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A few months back, I found myself completely overwhelmed. My marriage, my kids, the deteriorating windows in our home, the incessant barking of our dog whenever the delivery person arrived, and the chaotic state of our nation’s politics all contributed to my stress. This emotional turmoil manifested as sudden outbursts of anger and quiet moments of crying. My reliance on caffeine, a jam-packed schedule, and anxiety-driven productivity kept me moving forward, but remaining positive and engaged in daily life felt like an uphill battle.
Recognizing the need for change, I explored various options—acupuncture, weekly foot massages, and even a detox diet, though cutting out my beloved food groups felt overly harsh. After chatting with friends and overhearing a barista at a local café rave about her transformation from stress queen to chill guru, I decided to give meditation a shot. In 2012, around 18 million adults in the U.S. practiced meditation, according to a report by the National Center for Health Statistics. I was ready to join the trend.
Meditation seemed like a fantastic solution, but my skepticism led me to do some research first. Guided meditation was recommended for beginners like me, and early morning was deemed the optimal time to meditate. The benefits appeared enticing: enhanced relaxation and focus, reduced stress and anxiety, improved memory and perception, and even a slowdown of the aging process. All I needed was a quiet spot to sit, close my eyes, and breathe deeply. Oh, and I had to commit to daily practice for it to be effective. Wait, what if I missed a day? The five-year-old could catch a bug, or worse, I could get sick.
Could it be that just the thought of meditation was elevating my anxiety? I refused to abandon the idea before even starting. I tucked my worries away and downloaded a meditation app narrated by a soothing British voice named Oliver. The next morning, I woke up early, settled into my favorite chair, and surrendered myself to Oliver for what felt like the longest ten minutes of my life.
Oliver reassured me that some days meditation would be easy, while others would be challenging. Honestly, I barely registered what he said because I was too distracted by his calming accent and still half-asleep from the lack of coffee. How was I supposed to meditate without my morning caffeine? Nevertheless, I focused on my breathing as instructed.
Then, the neighbor’s dog erupted into barking, triggering our dog to join in. I attempted to ignore it, but Oliver instructed me to be aware of my surroundings. Fine, I paid attention—but this only heightened my heartbeat as I anticipated a howling contest that would surely wake my kindergartner. For the remaining seven minutes, I was consumed with thoughts about whether I had enough sandwich bread for school lunches and whether I needed to book my next haircut before my stylist’s calendar filled up.
Clearly, that first day was one of the tough ones. Despite this, I persisted, dragging myself out of bed each morning to sit and breathe. I wish I could say that after nearly two months of ten minutes of daily meditation, I became a calmer, happier, and more productive person, but that wasn’t the case.
During my meditation sessions, I might begin by envisioning my body filled with liquid gold, only to have my thoughts spiral into a sea of stress. Before long, I found myself contemplating escape routes from a burning house or what I would do if an earthquake struck while I was driving across the Bay Bridge (we live in Oakland). On Tuesday mornings, I could hardly resist the urge to peek out the window to see if my husband remembered to take out the trash bins.
Oliver suggested I notice when my mind wandered, focus on my breathing, and gently redirect my thoughts back to the present. However, the more I cleared my mind of surface clutter, the more space I seemed to create for deeper anxieties. In my non-meditating hours, I often felt more anxious and unmotivated than before. I gained weight, neglected bills, and struggled to stay awake past 8 p.m. My anxiety-driven motivation was missed; at least then I was getting things done.
While my family might say I was nicer—less prone to yelling—this didn’t equate to happiness. Not being angry all the time was a step up, but I felt disconnected. I couldn’t shake the stressful thoughts that emerged during meditation, including the nagging feeling that I wasn’t doing it right.
After eight weeks of this journey, I decided to stop. I might return to it when I feel ready, but for now, I’ll hold onto the one lesson I learned: sending bolts of loving-kindness—like liquid gold—toward those infuriating drivers who cut me off feels far better than simply cursing at them.
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Summary:
In this candid reflection, the author shares her struggles with meditation, discovering that rather than providing relief, it often heightened her anxiety. Despite the initial excitement, daily practice became a source of stress rather than solace, leading her to a decision to pause her meditation journey. Ultimately, she finds value in sending positive energy toward others, which offers a sense of peace without the pressure of traditional meditation.