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  • My story: what brought me to meditation in the first place

When meditation found me a decade ago, I was a joyless married mom of two, spending my days in an empty house not able to get out of the bathtub. Which, by the way, was also empty because I didn’t have the motivation or energy to fill it up. The lightswitch to my life had turned off and I was literally drowning in darkness. I had no voice, no emotions, no desires, no hope, and no clue that I really really really needed some help. I spent three months living like a zombie and nobody knew it because I was so good at hiding it.

Being a zombie had one surprising benefit - when you’re in that much darkness you’re more likely to catch a glimpse of the light. In my case it was a voice.

On a forgettable January day as I drifted around my winterized house, a voice out of nowhere whispered inside my right ear, “Learn to meditate.” To which I immediately retorted, “Oh hell no!” Like someone had just cut me with a bad word. The M-word. Spooooooky.

I like to think it’s normal that I was overly offended when I was first offered THE very thing I needed. My own brand of miracle-medicine made just for me that under normal circumstances I’d have been thrilled about but since I didn’t ask for it, I sure as hell didn’t want it. No way! Eff you with that magic elixir shit. (Ironic when you think about it!)

But that whisper, it persisted, and I had nothing else to do but listen so a few days later I took one small step forward - to my laptop - Googled the word meditation and dipped my big toe in. I can’t explain why exactly, maybe it was the photos of the regular Joes or the science behind the mystery curtain, but within 20 minutes I knew in my bones it was the right thing for me so I dove in, found myself a teacher, and a few weeks later learned to meditate. I’ve been meditating every day ever since.

Looking back, I feel sad for that zombie-woman. Not just because she suffered, but because she suffered alone in silence. Then again, the silence was what led me to meditation. I was desperate enough, still enough, and just barely curious enough to swallow the medicine I was resisting, that, as luck or providence would have it, was perfectly prescribed for forty-something burned-out zombie-people like me.

Meditation was my miracle.

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