April 14, 2011 ~ Day 126 Small Movements

Tonight at pilates therapy my instructor taught me about the importance of making small, controlled movements. "The movement is almost microscopic," she said, showing me how to position my rib cage, lower back and gluteals.

"Now imagine that your pelvis is a clock," she explained, "With 3:00 at your left hip bone and 9:00 at your right hip bone. I want you to very gently rotate your pelvis toward 3:00, but only about one inch. Then come to center and rotate it toward 9:00."

"How hard could it be?" I asked myself, and began to try.

As it turned out, a controlled one-inch movement to the left was supremely painful, and required a lot of instruction and assistance from my teacher.

"Wow... I must really be doing this wrong! It is incredibly difficult!"

"I know, it's surprising to everyone," she responded. "All of my clients have trouble making small controlled movements, especially at first. Everyone wants to do big thrusts, aerobic exercise, big cardio. They don't realize how powerful a small stabilizing motion can be."

"You just have to practice," she continued. "Slowly but surely, this will make you strong. One day, you will be in control of your body with the ability to exercise without injuring yourself."

I really, really liked the sound of that.

As I lay on the pilates therapy table breathing in and out, working on my gentle but awesomely difficult rotations from 3:00 to 9:00, it occurred to me that this idea of patiently practicing small controlled movements to build core strength might help to unwind the recent disaster of my afternoon at home.

Our eldest son felt healthy enough to return to school today, he was 3 days into his Zpack medicine. The nurse cleared him to attend, so we packed him a lunch and sent him on his merry way. He made it through the day with ease and his teacher declared that he barely coughed all day long and seemed extremely energetic.

"That's great news!"

We drove home and I gave all three children a protein based snack so that their blood sugar wouldn't crash before dinner time. Thinking that I might actually start cooking dinner right then, I encouraged them to go outside to play - handing them their bike helmets as they went down the back steps into the yard.

I watched them walk away with a special tenderness in my heart, thinking "Wow, we haven't had ANY fighting or major tantrums in almost two whole days. This natural consequences parenting strategy is a revelation!"

Curses on me for even thinking this (I didn't say it out loud, not wanting to tempt bad luck) because within minutes I heard a loud wail.

"Mooooommmmmmeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!"

Thinking my younger son might have fallen off his bicycle I went swiftly into the yard in time to catch the elder son hitting his little brother's orange bicycle over and over with a large stick as the little one tried to protect it.

"What are you doing?" I calmly asked the bigger boy.

Surprised, he looked up and then got upset that he'd been caught. "AWWWWWW MOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!"

"Are you hitting your brother's bicycle?" I asked. "Because the natural consequence for hurting his property would be for you to loan him your property. Maybe he should have a turn riding on your Spiderman bike."

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"Well this was your warning. If you hurt his bicycle like his again, you will be making it up to him by sharing your bicycle with him. End of story."

"I DON'T EVEN WANT TO RIDE A BICYCLE ANY MORE!!!" he screamed.

"Okay, that's fine. Just know that there will be a natural consequence for damaging his property, no matter what."

"UGGG!!!!!!" He stormed off to hide under our vast shady tree.

The younger son had dismounted his bicycle and was taking off his helmet. "I don't want to ride any more without my brother, mommy. I'm going to go find him to play now," he said.

Without thinking enough about it, I murmured - "That's nice, honey," and returned into our house.

Foolish, foolish woman. Foolish, foolish mommy. It should have been obvious to me what was coming next.

Within five minutes there arose a blood curdling scream much louder and more upset than the one before. My younger boy was calling for me at the top of his lungs, with the older one shouting "NO YOU DON'T! NO YOU DON'T TELL HER!!!"

I raced out to find the younger son red in the face, bathed in tears and clutching his head.

"What happened?"

The elder boy began to slink away. "No," I stated. "You stay here until I know what is going on."

"What happened?" I reiterated to the little one, who was still sobbing.

"HE PUSHED ME DOWN INTO THE DIRT. HE PUT HIS HANDS AROUND MY NECK. HE HIT ME IN THE HEAD AGAIN AND AGAIN."

Sure enough, there were marks around his little neck.

It took all of the restraint in my being to speak gently and calmly to the older boy. "It seems that the problem here is that your younger brother and sister are not safe if left alone with you at this moment. I think you must be very tired.

So there are two natural consequences. First, you will come with me into the house and take a little rest in your room so that you will not be tired any more. Second, you will help me think of something you can do to make your little brother feel safe around you and loved by you."

I took him by the hand and led him into the house.

When we reached his room, all hell broke loose - at least within his fragile, overwrought psyche.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!" he shrieked, and then began to storm around the room, throwing things and yelling at the top of his lungs.


"When you are calm I will come back and we can talk about nice things you can do for your brother."

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!" He then launched into a tirade, of which I caught only about 1/3 of the words because he was screaming them so fast.

Sighing, I left to check on his brother and sister.

The tantrum turned out to be a mega-tantrum. Who knows, maybe he was testing my boundaries to find out if or when I would cave. I didn't. He yelled at the top of his lungs for thirty minutes straight. (I think he could be a great singer someday, the kid's got pipes!)

So there we were, the three of us - and I decided my goal was to make his brother and sister feel as safe as I could while he was yelling. So I pulled out some of our favorite home videos on the Flip camera and they cuddled with me on the couch and watched happier times... like Christmas Day at Grandma's house, Daddy hugging them, stories being read to them, the first day of school, etc. With one arm around each child, we hugged each other during those 30 minutes and focused on what was truly good about our family.

When my husband finally got home, the house had just fallen silent because our son had fallen to sleep on his bed, mid-scream. It was time for me to leave for pilates therapy and I won't lie - I was so grateful for the break.

As I drove to the studio I asked myself, "What went wrong? Why did the natural consequence explode on us this afternoon? What could I have done better?"

So I was really primed for the epiphany I got when my teacher began to talk about the power of practicing small, controlled movements over time and how transformative it can be.

For all of these years I have been hoping/looking for a magic bullet - something that we can change which will suddenly and magically make our children peaceful and loving toward each other. I'm looking for a fast fix, a strategy that will knock us on our ear with its excellence. I'm looking for BIG, AEROBIC MOVEMENT.

Maybe it doesn't work like that though.

Perhaps like with pilates, the shift required in our parenting is something much smaller. A microscopic movement... controlled, patient.

Practiced, again and again.

Maybe the movement I need to embrace and practice is simply that infinitesimal but real moment when I found that inner strength not to yell or get upset, when I dug deep and found a way to stay perfectly calm in the middle of their storm.

My job as the mommy may be to practice that tiny shift, over and over. Practice digging deep to stay calm - no matter *what* my kids do or what kind of natural consequence is merited. Even when there is violence involved on their part, I need to be the PARENT and stay calm.

My pilates therapist told me that if I continue to practice these small physical movements consistently and slowly, two years from now I will have built myself a new body.

Could it be that in that same time period, I can build myself a brand new parenting style? Develop a deeply rooted peacefulness surrounding how I mentor my children?

I guess only time will tell, but I'm firmly committed to sticking with this exercise.

April 5, 2011 ~ Day 117 Pilates For Life!

I've recently begun pilates therapy, after devoting nearly six months to traditional physical therapy. So far I am discovering that the two forms of therapy are very different.

Pilates therapy appears so far to be a series of small, carefully orchestrated movements to improve core strength and release muscles that are holding on too tightly. I notice an immediate difference after every session - greater mobility and less pain.

That said, it may take me a very long time to learn any of these exercises well enough to do them at home. I tried last week to work on a back stretch she had shown me how to do with a tennis ball and ended up seriously aggravating my neck injury. Not fun. Today when I showed her what I had done, she laughed and told me that I need to apologize to my muscles and promise them I will never do that to them again!

I've known for a long time that humans supposedly have something called muscle memory... meaning that once they have practiced or repeated a physical motion repeatedly over a long stretch of time it becomes automatic so that the muscles themselves remember how to perform their function.

I myself do not have a lot of experience with muscle memory. I have always been uncoordinated, more comfortable on a couch reading than practicing a new swimming stroke or tennis swing. There are very few physical stretches, exercises or actions that I have performed so many times that they've become second nature.

One of the few examples that I can come up for personal muscle memory would be typing... when I was in the fourth grade I found an old typing manual in my parents' bookcase, read it from cover to cover, began to practice and taught myself how to type. I became a proficient typer and have had plenty of practice over the past 25 years. At this point my hands fly over the keyboard (as demonstrated by the fluidity of words in my oh-so-lengthy blog posts).

That's about as far as it goes for me. My greatest athletic ability would be... typing. Eee gads!

I've been thinking about this concept of muscle memory though, and whether it is actually possible to teach an old dog (like me) new tricks (like pilates). Is it possible to train yourself to develop an ability that you've never been able to access before?

I try and try and try, but in reality when my therapist tells me to do a pelvic tilt or tuck my shoulders into the mat, there is no part of my brain that seriously stores that information for next time. (This is probably also why I am a terrible dancer, I can't remember a move sequence to save my life!)

Despite this, I wonder if the concept of muscle memory has potential for other areas of my mind/body - like my heart (which is a muscle!) and my brain (which is not technically a muscle, but I believe it could function like one).

Here is an example of what I mean:

For a decade I used to get a nervous, excited, fluttery feeling in my gut when I met a guy that I was strongly attracted to. In fact, I generally only got this feeling about certain men, and I would differentiate whether I 'liked' a man based on whether or not he inspired this particular fluttery feeling. (Flutter equaled "YOWZA!" No flutter equaled "NICE GUY - WHO CAN I SET HIM UP WITH?")

I consistently found myself surprised when my "fluttery" men turned out to be trouble... bad news... totally wrong for me. "Why is my gut instinct so wrong?" I asked myself over and over, "I felt so certain that this one was a great guy!"

Then one day it occurred to me, after ten years! that the "fluttery" feeling was actually NOT a positive sign. "You know," I confided in my best friend, "I think when I get that really excited nervous feeling my intuition may actually be saying 'RUN AWAY!' rather than 'FULL SPEED AHEAD!' I think my body may be trying to tell me something that I'm not seeing with my brain."

"Next time you get that feeling about a guy," she suggested, "Why don't you try paying attention to it in a different way - and NOT rushing into a relationship with him. That way you can get to know him and find out if the flutter really meant danger or not."

"Why not? It's worth a try!"

I began to use the flutter as a way of weeding OUT men, rather than ushering them ahead. To my surprise and joy, I began to spend time with guys who seemed really serious about me - and who were so much nicer to me. I met my husband and knew that I was in love with him (long before we began dating) when listening to him wax rhapsodic about classical music over a bottle of wine and steak dinner with our friends. There was no flutter this time - it was more of a rush of understanding that he and I were beautifully aligned.

I suppose my point here is that I had to learn a new muscle memory for my heart - that a certain signal I had been interpreting as pleasure was actually a trigger point for pain. Once I adjusted my "romance" exercise routine (and looked for men that I was attracted to who did NOT give me that fluttery rush) I found true and lasting love.


Reflecting back on that life lesson, I wonder how muscle memory could be applied to the current challenge that I face as a wife and mother - incessant worry over my children: their health, happiness and general welfare.

Would I be able to figure out what muscle I am actually exercising when I worry... and then let it rest... while strengthening another lesser used emotional muscle - like my faith?

I am really, really good at worrying. I would say that I have at least two decades worth of practice. I'm not very good at turning to faith - let alone actually feeling it. Would there be a physical-mental-spiritual way for me to develop my ability to rely on faith in the precise moment when I would traditionally turn to worry?

I explored this idea briefly tonight and discovered the work of a Stanford University child psychologist and researcher named Carol Dweck behind a new study which shows that people who are told they can get smarter if they exercise their brain like a muscle will actually do significantly better in school, versus those who believe that their intelligence is fixed and unchanging.

Dweck and her team followed a group of junior high students who were evenly matched in math achievement test scores at the beginning of the study and divided them into two groups - those who had a fixed mindset about intelligence, and those who believed they could become smarter with practice and hard work.

Despite their relatively equal beginning placement, those with a fixed mindset about their own talents did worse on testing over the two years, with the gap widening as time went by. The students that believed their brains could grow tended to be more resilient, persistent and creative in coming up with solutions.

The researchers then took a subset of students who did poorly in math and taught them that the more the brain was used, the stronger it got. "We taught them that the brain forms new connections every time they applied themselves and learned," Dweck said in a 2007 interview. "It gave them a new model of how their minds worked, and how they had control of their brains and could make it work better. The idea is to free them from the tyranny of fear of looking dumb. The name of the game is learning."

This experimental subset of poorly performing students taught to believe in brain muscle strengthening rebounded strongly in their math performance and grades!

I LOVE this study and what it implies about our potential as humans. To me it says - If we believe that we have the capacity to improve and develop our skills, we will be more committed to doing so and less frustrated with our mistakes. We will grow.

Perhaps then the most important muscle memory I can create for my own psyche would be to fully embrace the concept that everything I struggle with - parenting, worry and anxiety, health and even financial acumen - can still be learned. If I believe that I have the capacity to improve as a parent, I WILL IMPROVE. If I believe that I have the capacity to live bravely and peacefully, I WILL BECOME MORE COURAGEOUS AND MORE PEACEFUL.

In a broader sense, this kind of belief in individual potential to improve with practice and hard work seems deeply engrained in the American spirit. Americans may not be the smartest or best educated people on the planet but the one thing we do excel in is self-confidence. If we believe that something can be invented, we will invent it. If we believe a system (or organization! or government!) can be changed, we change it. Part of our credo as a culture seems to be, "They said it couldn't be done... so we did it."

Tonight as I ice my neck from pilates therapy and type out this blog, I am smiling broadly to think with hope and optimism that I still have plenty of time left in my lifetime to improve as a mother, wife, daughter, sister, friend, co-worker, athlete, linguist, chef, writer, philanthropist and global citizen... as someone who lives fully without fear. I can get better! I will get better!!! Someday with patience and effort, I may really turn into the person I truly aspire to be!

One careful little stretch at a time.