so it’s mostly on me to keep her memory alive. Being a motherless mother has its own challenges, mainly that I don’t get to share my beautiful children with their Nona who would’ve found such joy in them. Sharing a poem I wrote a few years ago. ⁣
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𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐦 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐌𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬⁣
Sometimes when I lie in my bed and close my eyes to take a quick recharging nap⁣
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my children quietly (finally) themselves, napping⁣
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I can see my mom’s face⁣
her freckled olive skin⁣
as if it were inches from mine... ⁣
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and I remember what she looked like when she was alive,⁣
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and I remember what she looked like when she was dying, that in between alive and not alive look that your skin gets,⁣
and I remember what she looked like dead.⁣
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She was beautiful (although she probably wouldn’t have thought so), in every stage from here to gone,⁣
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from present to illusory,⁣
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from breath, to mist, to cold, to ash.⁣
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I can feel the soft skin of her neck as I nuzzle in to breathe deeply her smell.⁣
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I can remember her smell,⁣
as if she were lying next to me⁣
right this very minute.⁣
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My beautiful mama, who I hugged and snuggled not nearly enough;⁣
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Who I appreciated so much less than I should have,⁣
⁣
and who loved me no matter how ungrateful and naively unaware I was⁣
⁣
of her gift⁣
of motherhood⁣
and unconditional love.⁣
⁣

**You can find more writing about motherhood as well as documentation of my pregnancy at 46 via short dance videos (the best ones shot by through the first year of the pandemic at matrescencemonologues.com⁣ or at the link in our bio.
Xo, Daniele