As I write this post, feet tucked under myself on the sofa and tea in hand, the sunshine is beaming outside my little living room window. In a short while I will get up, wheel my bike out of our narrow hallway, and go to collect my daughter Florrie from nursery. What is unusual about today is that today is Florrie's’ last day at nursery. Next week she starts primary school.
Although we have been waiting for this moment for most of the last year, since our school tours last Autumn, it feels like I am dreaming that my little round toddler is about to walk into her reception year.
We have done our best to help her prepare; scouring shop shelves and the second-hand stalls for the list of things that she needs, helping her learn to fasten her own buttons and pull her jumper over her own head, had exciting talks and reassuring words about all the joys of the new school year. Florrie, for one, is thrilled to be starting school.
Yet somehow it feels like I am playing a role. This can’t actually be my child, surely I am not about to be parent to a near 5 year old who goes to school. I don’t know how to do that yet.
The fact is, that this change will be nearly as significant for Florrie’s Father and I as it is for Florrie. My working pattern will change, and I will have to learn to finish work exactly on time rather than meandering my way over to nursery somewhere between 4.30pm and 5.45pm. I will navigate the art of the school gate social scene, birthday parties full of new faces, and I will quickly have to figure out how to fill the late afternoon hours with a tired child and a bewildered me.
I edge my toes around a vast well of sentimentality most days, trying to happily reminisce over the baby and toddler years whilst minding not to fall in and submerge myself, grasping onto the past like all of the best years are behind us. We won’t do this again, my husband and I. For reasons which are not entirely within our control, Florrie is our first and last child. Which makes these milestones ever so slightly more dangerous and my forays into sentimentality ever so slightly riskier.
Approximately 1,500 years ago (if my maths is correct, which it rarely is so season this one liberally) a scribe named Patanjali was among the first to collate and record some of the vast and varied yogic teachings that had existed in India for thousands of years prior. Within this writing, known as the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali, Patanjali identifies somewhat of a moral code for living, the Yamas and Niyamas, which allows yogis to focus on their inner being and spirituality. Amongst this collection of Yamas (observances on the ways in which we interact with others) and Niyamas (observances for our own behaviour) Patanjali shared the concept of ‘Aparigraha’. This can be translated directly as ‘non-possessiveness’ or ‘non-clinging’ to material possessions. Aparigraha is also applicable to anything else that we might be tempted to grasp onto, including our experiences, thoughts, and identities.
What is life if not constantly changing? Our bodies cells renew themselves entirely every 7 to 10 years – you are quite literally not the same person you were 10 years ago. We age, we grow, we change in response to our genetics, our environment and our experiences. Our goals change along with our personalities, tastes and preferences. The world around us is certainly in a constant state of evolution.
Perhaps then, we are setting ourselves up for disappointment when we strain after the experiences, thoughts and identities from yesterday. Working on cultivating an acceptance of change, rather than focussing our efforts on staying the same at all costs, might help us avoid quite an amount of distress.
In our modern era we see a similar concept within Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT) – the mainstay of modern psychological treatment, beloved by the NHS for a variety of mild to moderate mental illnesses. In CBT, we examine the concept of ‘should’ statements – ‘that should not have happened’ or ‘I should always be this way’ etc. The therapist will work with the client to examine the validity of this black and white thinking, to question whether these ‘shoulds’ are valid or whether some flexibility could be introduced. Often people find that letting go of what they think needs to happen, or what they think that they need to do, is an integral way to reduce stress and provide relief to some of their symptoms.
I reflect on this as I scroll through the photos of soft round baby tummies where now there is wild, lean, running and jumping. What do I stand to lose in the present, I wonder, by allowing myself to ache for the earlier days? How can I allow myself to process this transition and all of the emotional charge it brings with it, whilst also being sure to open myself up to all of the exhilarating experiences that will come from parenting a school age child?
Yoga is not about avoiding emotions or learning to pack them all neatly away in a box so we can present our ‘positive vibes only’ t shirt to the world with a nicely whitened smile. Real yoga is about learning to co-exist with whatever thoughts or feelings arrive, and learning to apply a mindfulness to daily living that helps us to distinguish our thoughts from reality. That helps me allow myself to wail at my husband “she’s not my baby anymore!!” whilst also being able to acknowledge how this statement can both be correct and ridiculous at the same time.
As I head off to collect my daughter for the last time, later than intended as always, I am able to accept that now is a time of change. We will both experience it deeply. But like the branches of a tree that sway in the wind whilst the roots ground strong and securely underneath, I know that I can offer a share of my peace as much as she will offer me a share in her joy.
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