The Headspace Guide To A Mindful Pregnancy

by Andy Puddicombe

  To this day, she still says it is the only time she has ever seen me look surprised. My jaw must have hit the floor. It all happened so fast: one minute, I was standing beside my wife, whispering sweet words of encouragement into her ear; the next, I had a front-row seat at the business end – looking directly down the barrel, so to speak. Dr Amersi was right by my side, guiding my every move, but nature did the rest, and our little boy, to be named Harley, just slipped into my hands – and wow, was he slippery! It was such an extraordinary thing and so different from what we had talked about beforehand. In every way it bucked the trend of expectation: drug-free – sorry, not today; easy contractions – nope, not a chance; painful birth – happily, not so much; and squeamish horror show – thankfully, not at all. In fact, there wasn’t even any blood to make me faint. And as I placed little Harley on Lucinda’s chest, with the help of a nurse with far safer hands than my own, I could not imagine feeling more connected to my wife and son than I did in those first few moments.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  GOING HOME

  We walk into the whole childbirth scenario as one or as a pair, and emerge as two or three. Or maybe four. Or five. Having spent the previous nine months focused on this day, imagining it to be the end of the journey – the finish line – we suddenly realise it’s only the beginning of the ride – a ride which may well last thirty, forty, fifty years or more. And so another, altogether different journey begins, complete with a whole new set of readjustments and challenges. Only this time, there really is no end in sight as a much bigger unknown confronts the mind: parenthood.

  In the movies, this is where we arrive at the front door, wearing our Sunday best, smiling profusely and carrying a bundle of joy in our arms, ready to live happily ever after; we turn around, disappear inside, roll the credits, cue a sweet melody of music. But in real life, while still high on adrenaline, we disappear inside, note the conspicuous absence of doctors, nurses, midwives and doulas, and gaze at our baby, instantly feeling the weight of responsibility as we realise this familiar little stranger is entirely dependent on us. It’s like being pushed out of the plane for your very first solo sky-diving attempt, the instructor calling out behind you, ‘Keep going … you’re doing just fine!’ as you hurtle through the air at a hundred miles an hour.

  But am I? Are we?

  By now, you’ve probably already posted the first photo of mother and baby on Facebook or Instagram, leading to the alternate universe of social media lighting up with ‘likes’, good wishes and virtual applause. It’s official. You’re parents. You’re doing this. And it seems everyone in the world believes in your capability. Except you. Yes, there is much joy and celebration woven into this narrative, but the feeling of uncertainty remains. Within this hesitant exploration of the first week of parenthood, it is quite normal for the mind to doubt, to question, to wonder, ‘Now what?’ Never will fears of inadequacy be as loud as they are upon taking your baby home. I’m not sure there is another time when, as adults, we feel so completely out of our depth. As so many new mums have told me: ‘You leave hospital with your baby, and realise there’s no instruction manual for what comes next.’

  At this point, our old way of life seems like a distant memory. We have lost our point of reference; we have moved so far away from a lifestyle which embraced and encouraged independence, doing what we wanted, when we wanted, and how we wanted. We had space too – so much space. Of course, we perhaps didn’t realise this at the time; in fact, had you asked us back then, we would have said how busy we were, how there was barely a spare minute in the day. But now, as we tentatively move into the initial weeks and months of parenthood, and with the benefit of hindsight, we look back and question why we did not make more of that space, we question how we could have taken it for granted and, just for a moment, perhaps wish that we could go back and visit that previous life, for a day, or even just an hour or two. It’s enough to make the mind go round in circles. The inner chatter can be intense at this time. And the volume of that mental dialogue grows louder for the partner now, too.

  Up to this point, this event hasn’t really impacted their way of life. They’ve hopefully been supportive throughout the pregnancy, but, more often than not, I’m guessing their sense of independence hasn’t been restricted or restrained too much. But that’s about to change. Big time. So don’t be surprised, or take offence, if a partner walks around with a look of ‘What the hell just happened?’ While the shock to the system can be just as profound for the mother, she has at least moved towards the realisation in the previous months, going through the journey as one with the baby. For the partner, however intellectually prepared they may be, I think the jolt to the mind can be a lot more bewildering or disorienting.

  I know one father who went to the supermarket, pushing his sleeping baby around in the trolley, and – whether through exhaustion or because he momentarily slipped back into a life on autopilot – he left it behind at the checkout. It was only after the cashier called out to him, as he walked off with his shopping bags, that he remembered that, oh yeah, he was a dad now. So often, the partner is playing catch-up, from idea to experience. It is not that they don’t care – it is simply that they are looking at the situation from a different perspective.

  But let’s return to those first days. If your delivery was anything like it is in most people’s experience, you are probably feeling rather sore – and I say that in the very best tradition of British understatement. Indeed, if you had a C-section, you may well be shuffling gingerly, not walking freely at all. Add to that the continuing hormonal roller coaster, plus the after-effects of any medication and the mixed emotions of joy and apprehension, and it’s no surprise you may just be feeling ever so slightly delirious. Oh, and then there’s that new little human being to look after. But from a mindful pregnancy perspective, much as in childbirth, this responsibility can actually act as a vehicle for transforming your own discomfort and pain. This does not mean ignoring how you feel or not taking care of yourself, but simply shifting your focus to the physical and emotional needs of the child as much as possible. Every time you do this – not thinking about it, but actually doing it – you step out of your head and away from your suffering.

  Within this often intense time, when the mind can get so easily overwhelmed, it is worth remembering that idea of keeping a kind mind – a mind that is free of self-judgement, free of guilt, free of blame. Or at the very least, a mind which has the intention to let go of such thoughts and feelings. After all, the calm, harmonious and loving environment you sought to create in the body and mind during pregnancy is now something you need to manifest outwardly, too.

  Keeping calm and managing stress levels are still just as important to the baby’s continuing development. And remember to carry forward that sense of loving kindness to yourself, too. The next few weeks are not about being perfect, they are about setting the intention to be present and compassionate. At times, such awareness will desert you; at others, you will find yourself lost in distraction and sometimes you might just feel like giving up mindfulness altogether. This is the process of learning a new skill. As soon as you realise what’s happened, knowing that these are merely distracting thoughts, you return to the present, reset the intention and continue on your way.

  One new mum, Abbie, aged thirty-seven, was curious about mindfulness and wrote into us at Headspace within three days of going home. Her experience speaks to the mixed emotions that must continually be processed in the initial weeks:

  It was literally one of the most surreal experiences of my life. Firstly, there is the relief of leaving the hospital after the exhaustion of labour (and a night where my partner slept in the chair). But then there is the sense of trepidation – you leave a building with someone you didn’t go in with, and you have to leave behind all the support of the nurses and midwives, plus all their tricks of the trade. There’s a feeling of going it alone, and it’s terrifying at first.

  Abbie and her husband then had
to contend with that first unnerving experience: the car journey home. She went on:

  We drove at twenty miles an hour, avoiding every pothole and bump in the road, as if it was lined with IEDs! You want stickers emblazoned on the car that scream: ‘NEW BABY–FIRST JOURNEY–BE NICE–STAY BACK!’ But then we arrived home and walked through the door – and that’s when I felt this immense rush of happiness and pride, alongside the obvious apprehension. It was overwhelming, but so special as well. And then, when everything settles down, you realise that this is when the hard work begins …

  A NEW WAY OF LIFE

  The role of motherhood is one of the hardest there is in life, and the major readjustment required is a huge test of character. ‘Basically, you’re forced to become super-efficient,’ says my wife, Lucinda. ‘You can’t fence off any time for yourself, so you’re constantly adapting, switching from one thing to the next, dependent on what the baby’s needs are in any given moment.’

  The biggest change in the short term is that, whether we like it or not, this is a new direction in life and this foreign experience, with a new person to factor in, requires that we let go of our former life, for now at least. By that, I simply mean that if we continue to cling to what was – if we try to live exactly as we once did – then we will be perpetuating a constant state of tension. Unsurprisingly, for most of us, this shift is extremely challenging and felt very much in the granularity of life.

  Let’s take breakfast on a particularly stressful day as an example. So, it’s just you and the baby at home. You’ve been up all night breastfeeding and, in between times, the baby was crying non-stop. At just nine in the morning, it’s already been a long day, and not only are you exhausted, you’re also starving, having not eaten properly since yesterday . With one deft hand, you’ve managed to put on some toast and pour a bowl of cereal and it’s all going well – you’ve taken at least three slurps of your Raisin Bran. But then the baby starts crying, like really crying. You hazard a guess it’s because their nappy needs changing. And to be fair to the baby, who wants to sit around in their own poo? In the circumstances, it’s understandable that the baby doesn’t want to wait for you to finish breakfast. But let’s pause the video on that scene right there.

  This is where there are really only two options.

  Option one: you can look to the heavens, bite your lip and think, For crying out loud, can’t I just finish my breakfast for once! as you exhale pure frustration into the air, almost forgetting to breathe in afterwards. And with that, the mind will likely fall into its habitual groove, stressing about the cereal going soggy, your routine going out of whack and how it will probably be the last thing you get to eat before dinner. Before you know it, you’re changing the baby’s nappy on autopilot, going through the motions, as the mind continues to chatter away about the uneaten breakfast cereal. Depending on the level of frustration, chances are that the baby will pick up on this increasing anxiety and cry even louder. And so it goes on.

  Then there’s option two. In applying the principles of mindfulness, there is an opportunity at the kitchen table to pause for ten seconds. Yes, the baby is crying and, yes, they are sitting in their own poo, but they can wait ten seconds – it is, after all, in the best interests of you both. In pausing, in consciously turning the mind to the breath, perhaps even taking a few deep breaths to rest the body, there is the glimmer of perspective. The baby is still crying and the cereal will still go soggy, but there is enough space in the mind to cope with it. Instead of sitting there wanting to vent, you get to acknowledge the thought and consider: OK, this is an annoyance. The moment at breakfast has ended and another moment is beginning: the moment to change the baby’s soiled nappy; the present moment in which you can be focused, paying attention, bringing comfort to, and engaging with, your child, offering reassurance, soothing both them and yourself.

  Letting go happens in a heartbeat. The moment we see we’re about to spin off into that cycle of habitual thought, the moment we bring awareness to that tendency, we let go. As I remember saying to my teacher, ‘Sure, but it keeps coming back again,’ to which he replied, ‘So just keep letting go again.’

  When we do this – when we get out of our head, stepping out of our own way – it is almost as though we create the space for the frustration and annoyance to pass us by, to wash over us. It is only our thinking that keeps it in place. And in this space, we are reminded that life is simply one moment after the next.

  As a new parent, what we are learning to do in such situations is to let go of one moment before beginning the next; to draw the curtain on one activity, before starting another. Time will pass regardless of whether we finish a task or not. Time will continue, the moments will keep on coming – we are the only ones who can decide if we are going to carry our frustrations with us and compromise what we are doing right now by dragging the past into the present.

  I remember Lucinda talking about this idea one afternoon, saying she was shocked by how the exasperation built up, drip by drip, day after day, as she battled to do things as she’d always done them. The moment she accepted that it simply wasn’t possible any more, the moment she accepted she wasn’t superwoman, the moment she accepted she would never complete the to-do list, she found peace of mind. She found that place of OK-ness. In her words: ‘As soon as I accepted this is my life, for now, that was the moment I began to enjoy being a mum. It sounds so simple, but it took me a little bit of time to get there.’ Just to be clear, what Lucinda means by that is easing up on herself and not indulging the general frustrations that self-imposed pressure can lead to; she does not mean that a new mother has to accept her lot if a situation is detrimental to the welfare or health of herself and/or the baby.

  Now, the idea of going through a twenty-four-hour period thinking that we are going to be permanently mindful is a beautiful yet fanciful idea. But if we start breaking the day down into manageable chunks and move forward task by task – eating breakfast, mindfully; washing the dishes, mindfully; brushing our teeth, mindfully; and going for a walk, mindfully – then we gradually train the mind to be more present. And remember, in being present, we experience a greater feeling of calm, leading to more clarity, which gives us a sense of perspective and a greater feeling of contentment. And when we have that kind of fulfilment in our life, we create enough space for compassion and for empathy – for caring just as much about the happiness of others as we do our own.

  For many years women have, quite rightly, prided themselves on their ability to multitask in a way men can only dream of. This may sound very good news when it comes to being a mum. Unfortunately, new research has shown that when we multitask, rather than learning to do lots of things at once really well, we simply learn to do lots of things at once not-nearly-as-well-as-before.

  It reminds me of the early days back in the monastery, hurrying to get ready in the morning. We often had just a few minutes to prepare for the day so, in an attempt to save time, I would try things like brushing my teeth at the same time as washing my face – the result being a flannel in my mouth and a toothbrush in my eye. Doing lots of things at once is not really in the spirit of mindfulness. That doesn’t mean we have to slow down or can’t get as much done – we can. But we are likely to do those things so much better when we take care of one thing in this moment and another thing in the next. Not only is this approach more effective, it also feels so much more comfortable and relaxing.

  After my initial experiments with multitasking at the monastery, I was taught a really useful exercise, which totally transformed things for me. At the beginning it felt a little contrived, a little forced, but over time it became the most natural thing in the world and I really didn’t even need to think about it. It was an exercise in impermanence – noticing how every single thing we do, or are involved in, has both a beginning and an end point. Before each new task, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant, we would mentally set up the intention to be aware – to be mindful – throughout. At the end, we
would mentally acknowledge its completion. The effect was that we approached each new thing as a new thing, and left behind each activity as something which had already passed. So, before brushing our teeth in the morning, we would set up the intention to be present, to the taste, the smell, the sensation and so on. When the mind wandered off, as it often did, we would gently bring it back again. At the end of the exercise, we would simply notice how it was now gone, and then do the same for every new activity – making a cup of tea, going to the loo, making the bed, cutting the grass and so on. It sounds exhausting written like that, but done gently and in the spirit of taming the mind, it is so helpful and actually starts to feel really nice after a while. We start to see each new moment unfolding, as well as recognising the futility in carrying the past into the present, or jumping ahead to the future when we have not yet fully experienced this moment right now.

  After some time, this exercise begins to bring a real sense of purpose and intention to everything we do. It no longer matters whether things happen as we expected or wanted them to. It no longer matters if we made it all the way through an activity or had to change direction halfway through; whether we got to finish that email or unload the dishwasher before bedtime. This exercise, when applied to a mindful pregnancy, is not about completion; it’s about staying with the task and moment at hand. All that matters is that we acknowledge the ebb and flow of life. And when we do this, there is no platform on which to build layer upon layer of annoyance of frustration.

  GOLDEN ‘ME TIME’

  Lucinda makes an important point about dropping the resistance and allowing herself to be a mother because, beyond all the tiny moments that can build into frustration, there is this broader idea that the mind struggles with – the loss of freedom and independence. The loss of what we call ‘me time’.