My introduction to Buddhism came at one of the most painful points in my life. I was secretly harboring doubts about my marriage and — to my surprise — pregnant with our daughter. Being pregnant meant many things, but two facts hit hardest: I was forever bound to my husband, and I couldn’t drink.
The forced sobriety shored up levels of pain I’d never felt before. I spent long stretches of those nine months in bed, earbuds in my ears, listening to
Pema Chodron’s voice and teachings, while streams of tears ran from the corners of my eyes to my pillow. Many mornings I woke to the early blue light of dawn illuminating our bedroom and, without moving a muscle, I’d peer across the horizon of my pillow to the big window that overlooked our street and wish, with a single, slow blink, to be taken back to the underworld of sleep.
Please, I’d think.
Not today...