It sometimes drives me nuts when meditation teachers or therapists say “notice your story.” My story? It’s not a story. It’s what’s actually and irrefutably happening, thank you very much.
Like what’s happening at home these days – it’s intense. Our brilliant and sweet and hilarious five-year-old son is having a hard time. Evenings are explosive power struggles where he won’t come to dinner, or brush his teeth, or take a bath, or get in bed. He often stands frozen and screaming in the middle of the stairs, or he spits and rages and throws things around the kitchen.
In the mornings he resists getting dressed, or going to the bathroom, or complying with any request, including “requests” (like hunger) coming from inside his body. His electric curiosity keeps him interested in everything, and for him that also means controlling everything – every impulse and variable in his inner and outer world, including the human variables known as Mother, Brother, and Father. For example, if there’s something he wants me to see – which is everything he is seeing – he will leap on to my lap like a spider monkey and grab my head and physically redirect my gaze. Apparently I’m a supplementary organ of perception 😂.
Since this level of total control is impossible, he has multiple meltdowns a day, which causes his little brother to have meltdowns, leaving Mom and Dad wide-eyed and frazzled with smoke billowing from our ears.
Whatever the origins and nervous system factors contributing to our little guy’s challenges1, it’s impacting our family with lots of stress and edginess and not enough sleep and more colds and weird distress rashes and all the rest. And of course it’s having an impact on our son, on his ability to experience well-being and peace and connection.
All this is irrefutably happening.
So, is it also a story?
Yes. It is absolutely also a story.
It’s a story because lately I’ve been repeating this litany of negative impacts in my head, even at times they’re not actually happening. It is a story because I’ve also begun rehearsing the many ramifications: how alienation will build between my son and I, how he will struggle in the future, how my own issues are to blame, and so on. And – most importantly – it is a story because all of it revolves around the central character of me, around my identity as a parent and husband and clanking control freak, also trying in my own way to manage the endless variables of life, just like my son. From a Buddhist perspective, the stories we tell ourselves, about ourselves, are part of what keep us separated from the larger flow of life all around.
And the more I repeat these stories, the truer they become in my own mind.
Stop.
Breathe.
Notice your story.
The other night I noticed. After two hours of struggle, our rebellious son finally fell asleep, and I lay next to him in his narrow bed, listening to his raspy breath. I felt far away from him, because I was far away – I was in my story, where things will always be this hard. I noticed this happening, and remembered an annoying bit of meditation advice: move attention to your body, and ask: “How am I ... right now?”
So I did, and I asked. I noticed a background headache. I noticed constriction in my chest. I noticed how claustrophobic I felt. I realized – oh! – that I was going from claustrophobic story to claustrophobic story. Because the mind loves to build on a theme, loves to build it into The Story of My Life, amplified by yet more uncomfortable feelings, which in turn give rise to yet more related stories, until I was lying there at 10:46 PM in a great opus of suffering, one my son – dreaming innocently next to me – had very little to do with.
Stop.
Breathe.
Notice your story. Drop attention into your body.
Everything immediately dialed way back. Now I was just lying there, next to my little guy, listening to him breathe. I started to feel … better.
I could tell a different story. That my son is punk rock.2 That these challenges are making our marriage stronger. That they’re forcing my partner and I to learn new things about ourselves, and maybe even heal some of our own family trauma — especially my childhood as a misunderstood troublemaker.
Or I don’t have to tell any story at all.
I can just lie there and feel my love for my son, and my gratitude for this impossibly hard and beautiful life.
So: what’s your story?
What irrefutably true shitshow is going on in your health, your relationships, your work, your country, your life? What is happening, that if anyone were to call it a “story,” you’d feel outraged and defiant because no, it is not a story, it is absolutely and irrefutably true. And, OK, maybe it’s also a story.
In this guided practice, we notice our stories.
Whew! Feels good to get that out. Thank you for your attention, friends. I hope this meditation is as helpful for you as it has been for me.
Much love,
Jeff
PS - There will be no meditation or Home Base Hangout next week, due to the winter break. Have a great holiday, everyone.
UPCOMING RETREAT: To Humanity and Beyond!
February 23-25, 2025
Sivananda Ashram Yoga Retreat, Nassau, Bahamas
If you’re looking for a short break from the snow and ice, I’m hosting three days of offerings in the Bahamas this February. A lot of self-directed beach leisure time, with free yoga offered by the old school Sivananda ashram. I’ll be rolling out two evening satsangs (practice and talk sessions), along with two afternoon workshops on the basic skills of meditation, and how they build over time to change our habits of mind and heart. You could say meditation is the art of connecting both to our humanity, and to that which is beyond our humanity. To humanity and beyond!
These traits and behaviours could point to many things. We’re actively researching and speaking to various experts. We’re also trying to adapt our parenting in ways that accommodate his particular needs – and it’s helping. Clearly identifying the strange operating quirks of my nervous system has been critical to my own growth and understanding, so there’s every reason to expect it will be this way for my son too. Welcome to 21st century neurodivergent parenting!
Our son’s favourite song right now is “God Save the Queen” by the Sex Pistols (although he doesn’t know their name yet). He selects the pink album cover from his playlist, and then wiggles and writhes in our kitchen like a tiny Iggy Pop in holiday pyjamas. My five-year-old, my king. ❤️
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