Year in Review: Wise minds. Big hearts. celebrates one year!

I am embarrassed to admit that Facebook tipped me off.  In my memories section at the top of my news feed, there was a reminder that one year ago yesterday, I shared the seed of my mindfulness project: a cover page for the website. Just the words "wise minds. big hearts." and a "coming soon..." Now, as I read over my blog from the past year and reflect on the work I've done for so many amazing staff and students, I can't help dance a little dance in excitement. I'm doing it!

I partnered with 10 schools and organizations, served over 250 preschool, elementary, middle, and high school students and over 400 educators this past year with face-to-face programming around New England. I developed my own 1-2 hour, 6-week, 8-week, and 10-week curriculum for high school students, 1 and 2 hour workshops for teachers, and am currently developing a graduate-level course for teachers that I will teach this fall. I started a Maine Mindfulness Educators Network. I have written extensively about these experiences in hopes that others may be inspired to try it themselves. I attended my first 5-day and 10-day silent retreats and continue to educate myself with an MBSR course, a Difficult Emotions course, and countless hours reading the current research, theory, and practice in the field.

While it can be hard in our culture as a woman to say it, I will:

I am proud of the work I'm doing, dang it. 

Now, I have found that doing the work I love means doing a lot of work that I don't love. I never set out to be a small business owner, but the only way I could pursue my passion for mindfulness in education in my beloved state of Maine was to strike out on my own and hope someone was interested.  Running a small business has been incredibly challenging. It necessitates a level of business acumen: networking, planning, accounting, marketing, public speaking, and self management and motivation that teachers aren't trained for, and I certainly did not possess when I started this journey. I still have a tremendous amount of learning to do in this area, and find myself at a loss more often than I'd like. However, if I've learned anything this first year, it's that it's less about knowing how to do everything and more about knowing how to find the people who know what you don't know. I am so grateful to the Small Business Development Center at USM and Cori Holt with SCORE for supporting me in those areas. 

In that same vein, I am grateful to those who introduced me to their friends and colleagues and those who invited me into their schools.

To the teacher who used her own time to write a grant to bring me, the staff who voted to have me come work with their kids after I ran a workshop for them, the assistant superintendent who unhesitatingly signed her district up for programming,  and so many more individuals and organizations that see the value of this work and entrusted me to share it with them, 

To my friend's who pitched me to their administration, those that field my mindfulness programming questions, and my partner who reads my blogs and emails to make sure they are intelligible to the rest of the world,

To the organizations who provided scholarships for my trainings,

I thank you. 

I am not just proud of me, as I could not possibly have shared mindfulness with as many folks as I did this year without the help of countless individuals. I am proud of us.

Stories from the field, Part XII: Mindfulness for the little ones

Stories from the Field are small moments about how mindfulness impacts the students I work with (and in return, how they impact me), in hopes of capturing what it means to learn and use mindfulness. This story comes from Lila Yoga Studio in Portland, ME:

Finding tree pose during the story, Penelope and her Puppy Mind

After a year of working primarily with adolescents, I was both nervous and excited to match the energy of little ones in a Yoga and Mindfulness for Families offering at Lila Yoga studio. Just before 2:00pm on Sunday, 4-6 year olds raced in the door and immediately started grabbing eye pillows to toss into the air. After retrieving one that hit the fan and flew across the room, I managed to settle us down onto our mats, mamas behind the kiddos. 

We started with a round of introductions, using an animal motion paired with our name to share out. The room was full of peregrine falcons, giraffes, and chipmunks by the time we made our way around the whole circle.  I asked to raise their hand if they had a brain (most kiddos did), and told them we would be learning about our crazy brains.

Kids hold mountain pose as I tell them about Penelope's next move

I taught them how our minds are like puppies, and we have to train them so that they do what we want them to do.  We went on an adventure together to help Penelope find her Puppy Mind, passing through cat pose, frog, boat, snake, tree, mountain, and airplane until we finally found Penelope's puppy mind at home. We trained her by putting one hand on our brain, one on our belly, and took 5 deep breaths together.

Next, we pulled brain fist models out of my box (literally just our fists) and learned about the different parts of the brain and their jobs. After that, we drew out brain maps in families, labeling the different parts of the brain and their primary function. Finally, we identified the part of the brain we were trying to train today (the PFC). 

To train the PFC, we practiced listening to the sound of the bell, and then just the sound of the room. This helped us with our voluntary attention. Kiddos notice the sound of the wind in the trees, cars passing by outside, and other kids rustling in the studio.

After all this training, we blew off some steam by taking our yoga poses into action, crab walking, soaring, and hopping across the room. 

We closed by mamas and kiddos cuddling up for a squeeze and release activity, followed by a filling the body with heavy red liquid activity. 

One mama's reflection:

“I thought Erica really held the kids attention during the class. She a loving yet firm approach and the kids seemed to respond warmly to her. My son has looked at his brain map a few times since and we have practice putting one hand on our ‘PFC’ and one of the belly for five breaths. I love the mix up of movement, brain lesson, coloring and connection with mama at the end. What a fun way to introduce the monkey brain to the kiddos.”

Tips for working with the little ones:

1. Keep 'em moving. This means incorporating yoga, or breath and movement, throughout the practice.

2. Teach the brain structure. Nothing is cuter than hearing a 4-year-old say "a-myg-da-la." They can do it, just don't overload them with too many big ideas.

3. Make is a story. You can tell them, or you can take them on a journey. 

4. Let them make it their own. Their favorite animals. Their animal walks across the room. Their tree pose may not look like yours, and that's okay.

5. Choose props carefully. They might have different ideas for their function.

Stories from the Field, Part XI: Assessing our own data

Stories from the Field are small moments about how mindfulness impacts the students I work with (and in return, how they impact me), in hopes of capturing what it means to learn and use mindfulness. This story comes from a STEM high school in Portland, Maine:

When I started the semester with my students, I told them we were doing an experiment on ourselves. We would review the research, and look at the science, but ultimately it would be our own experience that determined the impact of mindfulness meditation on our well-being. As the semester comes to a close, it was time for them to draw some conclusions based on their experiences. 

Least I seem a hypocrite, having in my last post spoken of the limitations of assessing mindfulness and yoga, I still believe there is value in examining the data we can collect, as long as we acknowledge there are some things we cannot measure. 

At the beginning and end of this course, students anonymously took the Perceived Stress Scale (PSS) and Healthy Regulation Scale (HRS). Each of these psychological measures have been vetted for test-retest reliability. I explained to the students that because the number of participants was low, the we would need to be careful about drawing hard conclusions, but I did notice when I compared student responses, it appeared that there had been overall change rather than one student's responses skewing the data. 

I handed out graphs comparing the mean of the student responses from the pre- and post- test, and asked them to make statements or ask questions about what they found interesting. Students noticed that there was growth on every dimension, especially in feelings of control over their lives (Q2, Q7, Q9). One student remarked that she would have thought people would be more stressed out at the end of the trimester when they had a lot due, so she was surprised at the results. The average PSS score dropped from the "high perceived stress" category (27.3) to the "moderate perceived stress" 21.4. 

Perceived Stress Scale

The Healthy Regulation Scale (HRS) also had some interesting implications, with student data suggested growth in eight out of the twelve dimensions. There were a few anomalies, however, that students made hypotheses about.  First, students reported they had slightly less ability to bring their focus back when distracted (Q2). One girl thought this might be because they had different contexts for thinking about this question. In the beginning, they might have been thinking about during homework, whereas at the end, they might have thought about it in meditation. Another interesting finding was that students reported a slightly less peaceful attitude with themselves (Q5). Someone reflected that maybe it was because they had done enough meditation that they could see their foibles, but not enough to accept them. The greatest growth appeared to be on questions about having healthy ways to calm down and relax (Q10, Q12).

Healthy Regulation Scale

Because quantitative data can be limiting, students also had the opportunity to reflect in an open-ended format on their experience.  In the end, we performed a loose mixed-methods experiment on ourselves. So yes, it's not perfect, and it provided a great way for students to get feedback on their investment into trying mindfulness this trimester.

Below is an unscientific summary of the findings:

Expected Outcomes: The challenge of assessing yoga and mindfulness

Yoga and mindfulness are inherently internal processes, so when it comes to the end of a semester, and I have to assess whether or not my students are "on target" or not, I balk. I could assess whether or not they were there to practice on time and prepared each day. I could assess whether or not they could hold downward dog for five complete breaths. I could say if they kept their eyes closed for the full ten minutes of mindful meditation. This is all external evidence of their commitment to trying the practice (or at least trying to look like they are committed).  But the real impact of yoga and mindfulness happen inside, often in subtle ways, over time. It looks different depending on each student. 

Furthermore, teaching practices that inherently ask us to be nonjudgemental of ourselves, then turning around and smacking a grade on my students' ability to be nonjudgemental, feels ironic and antithetical.  

Assessing yoga and mindfulness' efficacy is not just something I'm tasked with, but the community at large. But is it working? is a question researchers in the field are diligently trying to answer through self-reported stress perception scales, measurements of cortisol throughout the day, teacher behavior reports, GPA, etc.  Show me the research! is a familiar battle cry in the world of education today. This is important. We don't want to be enacting policies that impact the lives of millions of children without evidence that these measures are going to support them. And yet...it's tricky. 

For the student who has been failed out of each wellness class she's taken, who began the first half of the trimester in jeans for yoga, arriving 30 minutes late for class if at all, what does passing look like? What if, by the end of the semester, she came every day on-time in gym shorts and participated fully each time she was there? An amazing shift in behavior, to be sure, but can I find a standard this aligns to? Not really.

What about the student who I see threaten to beat up another student right after my class, but who writes, "Over the best semester, my flexibility improved greatly and so did my endurance. It was always awesome to start my day off with yoga, waking up my body and stretching everything out." Is that a success or failure?

Human growth is often too complex to be captured in grades.

Each time I stand before students, I teach a classroom full of individuals with their own histories, personalities, and mindsets. What success means for each of them, and what "efficacy" of the program means for each of them, may look entirely different. For one student, perhaps he continues to practice mindfulness even when he doesn't make it to school. For another, perhaps it's seeing patterns of behavior she didn't notice in herself before, even if she isn't in a place to change anything yet. These intangibles are incredibly difficult to capture at a quantitative measure for research purposes, and equally as challenging to grade at the individual level. 

One of the greatest freedoms I have offered myself in teaching these skills and strategies is a release from an expected outcome (I wrote about the importance of Trust for Mindful Schools earlier this school year). If I expect my students to all behave like little peace warriors who mindfully decide to put their technology away without prompting and offer a compassionate ear whenever one is needed, I am bound to be disappointed. Even more problematic, I miss the nuance. I miss the subtle shifts in student well-being. I close the door on the possibility that they may more fully develop in a more equanimous direction long after they are under my instruction.

To use Portia Nelson's metaphor from "Autobiography in Five Short Chapters," perhaps they will fall in the same hole they have always fallen in right now, but at least be able to see it. And maybe some day down the line they will walk around it, or choose another street.

So I'll assign them a grade, because that's our system. We should continue the research into mindfulness to add to the picture of the potential benefits and drawbacks. But it is also up to me to make space for the subtler intangible shifts, that may occur now or in the future, because of the work we did together. I hope as we continue to look to research and evidence to inform our choices of school programs, we make space for the complexity of our humanity, and the myriad of ways our students and programs may be "successful."

Stories from the Field, Part X: But what is it? Defining Emotion.

Stories from the Field are small moments about how mindfulness impacts the students I work with (and in return, how they impact me), in hopes of capturing what it means to learn and use mindfulness. This story comes from a STEM high school in Portland, Maine:

Anger, fear, joy, disgust, and sadness from Inside out

I like Pixar's Inside Out as much as the next person.  If I'm being honest, I probably like it way more than the next person. I use these characters to think about my emotions as harmless little muppets who I can comfort and soothe. I think the whole film gives us great insight into our mind. However, watching the movie just offers us a way of symbolizing, and even working with, them. It does not really give us a clear picture of what emotions actually are. 

The challenge of defining "emotion" 

So take a minute to grab a pencil and paper. Write down the word "emotion."  Then, write the definition.

How'd it go?  We might we know emotions so well, but when it comes to defining them, things get muddy quickly. 

Here's how the conversation with my high schoolers went on the first day we tackled this topic. 

Me: Okay, so tell me what you wrote down as the definition of emotion.

Student: A feeling.

Me: Can you explain what you mean by feeling?

Student: Um...emotion?

Defining an "emotion" is incredibly challenging. It is not just hard for us laypeople, but even scientists are still hotly debating the issue. At article in The Atlantic titled, "Hard Feelings: Science's Struggle to Define Emotions" explores this difficulty. Joseph LeDoux, a professor of neuroscience and director of the Emotional Brain Institute at NYU, stated, "'It's been said that there are as many theories of emotions are there are emotion theorists.'" The field is still evolving, and what we believed to be true in the 1950s when scientists first turned their attention to emotions has been challenged repeatedly. 

Carroll Izard compiled surveys from 34 emotional researchers and created this description: 

“Emotion consists of neural circuits (that are at least partially dedicated), response systems, and a feeling state/process that motivates and organizes cognition and action. Emotion also provides information to the person experiencing it, and may include antecedent cognitive appraisals and ongoing cognition including an interpretation of its feeling state, expressions or social-communicative signals, and may motivate approach or avoidant behavior, exercise control/regulation of responses, and be social or relational in nature.”

Our response as a class: Huh?

Emotions....Physical sensations

Image from PNAS study

I asked the class to come up with our own personal, intelligible definition. We started by trying to understand the physiological component through a Mindful Schools exercise I have dubbed the "emotional vaccine." I spoke an emotion at a time and asked them to notice what sensations arose in their bodies. After three emotions, we would open our eyes and share out. While there was some consistency for what students reported out about their experiences— a swelling of the chest for "pride" or sinking in for "sadness"— there was also some diversity. For example, some students reported feeling anxiety in their heads and others in their bellies. We followed this by reading a study published in PNAS called "Bodily maps of emotions" that showed cross-cultural consistencies in body sensations in response to specific emotions. Then, we read the afore mentioned Atlantic article, which began with Paul Ekman's study demonstrating the universal correspondence of facial expressions to particular emotions.

Whether or not body sensations were universal still seemed up for debate from our experience, but we decided there is definitely a physiological component. 

Emotions....caused by chemical release in the brain

So it has something to do with physical sensations, but what else? This short video helped us understand where they might originate in the body:  

From it, we learned, "emotions are the effect of...chemical messages traveling from our brain to our body." By adding the two together, and doing a little word smithing, my students came to consensus on this definition:

Emotion: (n) An instinctual reaction to a circumstance that is caused by chemicals released in the brain creating bodily sensations.

"It's so sterile to describe something so...you know?" one student remarked. 

"I do know," I replied like the English teacher I once was, "that's what poetry is for."

Poetry and Pixar.

Stories from the Field: Part IX, The Rumi Trigger

Stories from the Field are small moments about how mindfulness impacts the students I work with (and in return, how they impact me), in hopes of capturing what it means to learn and use mindfulness. This story comes from a STEM high school in Portland, Maine:

Yesterday, I handed out Rumi's poem The Guest House to the small portion of my class that made it back the first day after break. This poem, written by the 13th century Persian poet, is a classic that has been passed around in meditation and yoga circles for centuries. It has been one of my personal favorites since I encountered it during my yoga teacher training. I think of it in my darker moments. It reminds me of the possibility of embracing all the intensity, of sitting down with it and listening carefully, so that I may glean wisdom from the pain. 

I have shared this with hundreds of adults in my life through yoga classes, mindfulness classes, and personal exchanges. Usually adults admire its profundity and wisdom.

My students, never ones to passively internalize what I offer, had a different response.  We started by reading the poem aloud. I asked the students to write down what they thought the author meant, and if they agreed or disagreed with the message at the bottom. After a few minutes of writing, I asked them to share out loud.

"Clearly this author is romanticizing negative emotions, or has never felt them himself," one student began.

"Yeah, I mean, maybe this is a good poem for people who are generally happy, but you can't just invite it all in."

"Has this person even ever been depressed?"

So...not moved to a higher plane of understanding through this great 13th century Persian's words then?

What I was so struck by, what made my heartache for them, was not their words, but the known pain that was welling up just behind those words. My students were not speaking abstractly. They were speaking from their own personal experiences. They were terrified of their own pain and darker emotions. They weren't just in disagreement, they were mad at him for even suggesting they should sit with them, welcome them, entertain them. 

"We shouldn't be pandering to these emotions," one girl asserted.

The words of Rumi have always spoken so clearly to me that I wasn't sure what to do when they were shot from the sky and sent to a fiery death. I know I myself struggle to be with the full spectrum of emotions, but I have also always thought that I am working towards a place where I can more fully be with them. I wanted to know more.

So I left them with two questions:

1. Why might someone believe that we should be with our emotions and see them as "guides from beyond"? What benefit could there be to sitting with emotions?

2. If not this, if not, "welcoming and entertaining them all," then what? 

We came back together the next day with a full class and these reflection questions clearing the way. I wasn't sure where we were going to land, but I knew we had to dig back in because I wanted students to have more time to explore that idea and to deepen my understanding of their perspective.

 After rereading the poem, I had students reflect in their journals, discuss in groups of three, then rejoin the whole class for a complete discussion. This time, greater nuance came through. One student discussed how pushing emotions away isn't going to help, but sometimes when you have an "inappropriate" emotional response to an event, you should try getting into the other person's shoes instead of entertaining that emotion. Another talked about how emotions are an essential part of processing, and she can't actually choose whether or not they occur, so the poem didn't seem to make sense. A few thought you should accept whatever comes, because you can't actually fight it, like it or not. 

I still find the initial response of those few students, from the first reading, so telling. We are incredibly resistant to our negative emotions, and even the idea that we should have to be with them can be triggering. It is counterintuitive to imagine that actually sinking in and being with an emotion can be the way to make it dissipate. But the monster in the closet grows larger and uglier until we finally work up the nerve to crack open the door and peer inside. Only then can we see reality. 

Stories from the Field, Part VIII, Beware the Pseudoscience

Stories from the Field are small moments about how mindfulness is impacting the students I am working with (and in return, how they are impacting me), in hopes of capturing what it means to learn and use mindfulness. This story comes from a STEM high school in Portland, Maine:

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Image credit: The Daily Beast

My work with Baxter Academy students has been exhilarating. I am teaching an elective mindfulness class there I call Wise Minds in which I have twelve students for an hour a day, four days a week. This allows for some serious in-depth exploration of the topic. Furthermore, they have chosen to be with me, which creates a different vibe than those who were forced to endure me in the classroom per their teacher's orders. That said, I don't get off the hook easily.

I made the mistake of offering data that seemed like a fun way to start a discussion about the impact of technology on our attention:

 "According to the New York Times, humans in 2015 are said to have the attention span of 8.25 seconds, which is less than 12 seconds in 2000, and the 9 second attention span of a gold fish."

That's interesting, I thought.

They immediately tore it apart: 

"I want to know how they are measuring that data. How do you even measure the attention span of a goldfish?"

"Perhaps comparing our attention to a goldfish doesn't mean anything because we, as humans, had a lot of predators, so of course we are easily distracted. Goldfish are human bred, I think, and so they don't have any natural predators to look out for. It is just trying to make us think our attention spans are too short, but really it's not a useful comparison."

And my favorite:

"I'm sorry to say this, but that's click bait. It sounds like pseudo-science made to support some pop psychology silliness."

I loved it!  They were right! I went home and immediately tried to figure out where those numbers came from. Numbers the New York Times, The Telegraph, Time Magazine, and countless other news sources and blogs quoted. They cited a Microsoft study, which I then read. Lo and behold, this statistic did not even come from their work, as they cited a website called Statistic Brain for these particular numbers. When I went to that website, there was no evidence of where they got the data. I wrote them an email. I am still waiting to hear back.

To these students, I say, bravo. When I taught English in DC, this was exactly the kind of work I was trying to get my students to do. I wanted them to be critical thinkers and media consumers. I like using research and science as a way of talking to students about human phenomena, but I need to be careful about mindlessly feeding them "facts" without investigating their validity. Science is still important to me, and I like that it helps us universalize our experience and understand ourselves in a larger context of humanity. But it's not everything.

In the end, we found a rich discussion by observing and reporting on the experiences from our own lives. We talked about our own tendency towards patience and impatience, and how technology may or may not contribute to that. We thought about the impact our phones and computers has on our well-being.

And the next day, I had this exchange:

"Your classes are like horoscopes," one tenth grade student declared as she came in the door.

"Oh?" I responded, "How's that?"

"It just seems like each day applies to my life! Take yesterday. We were talking about patience in class, and how impatience can hurt us. Then, the next class I had writing, which I am usually impatient with because I find it very tedious. But this time I just realized it and was able to go in really calm."

I grinned, "Yes, the hope is that you can apply this stuff to your life. Believed me, I use it every day."

Defining "Yoga" in Schools is not as easy as you might think.

Controversy over yoga

My grandmother showing off her flexibility before yoga was a thing.

When my grandmother started teaching yoga back in the '60s, her church was concerned. They didn't understand how one of their own, a devout Methodist, could turn to the devil's work. My grandmother was undaunted. "It's just breathing and stretching," she would tell them, "there's nothing heretical about breathing and stretching."

The controversy around yoga is not new, but continues to resurface as the practice spreads to secular settings. Recently it came under fire at a school in Georgia, where fear of crystals, the word namaste, and bringing hands together at heart center left parents in an uproar. A March 24 headline in the Washington Post read, "Ga. parents, offended by the 'Far East Religion' of yoga, get 'namaste' banned from school." The school apologized for the misunderstanding, and agreed to stop using the word namaste and "prayer position" with the hands, though denied claims crystals were being used. It is notable that they are not backing away from the program. Calming and relaxation techniques are benefiting students and schools, and schools don't want to give these up because of misguided fears from parents.

This was not the first time, nor will it be the last, that yoga and mindfulness programs in schools are challenged. Last year in Encinitas, California, a group of parents brought a case to court arguing yoga in school violated separation of church of state rules. The outcome?  "California Appeals Court Rules Yoga Doesn't Violate Religious Freedom."

“It is clear that while yoga may be practiced for religious reasons, it cannot be said to be inherently religious or overtly sectarian,’ the court said in a ruling on Friday. ”

— The Wall Street Journal

Yoga's Shifting Definition

Part of the confusion may lie with the fact that the word yoga has gone through its own identity crisis over the years, and the way it is often understood in the West is a far cry from what Pantanjali meant when he wrote it down the Yoga Sutras in the 2nd century BCE. As explored in an Elephant Journal article, yoga was an eight point plan meant to overcome physical manifestation and the cycle of rebirth, and is said to mean "yoke" or "union."  Only one of those points, or limbs as it was called, was about the physical posture, known as asana. That is the same Sanksrit word we see tacked on at the end of all our various postures today: Virabhadrasana, Adho Muhka Svanasana, Savasana. But originally, it meant seated posture, or the posture one took when meditating. Only a little later on— 1600-1900 years later— did yoga even start to talk about specific postures one could take, and none of them included the kind of sun salutation, warrior, nor down dog that are foundational to the yoga we practice today.

In sum, the religious roots of the word yoga have very little to do with the crazy modern sweat-inducing movement based "yoga" we practice in the West.

QUESTION: So then where does our modern "yoga" come from?

ANSWER: Scandinavian Gymnastics.

Say what?

According to Mark Singleton, who explored this question in his article, The Roots of Yoga: Ancient + Modern, in the early 20th century there was a rise in concern over strength and agility connected to greater social-political movements, and suddenly they were blending wrestling, gymnastics, and strength training into yoga. A physically rigorous practice was used by some of the more hip-to-it yoga gurus at the time to try and capture the hearts, minds, and bodies of the younger generation. Thus, many of the yoga postures of today are actually part of an exercise routine developed in the 1900s.

Where does that leave us?

We need to be very clear about what we mean when we say we are offering "yoga" in schools. 

When Little Flower Yoga, one of the top yoga-for-kids training programs in the country, talks about their program, they break it down into, "Connect, Breathe, Move, Focus, and Relax." They talk about the physical, mental, emotional, and attentional benefits. These are all words we can presumably get behind, and want, for our kids. There is nothing that talks about spiritual ascendence or resembles religious indoctrination. And that's because this "yoga" is a different "yoga" than that which Pantanjali originally wrote about.

When I started teaching yoga to high school students at Baxter Academy, a STEM school in Portland Maine, I did teach my students a little bit about the history of yoga. I wanted them to understand the greater context of the physical practice we were engaging in to open our bodies and calm our minds. As part of my "yoga" teaching, we put our phones away and invite our attention into the present moment, rather than getting caught up in the worries of yesterday or what is yet to come. We start with the sound of a chime, listening for the end of the sound to focus the mind. We move, and breathe, and stabilize. We notice sensations as they arise in the body and see if we can stay with discomfort. At the end, we relax our whole bodies before we again rise to re-begin our days, hopefully with more awareness. This is the yoga I bring to schools. 

After this first week, the students had this to say:

“As a performer, I’ve always needed a way to relax before going on stage...before a show I did some of the moves you taught us and it was great.”

— 10th grader

“I often get stressed very easily so I have learned to stop and take a minute for myself. I have found myself over the last few days doing the motions we often do after or between a pose.”

— 11th grader

“I feel that this class and this exercise makes for a less stressful day.”

— 10th grader

This is after just one week of practice from students who are new to yoga. Their anecdotal experiences about stress relief are just starting to be backed by research into this new field, and it will take some time for us to know the extent of yoga's usefulness to students.

In the meantime, it's on us to be clear about what we mean when we say yoga, since we have dramatically shifted away from the origins of the word. We also need to continue to look at what is actually happening in the classroom, as opposed to relying on the historical connotations and new age symbolism with which the word has been loaded down. In this way, we can best come to a common definition, and hopefully avoid some of the fears of parents who understandably do not know what is actually happening with their children when they are practicing "yoga."

Deering High School Shares the Love

Card signed by Deering HS mindfulness students

It has been a few months since my last day at Deering High School, and I had the pleasure of being treated to chocolate mousse by the teacher I worked closely with when there. In addition to the delicious cake, she brought other sweetness in the form of a thank you card from the students and her evaluation.

I wrote a blog post recently for Mindful Schools about the importance of trust when working with mindfulness- trusting our practice to support us and trusting our students to take what they need from the practice. We can't always see the impact of our work. We aren't always so lucky to get feedback from our participants, and so after prepping and delivering lessons, there is a certain level of letting go we have to do in order to maintain our own peace of mind. 

This makes it especially important when we do get positive feedback to really experience it. To try it on and walk around in it for awhile. To roll around in it. To savor it. After all, our brains are wired to remember the negative more than the positive (a little something science likes to call the negativity bias), so we have to work to really experience those moments of light. 

In this spirit, a few comments I will hold close:

"Thank you so much Erica! You helped more than you know!" - Nate

"Erica, I'll really miss you... please do keep in touch. Keep us sane for the remainder of the school year! Due love." - Madlien 

And from the teacher:

"Erica, our trainer, had just the right presence for teaching mindfulness.  She was calm and personable with some very hard to reach students."

"The lessons were tailored nicely to the students' needs and developmentally appropriate...simple, yet they addressed serious topics with depth and relevancy. Students sometimes talked about a lesson long after it was taught, showing that they really internalized the skill and are maintaining somewhat of a practice."

"I just want to share my gratitude for a time well spent learning a much needed skill for all of us."

Thank you for sharing, Tracey. The cake, card, and evaluation were a much appreciated boost.

Newburyport Wellness Day: Stage Fright Revisted

2001 Graduation from Newburyport High School- I'm the front left.

As a young student in grade school, I could not get up and speak in front of people without incapacitating fear. I wrote an entire speech in high school on, "How to look ridiculously nervous while public speaking," and illustrated it perfectly with my strained shaky voice and nervous laughter. I avoided the stage as much as possible, and performed only in large musical groups where I could hide behind others. But today I stood twice in front of over 150 adults and shared what I had learned about mindfulness.

Today I went down to Newburyport, Massachusetts to deliver two keynote addresses and lead four breakout workshops in the very school district from which I graduated fifteen years ago. It was a surreal experience to stand in front of a stage where I sang a Pocahontas medley and played orchestral pieces with my middle school classmates. Even more, to have an auditorium filled with past classmates and teachers of mine. My favorite math teacher, Mark Littlefield, was there, and we commiserated on students' addiction to cell phones. My favorite English teacher, Debbie Szabo, introduced me and delighted in learning something from one of her former students. My middle school math teacher in one of my breakout sessions said she remembered my face from 21 years ago. It was an honor to be able to offer something back to these educators who helped shape me. And still...

I will not deny that for the first 10 minutes of my first keynote address, I was shaking in my boots. Literally, my legs were vibrating as I had everyone arrive in their bodies. But I used that nervousness to share more about the nuances of mindfulness. I explained that we could notice internal cues in our bodies, like my shaky voice and fluttering heart, which was a result of my nerves. I shared that mindfulness does not necessarily rid us of uncomfortable emotions, but does help us be more comfortable in the discomfort. We don't necessarily get rid of our foibles with mindfulness, but we can be with them more gently. 

And so, by not denying or fighting my anxious energy, but acknowledging and embracing it, I found it dissipated on its own accord. And for the rest of the day, through four break out sessions and a second keynote, I felt a greater sense of ease and lightness. This is what the practice offered me today: alleviation from the added suffering I heap on to challenging experiences, space to honor what was, rather than needing it to be different, and trust that the emotion would subside when it was ready. 

So I hope the teachers of Newburyport gained a deeper understanding mindfulness today. I hope they understand that it does not eliminate thoughts and emotions, but brings us more clarity around them. It is a tool that takes a long time to develop, but ultimately bears fruit that is worthwhile. It allows a woman who was terrified of presenting anything in front of any size audience to return to her old school and speak openly about her passion. 

For more information on the wellness day, please see the article in the Current, "Newburyport Teachers to Host Professional Development Day."