The Headspace Guide To … A Mindful Pregnancy (20 page)

Sometimes, and perhaps more often than we’d care to admit, the mind travels to places we would prefer it didn’t. But when under pressure, when pushed to the limit, thinking we can’t take it any more, the dark side of the mind will reveal itself and, in the process, probably scare us half to death. This is a taboo subject – you’ll rarely find mothers or fathers sharing
these
tales over a drink – and yet how can we talk about examining the human condition without including the darker, harder thoughts? How can we discuss the qualities of acceptance, openness and forgiveness, while ignoring such intimate feelings?

In 1852, the American writer Herman Melville, author of
Moby Dick
, offered this observation in another one of his novels,
Pierre
:

In her heart, she [a nurse] wondered how it was that so excellent a gentleman, and so thoroughly a good man, should wander so ambiguously in his mind; and trembled to think of that mysterious thing in the soul which … in spite of the individual’s own innocent self, will still dream horrid dreams, and mutter unmentionable thoughts …

I wish I’d had that passage to hand when Sarah first came to see me at the clinic I used to work at in London. This kind heart had written to me, interested in exploring meditation because, as a new mum with a six-month-old baby, she was stressed out and didn’t know where else to turn. When she arrived for our appointment, it was immediately evident that she was storing a lot of pent-up emotion, ready to cry at any moment. She looked fraught with worry. Sitting forward, looking on edge, she said she had tried ‘doing’ everything, but the baby seemed to be constantly crying. ‘I don’t know what to do with myself … I’m desperate,’ she said, and then the tears came.

As Sarah continued to cry I passed her a tissue and neither of us said a word. After a little while, I asked her, ‘Do you want to share what you’re feeling?’ She caught her breath, took her eyes off the floor and looked at me, pausing to momentarily consider, and then accept, the trust that I had offered.

‘Sometimes … sometimes, I just think of killing my baby and ending it all.’

I held her gaze and nodded my head reassuringly. ‘OK.’

I don’t know what shocked her the most: the fact she had actually vocalised her deepest, darkest thought, or the fact that she didn’t get the reaction she expected. My response was by no means forced; what Sarah didn’t know was that I had heard similar thoughts expressed many, many times before. Things like, ‘I thought about picking up a pillow and smothering the cries’, or ‘I wanted to pull over, leave the baby carrier on the hard shoulder and just drive off’, or ‘I could have clocked her one, just to stop the tantrum’.

Although there was no need for her to do so, Sarah quickly tried to justify the thought, perhaps scared of what I might think, or ashamed of what she’d expressed. ‘I love my baby … I really do. I’d never do anything to harm her, but …’ and then she started to cry again.

It’s hard to hear, isn’t it? It’s hard to accept that we think such things in the private sanctuary of our minds, where not even our spouses are invited, lest they think ill of us. When these thoughts arise, they are as fleeting as any other thought. They are
just a thought
, not an action, not a deed, not a reflection of who we are – and yet we attach to them and give them so much weight and meaning, thus creating the fear, the guilt and the admonishment that is the reactive emotional response.

Through the lens of mindfulness, that dark thought is no more or less meaningful than a sad, happy or excited thought. We cannot say that a thought is inherently good or bad. More than that, we can’t even find it once it has passed. Of course, if you had spent a lot of time cultivating that thought, with the
intention
of thinking in that way, then it would be a little different and far more serious, but ask yourself: did you
want
that thought to arise in the mind? Did you
ask
it to arise in the mind? Of course not – this is simply the nature of the mind and thoughts come and go all the time. As ever, it is our perception of them – the energy we give them – that creates our suffering. If only we knew that others experienced similar thoughts, perhaps we would not feel so much shame.

As human beings, we have crazy, irrational thoughts all the time. Just because we may idly wonder about robbing a bank while standing in a queue, doesn’t mean that we’re going to don a balaclava and stage a hold-up. Just because we think of walking into the boss’s office and pouring hot coffee in his lap, doesn’t mean we’ll steam in there and do it. Similarly, just because we have a dark thought as a parent, doesn’t mean we’ll act on it. Nor does it make us bad, evil or a terrible person – that’s merely our guilt, adding the kind of commentary that mindfulness seeks to disempower.

As my teacher used to say: ‘The mind is neurotic. Enlightenment is not about
getting rid
of that neurosis, it is simply getting to
know
that neurosis, with understanding and compassion.’

The thinking mind, the rational mind, will want us to shut these thoughts out, to hide them, to never even acknowledge their existence, as if to embrace them would be to identify with them, making them a reflection of who we are – yet more neurosis. But every time we push down such thoughts, every time we resist the dark side of the mind, it has to find another place to go. Everything in nature has a sense of momentum and energy; if we do not let it come and go freely, then it will be subverted. In Western psychology this is what’s usually referred to as repressed thought. It’s like pushing against a moving car: the more we push, the more tension is created. When Sarah voiced that one thought during our session, by simply expressing it she released a pressure valve. The burden she had been carrying was laid down and the feeling of relief was palpable.

Thoughts are a bit like waves on the ocean. The ocean is vast, bigger than we can ever imagine. Waves rise up – sometimes small, sometimes large; sometimes blue, sometimes green; sometimes smooth, sometimes rough. But no matter how they appear, they all go the same way, back into the vast ocean that is the mind. Do not become attached to the waves. Instead, rest in the ocean of awareness, simply watching as the waves come and go.

(
Note
:
the only caveat to all this is, of course, if you feel that you would actually like to follow through with the thought, in that instance, it’s time to pick up the phone and speak to your closest health professional.)

No mindful approach to pregnancy and new parenthood would be complete without mention of relationships. Only this time, the specific focus is less about you and your baby and more about you and your partner, assuming that you have one and are sharing your child’s upbringing.

Before Harley was born, I remember some mothers telling me how I would likely feel left out, even isolated, as Lucinda and Harley deepened the mother–child connection. In retrospect, I can’t help but feel that this reflected their personal experience, rather than what was to come for us as a couple. Because whether it was my wife’s sensitivity, my own childlike enthusiasm to be very much involved or a combination of the two, I really couldn’t have felt more included. All that said, with so much attention on the baby, some partners may well feel a little left out at times, and that could so easily be a cue to go away and sulk, leaving the mother to interpret that reaction as a withdrawal or lack of interest, thus creating a further divide. But if you keep talking and listening to how the other person is feeling, then none of these misunderstandings need arise, and your relationship can actually thrive in this new environment.

As a partner to the mother, this new situation really just asks us to grow up emotionally. Sure, none of us really wants to grow up, but if ever there was a time to do it, becoming a parent would surely be that time. Yes, we may now have a baby in the bed, and it is quite likely to impact on our sexual relationship, but does it actually matter that much, for such a short period of time? And while our partner may seem far more interested in the baby’s poo than what’s going on in our life day to day, can we not give her the space of compassion in these early days, weeks, months?

As the mother, you may well feel as though there is a distance between you and your partner, perhaps noticing their sense of isolation. Like them, you may equally miss the intimacy you previously had, but be too taken up with the new demands of motherhood, and with too many things to think about, be simply too tired to express it. It is important during this time that both partners try to maintain an honest and open dialogue telling each other how they feel. The communication that I wrote about in Chapter 7 could equally be applied here.

Having a child doesn’t mean our relationship and our world need to be turned upside down. As someone once remarked to me, soon after having a baby themselves: ‘It’s so important to remember that the baby is coming to join you and your partner on
your
journey, whatever that is and whatever it looks like – not the other way round.’

Of course, we want to maintain the intention of compassion, whereby we help to create the conditions for the baby to thrive, but we are still free to live the life we choose. We do not have to become different people, sacrificing our life and our intimacy together. We live in a world that so often seems to emphasise ‘doing’ and, as a result, we may feel that if we’re not ‘doing’ enough with our partner, we’re not together as we once were. But we do not need to be
doing
things in order to connect; we don’t need to be
doing
things in order to rediscover our intimacy. Sometimes life is more about ‘being’ than doing. Now is the time to embrace such an approach. In ‘being’, we allow things to be as they are, in that moment – truly, there is nothing more precious than this. It is the greatest gift you can ever give anyone. Simply form the intention to
be
with each other.

In the context of mindfulness, the essence of mind is awareness infused with compassion. When we train the mind to be more attentive, we must never forget the ‘infused with compassion’ part of the formula. What good is a mind that is attentive and focused, perhaps driven and productive, if it does not have the capacity to meet others where they are, to feel what they are feeling, to know empathy not as an idea, but as an experience? In connecting, or reconnecting with our partner, there is no greater vehicle than that of mutual respect, understanding, compassion and trust.

And so we return to the four foundations. In sharing and celebrating this new precious human life, we discover what it means to be together. In understanding the passage of time, and the transitory nature of impermanence, we do not hanker after the past or rush ahead to the future; instead, we make time for each other right now, in the present. In acknowledging how each and every action has a result, we are considerate, respectful, loving and kind, knowing that such qualities will only lead to more of the same in the future. And finally, in experiencing the difficulties and challenges ourselves, we begin to better understand the difficulties of the other, meeting them in a place of quiet compassion, sharing in this thing we call life. Mindfulness allows us to live life fully – fully aware, fully awake, fully alive. It is in living this way that we find peace of mind, happy relationships and our place in the world.

Mindfulness is a journey of a lifetime. It does not begin with pregnancy, neither does it end with childbirth. As long as we are here, as long as we remember to embrace this precious human life, there is the opportunity to let go of the past, to let go of the future, and instead rest at ease, in this moment – awareness, infused with compassion. The present moment does not exist somewhere else. It is here, now. Every time you realise you have been distracted, in
that
moment, you are free.