Power of Moments

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What makes for a powerful, memorable moment, in school or otherwise? Naturally, we all seek to be memorable. Nobody dreams of living an unremarkable life. We all want to be special to somebody. Some of us seek accolades from the masses, while others seek to be important to just a select few. That’s part of what makes us all so unique. We can all agree that there are magic moments that permeate our lives, but the tricky thing is creating magic, memorable moments for those we seek to serve. How do we make ourselves and the experiences we offer those around us, remarkable enough to make an indelible mark on our souls?

I recently read the incredible book The Power of Moments by Chip and Dan Heath, which outlined an easy-to-follow framework for creating remarkable memories.

Here’s the framework:

E: Elevate – Rise above the every day

Rise above the every day by marking transitions in special ways (100th day of school, 50th book read), building peaks, sensory appeal, raising the stake, and creating an element of surprise for the people you seek to serve.

P: Pride – Build in a sense of buy-in and pride

Celebrate those who have worked hard to achieve their goals! Help them to see their growth. Help them to develop affiliations with you and your tribe. The #1 reasons people leave their jobs is a lack of recognition. Break tasks into small and measurable goals…celebrate every milestone. Always be appreciating and noticing people…but know whether they want the recognition to be quiet or public (that’s important to note, especially with kids). The tribe’s win is everybody’s win!

I: Insight – Help people to learn about themselves in a supportive environment 

We tend to want to protect people from risk, but discomfort is where growth lies.

High standards + Assurance + Direction + Support = Insight

C: Connection

When we share our positive and negative moments together, lifting one another up and celebrating one another’s successes, it solidifies the bonds we have in a group. We feel tied to one another on a neuro-chemical level.

 

How might you apply these four pillars to create powerful moments for those you serve?

On this Mother’s Day…

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On this Mother’s Day… 

Let us remember to honour and hold space for those 

Who long to be mothers

Who cannot, in the way they envisioned, be mothers

Who have experienced devastating loss as mothers

Who have gained more than they ever thought imaginable as mothers

Who have broken down on their journey as mothers

Who enjoy every single moment as mothers

Who have stepped in as mothers

Who have had to step away as mothers

Who walk alongside mothers

Who

Struggle

Thrive

Teach

Learn

Fail

Succeed

Support

Judge as mothers

Who accept our own imperfection as mothers

Who strive for our best as mothers

 

We are all doing our best.

You are doing your best.

I am doing my best.

 

With Love,

Morgane

Finding Your Way to Happy Through Flow

7585962832_IMG_2415We are afraid

The thing is, most of us are afraid.

Afraid to put ourselves ‘out there.’

Afraid to make the invite.

Afraid to fail. Afraid to succeed.

Afraid not to be liked. Afraid to love.

Afraid to say, ‘yes.’ Afraid to say, ‘no.’

Afraid to show our hearts. Afraid to see ourselves in others.

Afraid to take the leap. Afraid to sit still.

Afraid to be different. Afraid to be normal.

Afraid to be boring. Afraid to stand out.

The Box

So, we nestle ourselves comfortably within the confines of the bell curve.

We strive for ‘acceptably normal.’ We strive to ‘fit in.’

So that we’ll belong. So that we’ll be loved.

But the problem is that the more we strive to fit into the curve, the more apathetic we become, the more bored we find ourselves, the more anxiety we develop,

and the less energy and dedication we spend on what truly matters.

The more we strive to belong to something external, the less we tune into ourselves and what brings our souls to life.

And what more is there? What are we waiting for?

Permission?

A roadmap?

Someone else to do it first?

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You are your best thing.

This moment you’re living right now is life.

If not now, when?

Too often, we conform to the vision of what we should be, instead of focusing on what fills us with joy, meaning, and purpose in our lives.

We deny ourselves the delight of play, creation, and curious exploration, trading authentic expression for certainty.

What if we pressed pause on fear, just for long enough to see it for what it is? To examine thoughtfully how it holds us back? What if we thanked it, as author Elizabeth Gilbert does when she begins any new creative project, and explained patiently that for this endeavour, its services aren’t required.

What if instead of pursuing success according to someone else’s definition and consistently measuring ours in relation to theirs, we redefined it for ourselves?

What if our focus shifted to finding deep fulfilment through the expression of our truest selves?

Now, for the million dollar question…

HOW?

How can I become more fulfilled and happy?

Mihaly Csiksentmihaly is a positive psychologist, speaker, and author has made it his life’s work to find out what makes people happy and deeply fulfilled. In his 2004 TED talk, Flow, The Secret to Happiness, he asserts the research-based conclusion that material goods do not ensure happiness, and that true happiness is found when one is in flow.

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In order to measure flow, Csiksentmihaly measured people’s moods in relation to subjective perception of their own skills and perceived challenge-level of a task. Individuals were asked to identify their emotions/task/whereabouts 10 separate times per day for a set period of time. Each individual had their own set point (or baseline for emotion/skill/challenge level). He identified that flow occurs when people feel highly challenged, while simultaneously believing that they have the skills to succeed in completing the challenging task. Boredom and apathy were the two emotions that were most detrimental to creating a state of flow. It’s very similar to Vygotsky’s learning theory of the Zone of Proximal Development.

 

So, how do you find your flow? How do you even know when you’re close?

Here are the 7 signs that you’re in flow: (paraphrased from TED2004):

  1. Complete focus and concentration on a task
  2. A sense of being outside of yourself, the world, and the everyday
  3. Clarity-you know where to go intuitively
  4. You know that even through an activity is difficult, your skills are adequate enough to complete the task (difficult but possible)
  5. A sense of serenity and growth, unencumbered by the ego
  6. Time disappears
  7. Intrinsic motivation-the activity itself is the reward

We all have that thing that puts us into flow. Flow is our soul’s connection to purpose and meaning. Flow is play.

Think of the child who weaves in and out of flow so effortlessly, without the promise of an end-product.

Flow is that perfect balance when challenges are higher than average, but so is the skill set. It’s where you feel the joy of innovation and creation, while experiencing deep connection to the world and your place in it.

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Maybe it’s been a while since you experienced it. Perhaps you’ve even convinced yourself that it’s a thing of the past.  Maybe you’re waiting for the perfect moment or a permission slip from the office…

Take the leap. Just for fun. Find and explore the thing that makes you feel alive and connected.

Allow it to dissolve time.

Let it carry you away.

It may not bring you financial wealth, but it will make your soul fuller.

 

 

Just do a little more of that thing.

And maybe when you’re ready, you’ll share it.

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So, I Threw A Spatula…

Just last week, in a fit of quiet rage and a heightened sense of perceived injustice, I hurled a spatula across my kitchen.

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I cannot convey to you, by the way, how hard that sentence was to admit, write and publish.

Anger’s not cute

Anger is not cute. Rage…even less so. It’s not an emotion many people, women specifically, proudly tout. Lack of control, specifically expressions of anger, seems to run counter to the current culture of mindfulness and increased emotional intelligence.

I admit, I’m not proud of throwing that spatula in fury. However, I choose to share my embarrassing outburst on social media because despite being one of the least favourite emotions, anger is a human one. It’s part of the colourful rainbow of sentiments that contributes to the privilege of being human. No one is exempt or immune. Nor, should we strive to be.

Nevertheless, we rarely see examples of healthy, thriving women in their anger. Somehow, anger doesn’t fall into the parameters of what society believes a woman should exude.

As Soman Chainani, acclaimed author and filmmaker, asserts, “Social media has made it so that we are constantly judging ourselves and others. If we’re not careful, our social media feeds become a torture device, an assault of beauty and perfection designed to make you feel inadequate. It makes you intolerant of other people’s real imperfections, and it makes you start to despise the weight of real life, and invest in shallow, flimsy, two dimensional mirrors of it.”

Our growing understanding of emotional expression has somehow coincided with raised and often unrealistic expectations of how our emotions should manifest themselves, which can result in feelings of shame in moments we don’t present as calm, cool, and controlled. We can even tell ourselves the story that we’re somehow ‘defective.’

A bit of background…

I should mention, for the record, that I didn’t throw the spatula at anyone. I was standing alone in the kitchen, ruminating.

The rage had been fuelled by a recent article in Maclean’s magazine, titled I Regret Having Children. The article reported that an increased number of women across North America were expressing regret for having had children, a fact I vehemently DO NOT personally agree with.

Reading it made me angry for three reasons:

  1. Mental Load: Most mothers these days share a profound first-hand understanding of the day-to-day inner conflicts one experiences when trying to meet insatiable, constant, 24-hour needs of our little people, balance and manage a household, nurture a flourishing relationship, nail it in our ambitious careers, all the while attempting to maintain a stronghold on one’s own identity and wellness. Just look at popular posts like the recent work by cartoonist Emma, You Should Have Asked, which depicts the pressures of ‘mental load’ in a hilarious and all-too-familiar manner. It resonates. However, it doesn’t mean I REGRET the choice to have children. It breaks my heart that for a rising number of women, the only relief comes from wishing they never had children. I HATE that women feel like they need to choose some binary definition and experience of motherhood. And that a surprising number feel like they chose wrong.IMG_2650
  2. I felt set up: After finishing the article, I couldn’t help myself. I continued scrolling down to the comments section, anticipating the onslaught of inevitable traditionalist commentators. Sure enough, comments judging the “regretters” harshly, each one echoing the other, affirmed that our current cultural and family denigration is owed to women forgetting their place. Blaming and shaming women for being selfish in their pursuits. Declaring that they should only find fulfillment by filling their pre-determined roles. Where is the village? The lack of support, the sometimes-lonely nature of parenting, and the expectations of living up to some ideal make it difficult to be a mother. It’s unjust and unfair…and heartbreaking. The underlying cultural viewpoint that this is somehow a mother’s issue is infuriating. Really, this comes down to perpetuated societal injustices. This is everyone’s problem!
  3. A building sense of injustice: So, there I stood, staring at the piled-up dishes taunting me from the sink, the next day’s awaiting lunch Tupperware practically begging to be filled from the messy counter, and imagined the wet laundry impatiently admonishing me for my turtle’s pace…empathy, solidarity, heartbreak mounting. I just couldn’t help myself…

So, I threw the spatula…

We feel we should know better

As soon as it clattered against the squared edges of the basin, the heat of shame quickly replaced the rage. Shocked, I realized that in spite of regular journaling, meditation, gratitude practice, and exercise, I had experienced an uncontrolled, reactionary outburst.

At the time, I thought, I know better! What is wrong with me? What had made me react like that? More importantly, I wanted to know how could I stop it from happening again.

I believe some people turn to mindfulness as an inoculation against uncomfortable human emotions like grief, hopelessness, fear, anxiety, and anger. That somehow, there’s a perception that meditation is the answer to ridding us of these feelings.

Our current mindset seems to be that the more we know, the more we should be able to control ourselves. Ironically, I have heard friends mention that mindfulness just doesn’t “work” for them, dejected in their inability to get ahead of their unwanted emotions and the humiliating ways these feelings can sometimes express themselves. Or, some teachers impatiently lament that reflection and meditation in school doesn’t immediately cause tangible changes in behaviour. But, maybe, we’re all missing the point?

What is authentic mindfulness?

Here’s the thing, resisting negative emotions only exaggerates them. Genuine mindfulness comes from acceptance and deep observation. Observing all emotions, accepting their existence, and dropping the expectation that we should somehow be immune to negative feelings. Only through that acceptance, can we alter our, possibly inappropriate, reactions.

Simple concept, challenging to execute

As Shawn Achor, Harvard-trained happiness expert and author asserts, “common sense is not common action.” What he means is that even if we know what to do, actually doing it comes down to more than just our willpower or intellectual knowledge. That’s why experts in the field refer to mindfulness and meditation as a practice. Much like going to the gym, we can’t simply attend for a week and expect to reap it’s benefits for the rest of our lives. It’s an on-going labour of love. We win some, we lose some, and the overall trend keeps us headed in a positive, self-aware direction.

What happened on the brain-level?

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(Pic credit www.greenlightheidi.com)

In order to explain what happened, we need to talk about the two parts of our brain that duel for supremacy.

First, we have the emotional, limbic, reptilian part of the brain (amygdala). When we’re threatened, cortisol and adrenaline (neuro-chemicals) course through our veins throwing this ancient part of our brain into fight, flight or freeze. This reaction can prove tremendously helpful in protecting us from the perils of huge predators; however, it is not of particular use when employed in day-to-day stressors. Cortisol shuts down the body on a fundamental level and is only meant to be present in our bodies for short bursts. The problem is, every single time we get stressed, cortisol is released. The compounding effects of stress on the body has been linked to decreases in effectiveness of the immune system, cardio-vascular functioning, digestion, cellular growth, empathy, and increases in depression and anxiety. It’s toxic stuff!

The other part of the brain, the logical prefrontal cortex, is responsible for rational thinking. It takes into account a myriad of factors about a situation, risk-assessing as it goes along, before advising you on how to react.

It’s fair to say that after reading that article, my limbic brain hijacked my rational brain, and consequently, I jumped into fight mode.

And so, I propose, maybe it would be more useful to be calculating success in terms of our Recovery Time, as opposed to some unattainable obliteration of negative thoughts. Recovery time meaning, how quickly are we able to get to a place of authentic, self-forgiving, ego-free reflection after an emotional breakdown?  How long does it take for the rational brain to regain control?

What Now? How do we increase our recovery time after an emotional outburst, anyway?

The key is letting go of the ego-which says that if you’re not winning, you’re losing. Compromise and self-reflection are not the ego’s favourite thing to do. We have to have more patience of ourselves and others in the process, so we can move on and bounce forward. Mindfulness plays a big role in recovery time.

And, a little bit of reflection also goes a long way…

Five things you can do to increase your recovery time:

  1. Your story: Ask yourself, What story am I telling myself right now?
  2. Let it out: Find a way to express your voice through journaling or talking. Sometimes, those big feelings just need validation.
  3. List it up: Create a mental or written list of what’s inside your control and what’s outside of it.
  4. Small Steps: Create a small goal you know you can accomplish. Doing that has a way to building your confidence. The all or nothing mindset serves nothing. Small steps lead to big changes!
  5. Celebrate: Holding yourself to an unrealistic ideal, when it comes to any behavioural change is a recipe for disaster and failure. Celebrate small triumphs!

 

 

 

 

Rethinking Regret: Two Stories of Forgiveness and Acceptance

Regret’s a funny thing, isn’t it? I used to believe that it served no redeemable purpose, that accumulated regret would only function to burden a person under its weight, like a sack of rocks, discomfort giving way to hopelessness and overall stuck-ness as one buckled under the heaviness of it over the years.

I remember one of my first memories as a child being steeped in regret. With my family, I had emigrated from France at the tender age of 4 ½, speaking not a single word of English. Days after having arrived in Canada, we decided to visit a museum somewhere on the East Coast. With my parents, I entered an enormous hall that housed an expansive and interactive children’s winter exhibition. I was overcome by the beauty of a massive igloo standing before me. Staring into the extended entryway of the beautiful, white, frosted structure, I suddenly became aware of the children playing inside. From the half-moon entrance, I gazed past the hallway, into the blue-white dome at the children’s exuberant and smiling faces decorated with sparkle face-paint. I remember my parents urging me to go in, but I just stood there, paralyzed.

Ironically, something about it delighted and intrigued me. I yearned for my cheeks to be adorned with frosty, magical paint, too, but my feet stood planted firmly on the concrete floor of the exhibition refusing the invitations of my perplexed parents.

Looking back, the long list of rapid-fire firsts undoubtedly had me swimming in a sea of very understandable overwhelm. My little 4-year-old heart desperately wanted to enter but my mind wouldn’t let me. I was standing at the edge of what felt like a life-changing cliff and felt unable to close my eyes, embrace the unknown, and take the leap.

I remember driving away from the exhibition, quietly heartbroken and disappointed that I had passed on the opportunity. Unable to forgive myself, whenever the uncomfortable experience came to mind, I would often push the memory away entirely.

Dramatic? Perhaps.

Minor? Seemingly.

But…perspective is relative…even to a child.

For a long time, I unconsciously adopted the ubiquitous North American bumper-sticker-slogan, “no regrets,” unequivocally rejecting the potential value of regret and denying its existence entirely. Regret is uncomfortable…why on Earth would one subject oneself to it?

Yet… I’ve recently changed my mind about regret.

Perhaps it does indeed have a purpose. That purpose, however, relies entirely on the ability of a person to harness its usefulness, while resisting the damaging effects of reliving a past one cannot change.

I have come to believe that regret operates as a guide…

reminding you to stand in your integrity,

to seek out the pursuits most connected to your ‘heart-wishes’ (the things that your ‘thinking-mind’ often prevents you from pursuing for a myriad of ‘rational’ reasons),

to have intention without hesitation and follow that intention with unapologetic purpose.

In order for regret to be useful, one has to also employ self-forgiveness.

Oh, forgiveness.

Like many people, I’ve had a challenging relationship with the general concept of forgiveness.

It’s taken me a long time to settle upon a definition that would enable me to engage in authentic forgiveness while maintaining my integrity. Here it is…

Forgiveness is the ability to accept the past and to stop wishing it were different, despite injustice, hurt, and heartbreak. It’s not about condoning. It’s about finding a way forward. Not for someone else. For yourself.

I believe that regret and forgiveness are closely tied. Regret is that inner reminder that tells you that you deviated from your values. Forgiveness allows you to move forward, becoming unstuck through your pursuit to apply your lessons learned. You can release yourself from replaying regret, accept it, apply the lesson, and live your life with the intention you have for it, in forward motion.

Nowadays, I call that inner-conflict I felt as a four-year-old in the museum winter exhibition, the “jump off the cliff” moments. Life presents you with these moments every so often, I believe, to test your character, courage, ability to step outside of your comforts. These are the moments where your heart knows what to do but the fear of uncertainty or apparent failure hold you back through hesitation, under the guise of protecting you.

I’ve had many of these moments.

We all have.

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Recently, I felt the familiar sting of regret, once again. It had been a while. It still sucked.

As a young girl, my grandmother Mac played a significant role in my life. Even into her eighties, I remember Mac as a smart-looking woman, immaculate glossy white permed curls, supple rosy cheeks, expertly-applied fuschia lipstick, a closet full of high-heeled YSL shoes, and charisma beaming from captivating electric eyes.

She was a petite little thing, so much so that she always drove her 1960’s Valiant perched upon a couple of opulent throw pillows, and even still, could just barely see over the steering wheel. Small as she was, one learned never to underestimate her. She was one of the most determined, brave, and stubborn women I knew. The eldest of 11 children, she had led a rebellious and adventurous life, and had learned many lessons from the school of hard knocks. Challenge and hardship were no match for her.

IMG_2361Over the years, I developed relationships with some of her siblings, my great aunts and uncles. Although we didn’t see him often, I remember visiting Roy, my great-uncle (through marriage). He was always good to us kids, bringing us gifts at Christmas. I remember one year he brought us special chocolates, a book of Christmas-edition life-savers I savoured for weeks, and a mini-bottle of Chanel N.5 I cherished throughout my middle-school years. As I grew up, attended high-school and university, I saw less and less of him, but thought of him affectionately as I looked back on those memories.

Fast forward to last year. A few months before Christmas, I learned that Roy was living in a nearby seniors housing centre and this would be the year of his 100th birthday. I tracked down his address and sent him a Christmas card, wishing him the best and expressing an interest in reuniting. A few months later, I received a response!

I told myself once my babies were a little older and it was a little easier, I would visit him.

A full year passed. It was Christmas again and I remembered my promise.

I searched out the number for the senior’s centre, called and left a message for Roy, introducing myself excitedly as his great-niece.

Two days later, I received a call from his son. Graciously, he immediately informed me of his father’s passing just a few months earlier. Expressing my sympathy and thanking him for the call, I hung up, regret weighing down upon my shoulders, once again.

In the hopes of escaping the discomfort, I quickly told myself not to worry…to forget about it.

But, the truth is, I was crushed.

I found myself reflecting upon the permanence of life and the value of every moment. I thought about the value and grace of my existing relationships. We have to cherish the relationships we have in the here and now.

Although, I can’t transport myself into the past, can’t change what has come to be, I can take this as a valuable lesson to quiet my hesitations, listen to my heart and trust my intuition to do what’s important.

“Regret is one of the most powerful emotional reminders that change and growth are necessary,” Brené Brown, author of Rising Strong, asserts. “It’s a call to courage and a path toward wisdom…regret can be used constructively or destructively. ‘No regrets’ doesn’t mean living with courage, it means living without reflection. Regret is what [teaches] me that living outside of my values is not tenable.”

 

How Empathy Leads the Way for the Transformation from Victimization to Resiliency

IMG_7940Just this morning, I had a realization that stopped me in my tracks. It was one of those “Aha” Oprah-moments that sent a jolt of electric energy from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. It’s a very simple concept, but it’s caused a dramatic paradigm shift in the way I look at people-centred pain.

I have spent the last few weeks or so researching for my newest project which will provide tangible support to teachers embarking on the Small Act Big Impact 21-Day Kindness Challenge with their classes in the form of grade-specific lessons, activities, and free resources.

I have stolen early morning, caffeine-filled moments at my dining room table sifting through books, articles, videos, websites, and adapting classroom lessons.

Anti-bullying strategies.

Neuroscience.

Peer-reviewed studies.

Opinion pieces in major magazines.

Psychological theories.

All of it has reinforced my belief that teaching generosity and kindness though explicit means within the classroom is essential to creating classroom cultures that promote a sense of belonging and significance for our students.

The research process got me thinking about the concept of understanding those who hurt us. Nothing underscores the universal human experience more than the hurt we have all suffered at the hands of someone else. Painful break-ups. Conflicts at work. Family Feuds. Misunderstandings with friends. Falling outs. Bullying on the school ground. Childhood trauma. We have all experienced varying degrees of very real interactional pain.

The thing is, many people reflexively tend to demonize those who have hurt us. Dehumanization of perpetrators or those who cause us pain somehow makes us feel justified in acting outside of our integrity. We blame. We rage. We might even turn to hate. We might act uncharacteristically. We do so with the intent of protecting ourselves, and ironically, we wind up perpetuating the pain. We can get stuck in the story and the victimization. We might find it challenging to seek understanding, because retribution can be what we ultimately seek. For example, when I think of students in conflict, the “winning” mentality can make it difficult to come to consensus and seek positive solutions. For some students, retribution seems like the only answer.

But…here’s what I realized this morning:

The more we understand bullies and those who hurt us either intentionally or not, the less victimized we become by their actions. When we see the situation or conflict at arm’s length, from a different perspective, I believe the narrative can change. That is what we need to teach students in order to build resiliency in the face of conflict.

And here’s where I have to be very clear. Reframing the narrative by seeking to understand various facets of a hurtful interaction does not mean standing by passively and allowing it to continue!

It’s not about condoning the hurtful actions or statements.

It’s not about blind forgiveness.

And, it’s not about inviting hurtful people back into our lives in the hopes that things “change.”

It’s about preventing the hurt from weaving itself into the narrative that defines us as individuals.

I recently had a fascinating conversation with a close family member about the importance of recognizing what motivates people to hurt us and the value in having empathy for them. We discussed that people are fundamentally motivated by a variety of needs and that their actions directly relate to those needs, whether they are conscious of them or not. I believe that when people hurt us, their words and actions are motivated by unmet needs. It’s like they’re in survival mode, finding the easiest, fastest route to strengthening themselves. Ironically, like fast food, hurting people to meet your needs doesn’t fill you up at all. It leaves you emptier, hungrier, and lonelier than ever. I argued that understanding these motivators provides us with a broader, richer context though which to view the hurt. We seek understanding from our empathy as much for our sake as theirs. And, it allows us to view it through a less personal, victimized lens.

Through several defining moments of my life, I have had to set clear boundaries to ensure that I stay true to my integrity and to protect my soul and spirit. As Maya Angelou said, “When someone shows you who they are, believe them; the first time.” It’s not easy. It’s not simple. It requires a great deal of courage, possibly many attempts, and a boatload of help, but it’s possible to rise up against unfair treatment. When we look around us, we see so many examples of individuals banding together courageously to advocate against injustice.

By and large, we are creatures of habit and certainty. When we are thrust into trauma or hurtful conflict, we instinctively go into certainty-seeking mode. Our brains try to make sense of the interaction and search for the best path back to certitude. In the absence of tangible data, our minds generate narratives (whether they are accurate or not) that make sense because we are biologically wired to find patterns.  In his article on the Neuroscience of Story Gert Scholtz asserts, “Stories invoke the mind to fill in gaps and to anticipate future outcomes and as such it provides a safe simulation of reality.” This explains why many people who have been hurt, not only blame others but often blame themselves, consciously or unconsciously. If the pain is bad enough, they may apply this new narrative to redefine the way they interact and react to life’s stressors to avoid being hurt again. As we know, when our backs are against the wall, we fight, flight, or freeze.

Heartbreak and trauma may very likely be part of your biography, but it does not define who you are. We don’t have to own or accept the story our brains have set out for us. I believe that seeking to understand the motivations of an individual who introduced the hurt into our lives, gives us perspective and a new frame of reference through which to view the pain. We can be freed from the limiting beliefs that we are inextricably linked to our stories and that we are not only somehow at fault for what has happened to us, but that we ARE our stories.

When we realize that we are not our stories, that it is not our fault, we can experience the truest sense of spiritual and emotional freedom. Within the spaciousness of this newfound freedom, we become capable of writing our own endings.

How do we actually go about putting this understanding framework into action? Here are some powerful questions (from Rising Strong, Brené Brown) you might ask yourself or invite your students to ask themselves in conflict:

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  1. What more do I need to learn and understand about the situation in terms of what I know and my assumptions?
  2. What more do I need to learn and understand about the other people in the story in terms of information I’m missing and questions I might have?
  3. What more do I need to learn and understand about myself in terms of my response, my feelings, and the part I play?

 

Sources:

*https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/neuroscience-story-gert-j-scholtz/

Brene Brown (Rising Strong/Braving the Wilderness)

Elizabeth Gilbert (Big Magic)

Maya Angelou

Tony Robbins

Dr. Shimi Kang

 

Tantrums, Toddlers, Torrential Rain: How One Mom’s Decision Paid-it-Forward

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Just the other day, as the children in my household pressed pause on their play to catch up on some much-needed rest, I rested an elbow on the smooth surface of the kitchen table, my hand cupping the ceramic promise of wakefulness. I inhaled the delicious moment of silence for a few extra seconds before hinging open the silver lid to the computer that sat slightly askew before me.

 

As I opened my email, her message practically jumped off the screen at me.

 

“Thanks for your inspiration to step out of my comfort zone today!” she had written.

 

I was intrigued.

 

Tingling chills climb up my spine and spread across the surface of my skin whenever I hear about people helping people. When I hear that an individual has pushed themselves to take a risk in being kind to another person because of a story they’ve heard or an kind acts they’ve seen, it confirms my deeply held personal belief that kindness inspires kindness.

 

“I’m normally a very quiet, reserved person, and have a hard time initiating conversation. But today, I pushed myself.”

 

Happiness washed over me as I read on.

 

The message was from Denise, a teacher and mother, like me. We had both attended the same classes in university and graduated alongside one another. Although we had fallen out of touch, we would often see each other at the park, running errands, or chauffeuring our kids around town.

 

As a result of the Beacon Hill blog post I had published just days earlier, she had made it her mission that day to strike up a conversation when the opportunity arose.

 

That morning, as she spoke to strangers in line, smiled at passers-by on the sidewalk, and chatted with fellow parents at school drop-off, she felt rewarded in knowing that such a small effort positively impacts many people’s day.

 

But it was a decision she made later that morning, that would truly become a defining moment for her.

 

After drop-off, she hurriedly parked her vehicle near the entrance of a local grocery store. Glancing at the list of items she had written on a neatly folded piece of loose-leaf paper, she gathered her purse and keys, then fastened the buttons on her waterproof coat just as wet droplets began tapping at roof of her car. Within seconds the rain was pelting the windows; people scurried to their cars shielding their heads from the rain with anything they could find: flyers, clasped hands, and even boxes of cereal.

 

She took a deep breath, assembling her things under an arm as she pushed the door open, readying her legs to sprint to the entrance of the store.

 

Then, Denise stopped dead in her tracks, as her gaze fell on her.

 

The woman, whose face was plastered with soaked wisps of a messy bun, pleaded desperately in the assailing rainstorm as her one arm wrestled a coat onto the flailing limbs of a tantruming toddler. An unmistakable wail drew Denise’s eyes to the woman’s other arm, which held a new baby, red-faced, screeching furiously, and blinking as beads of water accumulated on her tiny body.

 

Denise immediately recognized the woman as one of the teachers she had taught with in the past.

 

Instantly, her mind went to the huge list of errands in her purse. She barely had time to get it all done as it was!

 

In that moment, a distant memory interrupted her thoughts. It was a dark, rainy night just a few years earlier. A new mother, Denise had found herself in the parking lot of a grocery store much like this one, a cart filled to the brim, her new baby crying, and her car keys were nowhere to be found. Frantic, she had searched for the keys, rain dripping from her forehead into her purse and onto her screaming baby, aware of her galloping heart as panic rose in her chest.  Right then, a stranger had stopped to help her find her keys. She remembered being filled with a such a deep sense of gratitude.

 

With a look of determination, Denise deposited her belongings on the seat, gently shut the door to her car, and headed straight in the direction of the woman and her children.

 

Pic credit: Fatherly.com

 

Diapers, a Duchess, and the Disaster that Gained Me a Friend

The blood drained from my wearied face, as I stared at my smiling 8 –week-old son, sprawled precariously on the thin change pad barely separating him from the gritty and germ-ridden coffee shop bathroom floor upon which he lay.

Desperate times. Desperate measures.

My little man had just blown through his 5th diaper of the morning.

Through my “work” in the field as a mother and my own countless unfortunate, surprising, and embarrassing moments, I’ve come to an undisputed scientific conclusion:

Newborn babies are conveyor belts.

Nothing goes in without something coming out.

But, the real kicker?

As any parent knows, babies up their game when the stakes are excruciatingly high.

Public outings where finding any semblance of a change table becomes a veritable logistical-nightmare,

lengthy car rides,

and, my personal, much-revisited favourite, that moment when you’re about to put freshly changed Sweet Cheeks down for the night, visions of rest and relaxation dancing in your head.

My sister and I had chosen this particular sunny Saturday morning to venture downtown for our first shopping adventure, my then-two-year-old daughter in tow.

Coincidentally, Prince William, Duchess Kate, and their two children had come to visit our beautiful city on their Canadian tour. The crowd spilled out onto the streets. It was insane. Fanfare, celebration, and electric excitement was in the air.

Armed with idealism and naiveté, we walked amongst the people with a skip in our step.  We entered the first store, only to be hit hard within minutes by reality. Unyielding demands from the two-year-old for snacks, toys, and adventures behind sales counters combined with the very real need to feed a new baby, forced us to re-evaluate.

Shopping would have to wait.

We ducked into a popular nearby coffee shop chain and claimed the corner of a communal table for ourselves. We sipped, snacked, and scanned the room.

My eyes immediately met the kind eyes of a woman, busily tending to her own baby. Gentle-faced, warm, and open, she nodded and smiled at me silently signalling her solidary as a fellow mom.

Instantly, I was lurched back to the present by the unmistakable sound of The Blowout.

Clutching my black diaper bag close to my body and my son even tighter, I stood up, and painstakingly wove my way in and out of the bodies crammed in the serpentine queue for caffeine.

After an eternity, I reached tiny bathroom. There was a line up several people deep. When it was finally my turn, I shoved the door open, my eyes searching the room frantically for a change station.

“How is it possible that a busy coffee shop like this doesn’t have a change station?” I thought in frustration as I dug through the bag, retrieving a portable change mat and placing it on the greying, discoloured tile. This would have to do.

I couldn’t help but think how unlikely it would be for Duchess Kate to find herself in such a predicament, as I dug around for the diapers.

My heart stopped.

THE DIAPERS!

For a never-ending minute, panic and desperation washed over me in relentless waves.

I envisioned them sitting forgotten on the dark stone counter in my kitchen. In my state of new-mom-exhaustion, I had failed to actually pack them into my diaper bag.

Thankfully, having remembered the wipes, I cleaned my little guy up redressed him, and ventured out diaper-less. A scary, but necessary prospect.

Sheepishly, I made my way over to Solidarity-Mom. I felt stupid and exposed. Shame quickly followed suit. What kind of a mom forgets THE DIAPERS?

Smiling apologetically, I asked her to bail me out.

“Oh my goodness, of course!” She exclaimed with a warm smile, with neither pity nor judgement, but total empathy.

As she held out two diapers in her outstretched hand, I felt so grateful. It felt like she literally saved my life, or at the very least, my dignity.

That night, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I had to find a way to thank her.

I happen to be part of an outstanding mom’s Facebook group. These women build each other up, share stories without fear of judgement, and mobilize when tragedy strikes. In a world when motherhood can be a minefield of over-commitment, snotty noses, and unrealistic expectations, this group has been a beacon of strength for many.

I posted a short version of the story, exclaiming how impactful that moment had been for me, hoping to “pay it forward.” Numerous moms immediately commented, not only to reassure me that I was not alone in “screwing up”, but hoping we’d connect, becoming friends in the future.

Sure enough, within a few hours, Solidarity-Mom, Abbie, responded:

“That was me and you are more than welcome! By the way, my guy is 8-weeks old, too!”

As luck would have it, our baby boys were coincidentally born on the exact same day. After some back and forth, we made plans to meet up for a walk with some of the moms from the group. We hit it off, and it has become tradition to see each other as much as our packed schedules allow.

Because of the diaper disaster, not only have I gained a friend, but my son has, too.

Sometimes it seems hard not to believe that the universe works in mysterious ways.