By Jennifer Kreatsoulas, PhD, C-IAYT, Founder
I recently came across a story from the early days of my recovery after a relapse that occurred later in my life, when my children were little. Revisiting this emotional scene reinforced a message I often share with my yoga therapy clients: recovery is relearning how to participate in life, and this includes sharing meals with the people who matter to us. So here it is, a moment from my story that taught me how to participate in life and have fun with food with my kids (for the full story, check out Chapter 13 from my book, The Courageous Path to Healing):
I stood at the stove and watched as water boiled over two hot dogs and rippled around elbow macaroni. I stuffed my hands in my pockets and thought to myself, How can you feed this to your kids again?
Reluctantly, I gave the pasta a stir. Two more minutes until I drained the pot and mixed in milk and the packet of powdered cheese. I could go see the kids for those two minutes, or I could get changed out of my gray pants and cream blouse. But I stayed put over the hot stove. You should do better for them. What kind of a mother are you?
I microwaved some frozen broccoli and grabbed two applesauce cups. As I placed their plates on the table, I called, “Sweeties, dinner is ready.”
My younger daughter followed her big sister into the kitchen. Both were wearing princess crowns and sparkly skirts from the dress-up bin. “Look at us, Mommy!” my five-year-old cheered. We giggled over their outfits and I high-fived my three-year-old, who proudly showed me the plastic clip-on earrings she had put on by herself.
Hugging my little fairy princesses, I said, “Come on, let’s have some yummy dinner.”
But by yummy, I meant awful. I was doing the best that I could with the time I had between school pick-ups, extracurriculars, the carpool, and work deadlines. But I still managed to find time to be disappointed in myself for not cooking them something homemade instead of something out of a box and freezer.
I sat down with the girls and folded my hands into one another on the table as I’d done hundreds of times since my days at Catholic school. My whole body exhaled, a sacred pause. This was the first time all day that I paused, and soon I’d need to start dinner for me and my husband. He would be home in an hour or so.
“Cheesy macaroni!” my youngest said with a huge smile on her face, like she does every time I make it for her. Her big sister chimed in, “Cheesy macaroni!” Both chanted cheesy macaroni over and over as they waved their hands and bounced their feet. Their bodies vibrated with excitement to every syllable. Chee-sy mac-a-ro-ni!
“Mommy, Mommy. Sing cheesy macaroni with us!” they said in unison. My giddy girls looked at me, eager for my response. On both sides of me, I imagined two different mothers. One would participate. Another, too stuck in her stories about food, dismissed her own children and was unable to have fun with them at meal time. Which would I choose to be?
I froze and felt my prayer hands tighten, now needing to ask for help. Having fun with food. What does that even mean? I was acutely aware that my daughters were watching and that what I did next would leave an imprint on their memory. I am a yogi who has adopted ancient, Eastern spiritual principles, but my traditional Catholic upbringing is also a part of me. My hands were still folded; I took a deep yoga breath and asked God for help. If a neighbor had walked by and peered in the window at that moment, they would have seen a mom at the dinner table with her kids. What they would not have seen was my fear of not being a good enough mother and scaring my children. They wouldn’t see my absolute inability to grasp how family meals, fun, and laughter could all go together.
“Come on, Mommy, sing,” my girls begged, wrapping their fingers around mine. They continued to sing and bounce in their seats. Watching their happiness, I asked myself, Which memory do I want them to go to bed with tonight? The one of the three of us singing and laughing together at the kitchen table at dinnertime, or the one where they ask, “But Mommy, why won’t you sing with us?” I studied both of my daughters—their tiny hands, smiles, curly brown hair, happy eyes, and the way they chewed with genuine joy.
I wanted to go to bed that night confident that I was a healthy role model, that I hadn’t messed up my daughters’ relationship with food. Besides, what they were asking for did not have to be complicated. So, I wrapped my arms around them and made a silly face to join the playfulness. We waved our arms in the air and sang a few rounds of “cheesy macaroni” together. Laughter released the tension in my jaw. I felt lighter and less critical of myself.
Seeing my daughters’ exuberance for eating was the first time I related to their enjoyment around food, and I felt closer to them because of it. In recovery as in life, there is a toolbox for everyone; prayer and meditation have long been tools in mine. But it’s not until I got out of the way and allowed my prayers and meditations to come along with me, out of church and off the mat, that they began to mean anything at all.
My daughters are everyday teachers in my life, constantly modeling what an untainted relationship with food and the body looks like. My prayer for my children is that they will forever embrace and feed their hunger to the fullest, without fear or doubt or worry. And I do not care if they eat cheesy macaroni every night of their childhood if it means they will eat with joy for the rest of their lives.
Practice: Acknowledge You Are Doing Your Best
When I get stuck in the trap of “should” (for example, I “should” be cooking a different meal for my children), I remember one of my mentors telling me over and over, “We’re doing our best with what we have and what we know in this moment.” As a reminder to be gentle and patient with yourself, make a list of ten areas in your life where this statement is true for you. Here are some examples from my list:
As a working mother, I’m doing my best.
As a wife, partner, and daughter, I’m doing my best.
As an individual in recovery, I’m doing my best.
As a creative, I’m doing my best.
When I’m grocery shopping, meal planning, and cooking, I’m doing my best.
When I’m straightening up our home, I’m doing my best.
In my work, I’m doing my best.
As a human, I’m doing my best.
Then, decorate the list and put it in a place where you see it, such as on a desk, dresser, or mirror. Reread these statements whenever you need a reminder.
If you could use support with relearning how to participate in life as you navigate recovery, I invite you to check out a few opportunities that may feel comforting and helpful.
Consider incorporating Yoga Therapy into your recovery journey, where we can work together on creating yoga-inspired tools that help you build confidence in being in the world and participating in life.
Join me on Wednesdays from 2pm to 2:30 pm EST for the free Connection Call on Zoom for more support and conversation with others who truly get it.
My hope for you is that you can acknowledge all the ways you are doing your best as you relearn how to participate in your life. 💗
