My man taught me to meditate. 

This was no easy feat for me, as I had been trying to learn for years with little to no success. My constant gripe was that I could not quiet my mind. There is (or was) always a song playing in there, or something I had heard days prior flipping itself over in a million ways, begging me to understand it. 

Another block was the idea that meditation somehow equals evil, or witchcraft. I think I learned this at church. Either in person, or on YouTube. During the time I met my boyfriend, I was deeply entrenched in my faith (I still am. I am just no longer afraid of everything). It was a way for me to make sense of my life, which by all accounts was in a huge transition. Very good, and very scary stuff. Once I got to know him more, I understood that as an Aquarius, he had no choice but to explore all the different religions, and spiritual modalities out there. He was, in fact, raised in church. In this way, I trusted him. Then, I allowed him to teach me to meditate. 

“It is about breathing.” 

This is what he told me to get me to understand it that first time. I sat criss cross applesauce, open palms on my knees in my plant-laden apartment. There may have been some incense burning. The lights were low. When I shut my eyes, I had to fight really hard to push the Jay-Z lyrics out, and the bank balance, and when I was picking Levi up next, and the underwear cutting into my pum pum. I had him use a guided meditation, so not musing on the soothing voice of the guide was tough too, but I made it! 

Five minutes.

That was a huge win for me. It felt good. Like one of those “everything showers.”

I wish we made time for more of that. In the current space, I am spending most of my time building a business, and taking care of our home. My mate is making the money which supports us, and funds our dreams. Every now and again, we squeeze meditation in as a thing we can do together. 

I do it almost every day now. Alone. 

It started one night as I was seeing the older kids off to their beds. Me telling Levi to climb up into his bed after hugging and kissing him and hanging onto his bedpost like he was a sailor going off to sea. Me hugging Sav, her squeezing Stori until she squealed. I went into my room, and I closed the door. I almost never do that.  Next, I sat down on the floor, and pulled the baby onto my lap, quickly pulling my shirt down so that she could have her nightly dose of milk.  I mindlessly grabbed the basket of laundry nearby. I began to pull pieces of my family’s clothes out of the basket. As I grabbed, I looked at the fabrics. I felt the heft, or lack thereof of the material, followed the threads, inspected the colors. I made nice, neat piles of everyone’s stuff, according to type, and function. PJs in one pile, sweatpants in another. I thought about how blessed we were to even have clothes. I imagined who must be making all this stuff, and what they themselves must wear. I smiled at the pieces that make my family particularly happy, like Levi’s blue hoodie, or Sav’s black bell bottoms. I laughed at my Kurt Cobain tee shirt. It is about two sizes too big, but one of my most prized possessions. I smelled the clothes that come with my kids from houses that are not mine, and wondered what kind of detergent is being used. The scent of it can not be washed out. Not by my free and clear stuff anyway. When I reached the bottom of the basket, I looked around. It was as if I had left the room, and come back. I felt so regulated, and so refreshed. I had been meditating the whole time. 

This time of day has become my favorite. I love to relish in what I consider to be my womanly work, or my ministry. Some women will disagree, but the word “my” indicates that it is for me. The folding of the laundry, especially at night when I have served everyone in the ways they needed me to, and I feel like I need a moment to reset my brain before venturing downstairs to connect with my counterpart is healing for me. So is unpacking the dishwasher while everyone is doing something else. I have accepted that for whatever reason, these things make me feel closer to God, and bring a sense of gratitude to the front of my mind. It might not be one’s typical style of meditation, but it works wonders for me.