A Reflection Practice to Tune into Safety + Calm
A visualization journey through the senses to provide your gut peace and comfort + a personal story
As you read these words, pause, intermittently, as you follow along! Imagine for a few minutes your grandparent’s house... your favorite family member, or the one you feel most grateful for. And if you don’t have one…
You can borrow my memories.
Who did you feel the best around as a kid?
How did it feel to go to their house?
What feelings did it bring up on the way there?
What was the road or path to take to their house like?
What did you love about where or how they lived?
What were the smells, sights, or sensory experiences of visiting this person?
Now turn up the dial of detail, can you remember where you’d spend the most time?
Why did you appreciate this special person so much?
What did different scenes, rooms, or precious moments bring up in you?
Breathe in the fullness of the scene, the memory, the moments, the person, the joy, the peace, the aliveness…see if you can turn the dial up of appreciation.
In what ways could you recreate for yourself those enjoyable moments now?
By revisiting delightful memories, you strengthen your ability to be trans-resilient, become coherent, and provide evidence to your body that you have the resources needed, just by imagination.
This is an evocative practice I’m going to employ more, now that my body has been nourished with happy chemicals, and I feel much more empowered, relationally.
How about you?
I remember the drive from my childhood house over to Grandma Ruth’s, sitting in the backseat, staring out the window. The pit in my stomach started to swell with joy, anticipating all the fun I’d have.
I was curious, and grandparents are good at letting you roam the house and yard without asking questions, except, “What do you want to eat?” And “Where did you put my watering can?” And best yet, “Do you want to play something?”
We’d take “Y” highway to “Z” which had many ups and downs and was super hilly, so it felt like a roller coaster ride. But it was always smooth, and I liked that. We’d pass house after house and I’d look at my favorite ones with lots of trees and wonder about the people who lived inside. We’d take a couple of left turns, then pass the old chapel next to a cemetery. The final stretch on Gensert Road held barking dogs that I didn’t want to mess with.
I appreciated how remote their modest house was, but they always felt close in my soul. When we pulled into the driveway, I’d feel this sense of relief, like I was holding my breath until we returned again and I could let go of worries, until we had to go home.
Grandma would always wave us off, when we left, from her front porch, while acting like she had to check her hummingbird feeders and water the bushes. But, when we arrived, she was always busy doing laundry in the basement or making breakfast for Grandpa. So, we would open the squeaky screen door and holler to let her know we arrived.
Instantly, when you’d walk into their house, you could smell the clues of another generation. And the smells reassured me of all the good in the world…
There was the tangy wood from Grandpa’s workshop/garage conversion, and all his creations carried the lingering scent of play, sweat, passion, and respect. Grandpa was on a respirator after decades of smoking so he only had 4-5 spots that he was ever found in: his light blue rocking chair in front of the tv, his office that smelled like “a man’s man” scent (leather, mainly), downstairs playing Tetris on his Nintendo from the 1980s, in his golf cart that toted him around the property, and his workshop moving things around.
Then, there was the perfume of old books, fresh bread baking, and extra bedrooms that didn’t get much use.
As soon as I got there, I felt like an off-leash animal. Thrilled, I would make my rounds, checking each room to see if it was the same as when I left it, and relieved a bit at the unchangingness of my grandparent’s lifestyle.
Each bed would be perfectly made, everything in place, perfectly clean, and ready for family to stay the night. The best part was that every part of the house was available, nothing off-limits. I could sit behind the armchair and read books... Hang out in the toy box area… crawl behind the couch and take a nap… Sit worldlessly with Grandpa and bum candy off him… Eat all of Grandma’s Pringles chips...which would lead to her asking if I wanted her to make me my favorite food. …Play on the swings outside, walk the fenced perimeter in the tall grass, and catch toads by the sandbox… explore the dark, cool basement and fiddle with the antique exercise equipment…or watch old classic shows on TVLand with Grandpa or soap operas with grandma. Everything was a special experience, even though I did them all each time I visited, once a week.
We’d play dominoes, cards, and board games and Grandma would get frustrated just to make me laugh. Affectionately calling me “Lucky Ducky” when I was winning. Grandpa would mumble the Lord’s Prayer before eating his roast beef, with fresh bread and butter.
Grandma indulged my love for potatoes. She’d make a batch for the whole family, and I’d eat all they’d let me, so she’d make me extra so I could make my meal out of it. I never remember her scolding me, and her guidance felt like sweet suggestions that I always wanted to obey.
I felt an unspeakable alliance with her as if she got me better than anyone else, and yet we didn’t have to talk much.
Every bit of the tactile experience, down to the dark grain of the glossy dinner table, reminds me of the love I felt in their house. For some weird reason, I loved to caress and pinch together Grandma’s silky, loose skin on the back of her hand. She’d laugh about her wrinkles and her smile lines showed a life of gratitude and openness.
If her life was anything like mine so far if she felt the same emotions that I have, and if she’s grappled with her demons because that’s what humans do….and she could be this generous with me? I have a lot to look forward to AND measure up to.
Grandma Ruth’s house was the closest thing to heaven that I knew. And I want to be that grandma who let her family know that she cares by the presence in her home, making time for what’s important, giving space to explore and tender moments.
