Mothering Teaches and Transforms

“Pay attention to where your feet are,” I exclaimed, using my diaphragm to carry the words to my son’s ears clearly, but not aggressively. The sound bounced around, off trees and rocks.

My son ran ahead of me on the trail; even with his two-year-old legs, he was fast and I had trouble keeping up. We were on our third hike. Hiking with a toddler, alone, might sound like an unconventional idea, but I was determined.

I’d recently decided to homeschool my son, which was a big pivot in the direction it had seemed life, motherhood, and education would be taking us both. At least, it seemed like a big pivot from where we’d been when I was pregnant. But after two years becoming a mother in the pandemic and reflecting on what I’d learned – formally and informally – about human development and how people learn, it felt absolutely right. But I knew most people in my life at the time wouldn’t understand and may even go so far as to think there was something wrong with me. My confidence is not easily shaken, but it does get rattled when I believe people have made a negative assessment of me, especially my judgement. Before I’d even started telling people I assumed how they’d react and how I’d be perceived.

I was also approaching 40 and spending a lot of time in reflection. The confluence of being in a reflective state-of-mind while also racking my brain to find confidence in my decision to homeschool, led me to think a lot about my experiences at summer camp. When I was five-years-old my mother signed me up for a week of summer day camp at the local city park which, in northern California, was part of the redwood forest. A lodge served as home-base, but we spent 99% of our time outside. There was a very cool playground on site, which we had time on daily. But mostly we were playing in the large grassy field, doing arts and crafts on the picnic tables, or hiking and playing in the lush forest. I spent seventeen summers there, first as a camper before moving through all the working positions: volunteer leader-in-training, leader, and finally, director. I celebrated most birthdays there. I overcame fears there. I made best friends there. I failed there. I succeeded there. I developed significantly there. But somehow, over the years, I’d let myself forget its significance.

But amidst all the reflection and motherly wisdom, camp started returning to me and I knew, as instinctively as a mother knows her child’s heart, it was the key to reconnect with my self-confidence and in particular, develop self-confidence for the homeschooling journey. I began brainstorming and listing out all sorts of things about camp I couldn’t wait to include as part of our homeschool culture. I remembered crafts and games and activities galore. I was so excited. I wanted to get started right away! But then I realized, most of the things I recalled were for kids ages 5-12, not for two-year-olds.

And I needed to do something now. Hikes were a huge part of the camp culture and I thought, why not? We can start hiking now.

The first two hikes were, honestly, kind of disastrous. Nothing catastrophic happened, but they weren’t fun. I was rushing my son along the trail instead of letting him explore. I realized hiking in northwest Georgia is not the same as hiking in the redwood forest. But worst of all, I found myself shouting at my son the whole time. “Don’t touch that!” and “don’t step there!” and “watch out!” and “stop! No!”

This is not how I want to relate to my son. Nor does he respond well to this approach.

Before feeling defeated, I decided to try one more hike. I gave myself a pep talk, reminded myself of how many kids I’ve hiked through woods and why I was doing this in the first place. I looked myself in the eye in the rearview mirror before exiting the car and promised myself, I won’t yell at him on this hike today.

That’s why it happened. On the hike, I wanted to shout, “careful!” I chose instead to gently but firmly exclaim, “pay attention to where your feet are!” It wasn’t planned. It was organic and authentic to both the moment and the intentions in my mama heart.

He heard me, paused, looked down and assessed the area around his feet before glancing over his shoulder at me. I jogged a little to catch up to him, my orange fanny pack rising up and down on my lower back. I knelt down next to him and pointed in front of him.

“See this?” he nodded as I continued, “it’s a tree root. What do you think is better? Stepping over it or tripping on it?”

He smiled and made a big show of stepping over it.

This, I thought, this is what I want our life to feel like. Our homeschool but also our relationship and the way I guide his learning. I want to help him pay attention to where his feet are.

It wasn’t a completely shocking thing for me to say. I’d just read Hannah Brencher’s Come Matter Here, in which she shares the phrase, “be where your feet are.” She says in her prose she can’t take credit for it but also doesn’t know who said it. This phrase had become something I connected with, as I was working on cultivating greater presence in my daily life. The shift to becoming a stay-at-home mom had been both beautiful and brutal. One of the greatest challenges I’d felt was losing the present moment by getting distracted and derailed by the lie I’d find connection or meaning by either reliving the past or getting lost in someone else’s life on social media. This phrase had become something I reminded myself of when my mind drifted out of the present.

I instantly loved my own phrase, “pay attention to where your feet are,” and I must have said it hundreds of times since. Initially, I only said it when we were on the hiking trail, which became a weekly activity for us. If I wanted him to get back on the trail or not step in a puddle or be able to avoid a slick rock, I’d call it out to him. He learned what it meant pretty quickly. Originally, I thought it would just be a way I’d guide him on the trail. But oh, how wrong I was.

Quickly, “pay attention to where your feet are,” became a useful phrase for all kinds of guidance. At home, as my young son began navigating stairs or climbing up-and-down from his kitchen tower, I used it. It was particularly suitable as he began to do acrobatics on the couch! As he wandered barefoot in the yard or chased his dog with a butterfly net, I’d remind him. He grew, and with him, so has the phrase. The first time we walked through the crowded aquarium in the city, I asked him to pay attention to where his feet are. As we began hiking with our Wild+Free group, and he needed to be aware of his space related to his friends’ physical space, I’d use say it. At first the other moms teased me, but I think they’ve grown to love it. As he’s learning to climb trees it fits perfectly to remind him, “pay attention to where your feet are.”

It’s also been morphed to fit other directives and contexts. Instead of saying, “come here,” I often say, “bring your feet to me” or “bring your feet to my feet.” Instead of, “stop,” or “don’t do that,” I often say, “what are your feet doing they shouldn’t be?” or “please think about what your feet are doing.” When I need to make him aware of speed, instead of, “hurry up,” I try to say, “make your feet go faster please;” and instead of, “slow down,” or “stop,” I’ll say, “slow feet please,” or “please stop your feet.”

Over the last year, as we’ve been gently preschooling at home, I started using it to draw his awareness to his senses: “Let’s pay attention to where our feet are! What can we hear from where we are? What can we see? What can we feel with our feet?” This new way to use it has made me fall in love with it anew.

Pay attention to where your feet are has become our anthem. More than just guidance or awareness, it’s a reflection of us. It’s indicative of our homeschooling culture and it’s symbolic of the nature of our relationship. In just a few days, my son will turn four, and it amazes me I’ve been saying this to him for nearly two years. I can say, without a doubt, the moments when I say these phrases to awaken his awareness and draw his attention are far more successful than the moments when my emotions or exhaustion take over and I shout at him to “stop” or “be careful” or “don’t do that!” He responds better and I am the mom I want to be, the one who is intentional and purposeful. In fact, “pay attention to where your feet are,” may be my proudest mama accomplishment thus far.

Recently, I’ve had the chance to learn it holds even more meaning. Nearly five months ago I had an elective surgery. Eleven days post-op I experienced a complication I’m still dealing with. Someday I’ll write more about this, but for the purposes of this story it’s simply useful to know I was shocked, saddened, and completely freaked out by what was happening to my body. Delayed healing of chronic wounds is the medical term and it has been the greatest physical challenge of my life because of the mental challenge; emotionally I’ve been crushed by the ways I’ve been restricted and how little I can control.

As a result, I kind of shut down. In such a state of shock, I disengaged. I’d wake up each day, remember the pit I’m in, and pull some fuzzy socks onto my feet before trudging my weak body to my husband’s recliner. Thank goodness for modern day recliners; the footrest raises at the push of a button. I’d prop my feet up and, on the good days, get lost in a novel. On the bad days I’d disappear into screens, bingeing shows and scrolling through others’ adventures. I was acting as if checking out would allow my body to heal itself, or maybe some doctor would, and then I’d go back to living my life. I was waiting for the conditions to be good before re-engaging with my life – a life I love living.

I’d convinced myself my feet weren’t anywhere worth paying attention to, in the fuzzy socks, propped up on the footrest. I was sure that by not paying attention, things would magically resolve themselves. What’s worse, I decided to hand over paying attention to others, like my husband or the nurse practitioner, so I wouldn’t have to pay attention to something I found terrifying. Without explicitly realizing it, I’d decided, I’ll stop paying attention and let someone else deal with my healing.

I had several wake-up calls around the beginning of the calendar year I can only describe as from God – he nudged me to pay attention to what was happening to me. Once I was paying more attention, I realized I wasn’t practicing what I preach to my son. The messages I was sending to him were: “your feet are only worth paying attention to in the right conditions/during the good seasons” and “it’s okay to stop paying attention to where your feet are when you’re scared/facing a problem.” These aren’t the life lessons I want to teach my son. Moreover, these aren’t the life lessons I want to live!

I decided to apply my own mothering phrase to myself. I’ve been smothering “pay attention to where your feet are,” on myself like a balm, allowing it to seep in and soothe me. At first it was being present as I sat in the recliner, being aware of the choices I was making about where to place my attention. But it soon transformed my attitude and approach to this healing season. I became more engaged with my health care providers, leading me to switch to care more qualified and compassionate with my condition. I was able to release my husband from some of the mental and emotional burdens I’d laid upon him. I started hearing more of my friends’ needs and while I couldn’t physically do for them, I started giving them my ears and shoulder more thoughtfully. I began reading my Bible daily. I became more intentional about my reading choices again. I took a writing course and stepped up my creative engagement. All from the recliner. I proved my feet still mattered, even on the recliner’s footrest.

But more remarkable, even as my wound conditions remain tenuous, the places I’m taking my feet have expanded. Since allowing “pay attention to where your feet are,” to mean something to me too, I’ve started saying, “yes” to my real life more often. It’s often “yes but…” because I’m still limited. It’s often a little less or a little lighter or more cautiously than I would have said, “yes” before – but it’s still, “yes.”

Yes, to morning read alouds with my son, getting up out of the recliner to sit on the couch; risking he may jab me or I may twist wrong but paying attention to where my feet are when his face lights up during Miss Rumphius or Frog and Toad’s The Garden. Yes, to going outside while he plays in the yard, leaving the inside recliner for the outside rocker; risking the sun overheating my exposed nerves but paying attention to where my feet are and hearing the birdsong and seeing the first buds of spring. Yes, to short, low-incline hikes with my family or our Wild+Free group, venturing away from the safety of home; risking chaffing or one of the kids bumping into me but paying attention to where my feet are as son’s friendships blossom and other moms love on him so. Yes, to lazy afternoons in our yard, bringing our speaker outside and singing and dancing freely; risking pain later for fun now but paying attention to where my feet are when my son asks me to sit beside him on the deck stairs. Yes, to staying up later to tell stories with my husband, ignoring pain and exhaustion tugging at me; risking being tired or hurting tomorrow but paying attention to where my feet are as my laughter lights up my husband’s eyes. Yes, to discarding my shoes, grounding barefoot in my yard; believing it’s worth it to do what’s good for me even before it feels good to do it. And when my son asks what I’m doing I’m so proud to respond, “paying attention to where my feet are.”

“Pay attention to where your feet are.” My proudest mothering moment has become a path to mindfulness for myself. What an incredible example of the way mothering isn’t just about what we give to them and teach them, but how it can transform us.

I want my son to remember this phrase, his whole life. I hope it’s something he’ll remember as the way I was intentional in guiding him. I hope he’ll remember it as a way I helped him make meaning. But I also hope he’ll remember I modeled for him how valuable it is to be engaged and present in your own life and how worthy he is of paying attention to where his feet are, wherever his feet may take him. 

Photo 1 Credit: Lisa Frank

Photo 2 Credit: Sam Willis

Originally posted 3/24/24 on old website