https://www.everyday-mindfulness.org/how-mindfulness-changed-my-life/ How Mindfulness Changed My Life POSTED ON MARCH 18, 2013 // By Barbara Buck ‘Waking up is ultimately something that each one of us can only do for ourselves’ Jon Kabat-Zinn I think there is a problem with my enthusiasm for mindfulness and wanting others to benefit from it too. I struggle with keeping quiet, so I am pleased to have this opportunity to write about my own journey to this website. But Kabat-Zinn always says that it is important to not talk about your practice too much with other people; it’s your practice. ‘Don’t bother wasting your energy by telling everyone how amazing meditation is and how much it has helped you in your everyday life. Never proselytise and tell others that they should meditate, too.’ It’s great advice but hard to put into practice when something has changed your life so profoundly! I was always anxious, a worrier, with a quick mind that raced from worry to worry,
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What I'm really thinking What I'm really thinking What I’m really thinking: the professor’s wife I want him to be respected for his achievements, just not at my expense Anonymous Sat 14 Jan 2017 09.00 GMT Last modified on Fri 1 Dec 2017 15.31 GMT View more sharing options Shares 6,974 Comments 274 Illustration: Lo Cole for the Guardian “O h, so your husband’s a professor? Well, he must be really clever then.” Well, actually, no – I’m the clever one. He’s very, very, knowledgable in a moderately obscure area of human knowledge. I know loads about everything. I’ve been at academic functions where someone has asked what I do, and when I’ve replied, “Bringing up the next generation” or “Looking after small children”, they have looked blank and turned away. I’m a non-person; not an academic, valueless and probably stupid. It’s not that I don’t value my partner’s achievements; I’ve been there every step of the way f
What I'm really thinking: the survivor of serious illness 'I've no intention of ever going back to paid work. I'm 59 and I nearly died from a perforated bowel. Work isn't everything' Anonymous Sat 23 Feb 2013 08.00 GMT First published on Sat 23 Feb 2013 08.00 GMT View more sharing options Shares 8 'One moment your life is routine, the next you're in intensive care and there's nothing you could have done to change that.' Illustration: Lo Cole for the Guardian I f you knew you were going to die at eight tonight, would you want to have spent today doing what you're doing? That's what I'm asking myself every day. All through my recovery people said, "Bet you can't wait until you can get back to work." No, I've no intention of ever going back to paid work. I'm 59 and I nearly died from a perforated bowel. Work isn't everything. Family, friends, films, art, literature
On the morning of 17th July 2007 I was particularly happy. Summer Term had just ended so I had 6 weeks of holiday from my Teaching Assistant job ahead, my husband was coming back from a 3 week research visit to Australia on Friday and my first grandchild was due in August. Life seemed very good – I was listening to Women's Hour, and my 16 year old son was asleep as usual upstairs. I felt a need to rush to the downstairs toilet and whilst sitting there fell forward with agonising and unexpected pain. I recall trying to shout my son's name but being able to do so only weakly. After what seemed like hours, he arrived sleepily at the toilet door and asked what was wrong. I replied 'this is the worst pain since childbirth' (already acknowledged in my family as the gold standard for pain after two 3 day labours!) and he said' better ring an ambulance then'……I recall a paramedic trying to open the toilet door to get to me, and then... I awoke 8 days later in Intensi
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The Right Place Thom wasn’t one for moving unnecessarily, so sitting on the porch in the sun came easily to him. Which is how he came to be in just the right place at the right time. The stranger came up the street slowly, staring at each house intently as if trying to trigger some long-lost memory. It took him a good ten minutes to reach Thom’s porch which gave Thom long enough to get his story straight. The man was only about thirty, well-dressed, educated-looking, with an air of enthusiasm that Thom has left long behind. As he approached the porch, the stranger smiled and held out his hand. “James Roberts” Thom chewed his tobacco slowly, nodded and reached forward to clasp the proffered hand. ‘I’m looking for my family- they moved here in ’27, to Main Street, Hammond. I’m hoping to find someone who remembers them” “Roberts” said Thom slowly, as if in deep thought and remembrance. “Mary and John”, adde