I wish I could mediate the days away. Get lost in hours of yoga while listening to invigorating music full of cuss words. I want to draw a coloured bath and soak each of my chakras, one colour at a time.
I wish I had the time to get lost in my journal. Writing and reading about my life to help understand my journey. I wish I had all the time in the world to pray, meditate, and read spiritual philosophy.
Yet, I can’t, because I’m a mother.
It’s hard to meditate with a nursing toddler in my arms. Almost as hard as doing yoga while children crawl through my legs. Reading gets interupted by children needing a snack. My books are thrown off the bookshelf and used to make a tower before my hands, covered in dish soap bubbles, can hastily rescue them.
“Parenting leaves little room for spiritual self-improvement” is a lie I used to believe.
It’s all a matter of perspective, and that’s what miracles are.
It’s all a matter of perspective, and that’s what miracles are. Share on XIt’s a miracle when I am able to sneak past the sleeping baby to get up early and meditate. Or when my children decide to stretch beside me instead of directly on my yoga mat. Finding time to write for myself is a modest miracle.
Consciously manifested, I create these miracles whenever I can.
Quiet mornings of typing on the keyboard, my prayer book nearby, crystals out, oracle card picked for the day. I create miracles in my down-time.
Prayer has been my greatest spiritual triumph. It’s one of the easiest spiritual practices to involve children in. Despite my oldest living most of her life without prayer, she quickly started to enjoy the practice.
Now we pray before bed, wishing for good dreams and a morning full of love and kindness.
I find prayer works the best when my heart is open and in need of support. When my children are running around, making huge messes while arguing with each other over who gets to play with what, I stop and pray. Set the food down, sleep my phone, stop what I’m doing and pray, out loud, for strength.
I pray for patience and compassion. The ability to let go of all that I can’t control (my children’s behaviour being the biggest uncontrollable challenge). I pray to open my heart to love instead of clinging to frustration or unrealistic expectations.
I pray to ground myself in my intentions, and my greatest intention is to be fully present in my body. To be a conscious soul, divine light incarnated. To be fully aware of myself, who I am, and where my magic lies. This is what I pray for, this is why I practice.
Meditation. Yoga. Tarot. Crystals. Books. Journal. Writing. Prayer. There are many ways I would love to spend my days, even if only for a minute before rushing off to feed someone.
I wish I could devote endless hours to self-improvement. Become as Zen as a instagram model selling crystals. I wish I could promise my loving family that I won’t ever become angry again, that I’ve transcended such emotions through hours of deep meditation.
I wish I had all the time in the world to dedicate to myself, and perhaps someday I will. Right now, my family needs me more than my yoga mat.
It’s all a matter of perspective.
I pray to change my perspective, to help me understand that even though I would love to do more, the little that I do creates the waves of changes that last for generations.
My children and husband now pray. Imagine how my heart soars when I hear my little child speak to the Universe, saying thanks for all we have while asking for more love in our hearts.
Yes, I wish I had more time to devote to my spiritual practice, but ultimately, it’s the moments pressed in between everyday life that have the biggest lasting impact.
So to you, fellow parent or busy person, who dreams of blissful meditation or going on a relaxing spiritual retreat of deep self-discovery, know that all of that isn’t necessary. You can create miracles, or find nirvanah, right in your kitchen while preparing breakfast. I know because I have.
