Put Your Action Where Your Mind Is

Reading time: 6 minutes
Summary: This post is about the things we know are good for our mental health, but that we don't always make an effort to do; it can hopefully encourage you to find ways to do the things that you know are helpful for you. 

Last week I read Brené Brown's "The Gifts of Imperfection: Let Go of Who You Think You're Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You Are. Your Guide to a Wholehearted Life." I admit I cringed when I saw the cheesy cover combined with the cheesy title, BUT the author is Brené Brown, and she has gained both my respect and my interest by her overall approach to mental health. Brené and I seem to share a task-oriented stubborn determination to plough through life, achieving whatever strikes our fancy (and ideally doing so faster and better than everyone else. '...Life is a competitive race, right?' No? Just me..? Ok.) You can get a sense of her research on shame, courage, vulnerability, and wholehearted living, as well as her approach to mental health more generally, by watching her tedtalk. (It's one of my favourites.)

There are many parts of Brené's book which I found striking and helpful, but I'm going to summarize just a few of them here. I should note that, while I've picked up on these from reading her book, there are so many other influences in my life lately that make me hone in on these particular things. Other big influences have been the PhD I'm doing at the University of Cambridge with a supervisor who values and encourages deep learning, attending meditation retreats with Jaya Ashmore, reading poetry (I really love the works of Mary Oliver, Rainer Maria Rilke, Nayyirah Waheed, William Stafford, and Wendell Berry), reading books or listening to podcasts by theologians/philosophers/individuals who grapple with questions of faith and what it means to be human (Paul Knitter, Swami Prabhavananda, Ram Dass, Pema Chödrön, and The Liturgists podcast), as well as having an abundance of conversations with dear friends and colleagues. I'm so grateful for each of these influences. 

Alright, back to some insights gleaned from reading Brené Brown's book. 

1. If we pay attention to our bodies, we can note physical symptoms of anxiety, stress, freak-outs, etc. Recognizing the physical symptoms can "cue us" to respond healthily. 
If you are like me, you might not 'listen to your body' all that often. (This is coming from the girl who rarely takes sick days, who has played basketball with a broken wrist & jumped on a trampoline with a broken ankle---to name a few.) Let's say, for example, you open up an email from someone that says something critical of you, or that for another reason you find troublesome. If you were to notice that your palms are sweating, or that you have a headache, or that your chest feels tight, or that you've just clenched all the muscles in your neck, it might be a good moment to pause, take a deep breath (or a nap) or even wait an entire day before replying. This can be true on much bigger scales, as well.

2. "If we want to live a wholehearted life, we have to become intentional about cultivating sleep and play, and about letting go of exhaustion as a status symbol and productivity as self-worth."
I find that this is especially true of graduate students or early career individuals, or anyone who is still trying to "prove themselves." Sometimes we don't even realize it, but phrases like "I was at the library 12 hours yesterday", or even just feeling exhausted and taking that as indicative of working hard---AND SOMEHOW FEELING PROUD ABOUT IT!?!?!---is very very damaging to our mental (and physical) health! Research by Lynne Twist also shows that we increasingly feel like we have to be busy and productive in order to be good, admirable people. That's kind of messed up.. Sleep and play are both important. Make time for them.

3. There is not only a big difference between the things we achieve and the things that make us joyful but the things that we are trying to achieve do not always allow for the things that make us joyful.
Brown suggests to make a list of the things you are doing when you feel joyful, and to place that side by side with a list of things that you are actively and intentionally trying to achieve. Do they line up? Do the things on the latter list actually allow for / encourage the things on the former? I tried it, and on the "achievement" list I had things like "publish a peer reviewed article", "get a tenure track teaching job." On the "joyful" list I had things like "garden," "play music with friends," "cook and eat good food." Some of the desired achievements did allow space for the things that make me joyful, but many did not---and this certainly made me wonder whether I have my priories straight! (Consider asking yourself the question: 'Why am I spending all this time and energy trying to achieve goals that do not give me nearly as as much joy as the things that I already have within my grasp?' I'm certain there are ways to intentionally focus more on the things that give us joy...)

This leads us to the next and last one:
4. There is a difference between theoretically agreeing with something, and acting upon it. So often, we become theoretical advocates for things that improve mental health, but we rarely follow through ourselves.
Reflecting upon this made me come up with the phrase "put your action where your mind is" (from 'put your money where your mouth is'). There are so many things that I advocate for and/or theoretically agree are valuable, but it is rare for me to prioritize them into my busy schedule. I love lists, so of course I made a list of these, too. For me, they included: spiritual practice, community and relationships, reading, exercise, tidiness, deep rest and relaxation, intentional creativity (art, music, writing), being outside. But, when I look at how I spend my time, it is mostly: PhD reading/writing, other academic side projects, applying for future academic projects, scarfing down food, going to the gym simply to check off 'exercise' from my to do list, and Netflix. (Of course, I sometimes do make some time for the other things, but they are rarely a priority. I'm not proud of it, but if I feel short on time, it is always the "extra mental health stuff" that is the first to get cut from my daily rhythm.) 

I wonder what might life look like if we didn't view those 'good for mental health things' as extras, that could be fit in if and when we finished all the 'real' stuff? What if, instead, we were to recognize them as important pillars for the rest of life? For one, I suspect that our self-worth, our relationships with others, and even our work ethic/creativity output would all improve...

Lost and Found

A significant part of my time in India this year has been focused on the beautiful but chaotic process of ever-learning more about myself and the world around me. I’ve been prompted, pushed, pulled, and sometimes dragged into experiences, events, and conversations which make me question what I value most in life and whether I am acting in a way that corresponds with my values. 

What is that I hold onto? What is it that I think is important? Do I spend my time in a way that shows that? In what way do I want to engage with the world? (Am I doing that?) How do my actions and beliefs impact other beings around me? Am I happy? Do I feel loved by others? Am I loving others? Am I loving myself?  

I feel that these are important questions—and I ask them, in one way or another, almost every day. As such, time and time again, I find myself in need of the reminder that all of this is a process. For better or for worse, we are people who are caught in change and motion rather than grounded in constancy. 

(This is felt rather poignantly when travelling to new cities almost every week, but there are other ways of noting this in our lives even when we seem to stay still…we are always changing.) I’m trying to become more comfortable with uncertainty, and also with the seeming-dichotomy of knowing something (“holding onto something”) and being open to new ways-of-knowing/being.

My desire to try out new things and be okay with change, uncertainty, and imperfection has manifested in a rather practical way for me this year, where I have dedicated some time to a new project: shooting and editing videos which tell stories which I believe to be important and interesting. You can stay tuned for the release of some of those in the near future...

Sometimes we lose ourselves to find ourselves; and sometimes those two actions seem to be indistinguishable from each other.

I’m pretty sure that’s why I wrote this song, Lost and Found. (I picked up a guitar the other day and the melody and the lyrics came out within about 4 minutes.) I suppose these thoughts have been percolating for some time now… You can listen to it on my soundcloud here or just read the lyrics below.

~

I found myself at the sea.
I found myself by the water.
I found myself as I lost all the thoughts
that I thought I had to hold onto.

I lost myself at the sea.
I lost myself by the ocean.
I lost myself as I found all the thoughts
that I thought I’d learned to let go of.

I’m still holding, I’m still losing, I’m still finding.
And searching and praying and cursing and letting go. 

5 Things That Teaching Has Taught Me

5 Things That Teaching Has Taught Me

This summer I have been teaching a creative writing course to high school students, 6 days a week. I'm pretty passionate about what I do, and it's no exaggeration (despite being horribly cliche) to say that I am pouring my heart and soul into it. It's exhausting and I love it.That being said, here are some things I am learning as I teach.

1. Sometimes the best learning happens when I stop teaching.

Even before going into this month of teaching, I was of the philosophy that a big part of teaching was not simply lecturing or giving information, but actively creating an environment in which students were able to explore new things in creative ways. This mandates that the atmosphere be both comfortable and challenging; it’s an interesting balance to strike.
This being said, as I entered the classroom I found a temptation to continue to give more and more information. To lecture. To instruct. To guide. To (re)direct and (re)adjust). To a certain extent, this is fine—students need to receive knowledge and guidance. But it is easy to go overboard on this, and to never allow space for students to explore through independent learning or group discussion. Some of the best moments of learning happened when I was not directly involved. This is a humbling recognition.

2. I am a micro-manager, a mother-hen, and a hand-holder. This isn't inherently a bad thing...but these tendencies do not (always) do justice to the intelligent and creative minds on the receiving end of this.

Those of you who know me well are probably smiling at the fact that I think this even merits any mention, as if it is new information that I am a control freak. (Okay, so I’ve always known that I’ve been this way..) but I did not realise the extent to which I was this way. I had to make conscious efforts to step back and let my students do things in a way that I KNEW was not the most efficient, or the most brilliant, or the most sensical. They learned through doing, through making mistakes, and through trying again—and this is an important process. After all, isn’t that how I’ve learned some of my most important lessons? I had to be very conscientious of this, and to let myself step back and let them explore and try things out on their own. I’m glad to be aware of this now—better late than never.

3. Organisations are bureaucratic and sometimes suck. It is important to remember, and focus on, those students whose lives might very well be changed by their interaction with their teacher.

I am doing this job for the experience of interacting with students—not for the money nor for the CV line (though both of those things are nice perks.) It can be difficult to remember that I am doing this for the students when other bureaucratic things get in the way of this. I have had, in the (I think) most literal of sense, life-changing and life-saving teachers throughout my MANY years as a student. Some of those teachers probably didn’t even realise the influence they had on me; they were just plain old great, passionate teachers and happened to have a student (probably more!) who needed such a teacher in their life at that time. I want to be one of those teachers. Seeing one of my students smile as they quietly read my feedback on one of their drafts is the best feeling. If I can make students smile, and help show them both how they are /their work is impressive and valuable and important AND how their writing can be improved...well then I think I'm doing alright. This should be what I focus on.

4. Thirteen year olds have a lot of feelings; they are still so new to the world and only beginning to grapple with failure, with being indignant, with disappointment, with cruelty. Their versions (and degrees) of each of these things take up their entire capacity for these feelings, no matter how small their particular 13-year-old vessel is. Don’t belittle it. Don’t dismiss it. And don’t wish it away. If you can, help them to wade through it.

I’m teaching creative writing. My students write poetry and they are thirteen years old…I don’t think much more needs to be said about that in terms of the angst-ridden content that is all too readily produced. I’m learning to meet them where they are at, and to share in that part of their life—and maybe even to speak into it, if the moment strikes!

5.  Everyone has a story that is waiting to be shared and that will be interesting when told by someone who trusts their listener. Learn to be that listener, and learn to show you are such a listener. And, learn to trust others when sharing your own story.

I am, among other things, a poet and song-writer. My knees still buckle when I read my poems or play my songs to my thirteen year old students. “Will they like it?,” I wonder. “Will they laugh at me behind my back after class?” (These are real thoughts I have…I am more than twice their age; how is this a genuine concern of mine?!?! And yet it is.) Sharing parts of ourselves is a scary thing—especially so, I think, when it involves both our own story and our creative spin of it. But I think that, through demonstrating vulnerability, we can create an environment where others are also more free to be vulnerable. And I suspect this is overall a positive thing. 

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So, what'd I miss? What have you learned this month? Or what have you learned when in the role of teaching? I welcome your thoughts and comments!