A few months back, I reached a breaking point. Everything in my life felt overwhelming: my relationship, my children, the crumbling windows in my house, the incessant barking of our dog whenever the delivery person came around, and the chaotic state of our nation’s politics. This feeling of being overwhelmed manifested in abrupt outbursts of anger and quiet tears. I relied on caffeine, my frantic schedule, and a constant state of productive anxiety to keep me afloat, but staying positive and present was becoming increasingly difficult.
Recognizing the need for change, I explored various options—acupuncture, weekly foot massages, and even a cleanse that would eliminate my beloved food groups, which seemed overly harsh. After chatting with friends and eavesdropping on a barista at my local coffee shop talk about her impressive transformation from stressed out to serene, I decided it was time to try meditation. According to a report by the National Center for Health Statistics, around 18 million adults in the U.S. practiced meditation in 2012, and I was eager to join them.
Meditation sounded like a fantastic idea, but I was a bit skeptical. I began my research and discovered that starting with guided meditation was the way to go. The consensus seemed to be that mornings were the optimal time for meditation. The benefits included enhanced relaxation and focus, reduced stress and anxiety, improved memory and perception, and even a slowdown in the aging process. All I needed to do was find a quiet space, close my eyes, and breathe deeply—oh, and I had to commit to daily sessions. But what if I missed a day? Life with a five-year-old meant anything could happen, including a sudden stomach flu for either of us.
Could it be that the mere thought of meditation was causing me anxiety? I wasn’t about to give up before I began. I pushed my worries aside and downloaded a meditation app led by a particularly soothing British voice named Oliver. The next morning, determined and ready, I woke up early, settled into my favorite chair, and surrendered myself to Oliver’s guidance for what felt like the longest ten minutes of my life.
Oliver reassured me that some days meditation would feel effortless, while others would be a challenge. Honestly, I barely absorbed what he was saying because I was too distracted by his calming voice and still half-asleep from not having my morning coffee. How could I possibly meditate without my caffeine boost? I took a deep breath in and out, just like Oliver instructed.
Then, the neighbor’s dog started barking, which activated my own dog’s barking instinct. I attempted to ignore the noise, but Oliver encouraged me to acknowledge the sounds around me. Fine, I listened, but this only heightened my anxiety as I anticipated the inevitable barking match that would wake my daughter and shatter my moment of tranquility. The remaining seven minutes were consumed with thoughts of whether I had enough bread for school lunches and the need to schedule my next haircut before my stylist filled her calendar.
Clearly, that first session was one of the tough ones. I persevered, dragging myself out of bed each morning to sit in my chair and breathe. I wish I could say that after almost two months of ten-minute daily meditations, I felt transformed into a happier, calmer, and more productive person, but that wasn’t the case.
During my meditation, I might start with visions of my body filling with liquid gold, radiating warmth and kindness, but inevitably, my thoughts would veer into anxious territory. Soon, I’d be mentally mapping escape routes from a burning house or worrying about the potential for an earthquake while driving across the Bay Bridge in Oakland. On Tuesday mornings, I was desperate to check if my husband had remembered to take out the trash bins.
Oliver advised me to observe how my mind wandered, focus on my breathing, and gently redirect my thoughts back to the present. However, the more I tried to clear my mind of surface-level distractions, the more space I created for my deeper concerns to bubble up. In my non-meditation hours, I often felt more anxious than before, lacking the motivation to address it. I gained weight, neglected to pay bills, and struggled to stay awake past 8 p.m. I missed the drive that anxiety had given me; at least then, I was getting things done.
My family noticed that I was a bit nicer—less prone to yelling—and perhaps that was true, but I didn’t feel like myself. I felt detached, unable to shake the stressors that arose during meditation, including the nagging thought that I wasn’t doing it right.
After eight weeks of my meditation experiment, I decided to stop. It’s possible I may return to it when I feel ready. For now, I’ll stick with the one lesson that resonated: sending out positive vibes to those who irritate me on the road feels far better than cursing at them.
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Summary:
In this candid exploration, the author shares her struggles with meditation, revealing that the practice often made her feel more stressed rather than calm. Despite initial enthusiasm and the promise of relaxation, the distractions of daily life and deeper anxieties overwhelmed her meditation sessions. Ultimately, she chose to step back from meditation but took away a valuable lesson in adopting a more positive mindset.