I have a morning habit that grounds me and strengthens me every day. I look forward to it, and depend on it to give me some equilibrium. I manage to make it a priority, no matter what.
What is it?
It’s reading advice columns while I drink a cup of tea.
You thought I was talking about yoga, didn’t you?
My habit doesn’t sound very productive. I spend fifteen every morning reading puff pieces in the Washington Post. I shush my kids and half-answer my husband and–you know what?
It really does me good.
I’ll be honest: I have mixed feelings about this habit of mine. Mornings are precious; I want to be present for my family. I could be using those minutes to cultivate habits related to my writing, or my faith; I could prepare for my day of homeschooling. Heck, I could simply empty the dishwasher. I could be doing so much more.
The only problem? I don’t want to.
A few years ago, this habit was less of a choice, and more of a problem. I’d start the morning with advice columns, move on to blog posts, Facebook, random news articles, and an hour and a half later, I’d look up to a house of chaos, whining children, and a guilty conscience.
I resolved to quit Dear Abby, Ask Amy and Carolyn Hax post-haste.
I knew needed to quit because it was a lousy way to start my day. It wasn’t worth my time. It was lazy, and unmotivated of me. It was a terrible habit, and I was terrible for not being able to do without it.
I tried, and I tried, but I never went more than a few days without indulging. And I resented the effort. I’d think, it’s such a small thing. Why I can’t I do this small thing?
And so I’d go back to indulging, guilt, and chaos.
A year ago, I decided on a radical experiment: I gave myself permission to read them. Real, honest permission.
The only caveat? I would just read one or two (okay, three), and then I would shut off my phone, and move on. No browsing endlessly. No going back through Dear Abby archives to the year 1999 (yes, I really have a problem).
It wasn’t a big, formal decision or anything. I just shifted my thinking a little bit. I thought, You can’t do without this silly habit? Then go ahead, silly or not.
Suddenly, the struggle stopped.
I started being content with fifteen minutes instead of ninety.
I stopped feeling resentful when I needed to cut the columns out on busy mornings.
I started noticing that I move slowly in the morning, but that after those fifteen minutes, I get in gear.
I started noticing how much more patient I was with my kids if I gave myself time to be silly first thing.
Most importantly, I started thinking of advice columns as a lavish gift for myself that I gave myself permission to enjoy every single morning.
Look, my reality isn’t yours. As a homeschooler, I have the luxury of moving slowly in the morning, but I get less time alone during the day. I have more flexiblilty then you working moms, but perhaps less autonomy over when I go to the bathroom.
Whatever: all of us must decide what our priorities are.
Our days as mothers can be marathons. Whether it’s work, or school, or educating our kids, our energy has to stretch far. We have to know ourselves in order to thrive. And we have to be just as gentle and patient with ourselves as we are with a stubborn toddler.
Too often, my strategy for improvement is to berate myself. I want to be fast when I’m slow, or slow when I’m fast. I want to be less forgetful or more organized, or more patient, or more fun.
But the truth is, things work a lot better if I pay attention to who I really am. I must ask over and over: What makes my heart sing? What practices actually make me feel grateful? What habits play to my strengths?
It’s not always obvious. Maybe we have to experiment with more discipline or less, with getting up five minutes earlier, or shining our sink, with journaling every night, quitting a “silly” habit, or indulging ourselves. Maybe it will take us a while to figure out what our hearts are asking for.
But it helps to start with the assumption that our hearts know what they need. It’s worth practicing the art of wholeness, instead of just productivity. It’s worth accepting ourselves, quirks and all, as completely as we can.
Originally posted on The Happiest Home.