“When we appear for our children at the moment when no one appears for us, we don’t just heal them. We heal ourselves.” ~dr. Becky Kendy
When I was overwhelmed, I was not taught to pause and breathe.
I was taught to push through. To become a “good girl.” I smile as I was begging to see something inside me.
I was told to strengthen. don’t cry. Don’t feel too much.
But how can we grow into resilient humans when we are taught to hide the emotions that make us human?
I thought I was learning strength. But what I was really learning was how to cut.
And I carried the amputation to an adult…motherhood…my job…to my behalf…to it healed.
Become a mother and see yourself again
When I became a mother, the past resurfaced in ways I couldn’t ignore.
As a school psychologist, I worked with my children for years, guiding them through emotional regulations, supporting teachers and families, and creating safe spaces in classrooms and treatment rooms. But there was nothing prepared me about what would rise when my child began to feel deeply.
At the same time, my soul sister, Sondra, was walking through similar calculations.
She created spaces for years for children to express themselves through stories and imagination, but she still carried a part of her childhood.
We were doing meaningful work in the world, but our kids were cracking something open. Their meltdown, their restlessness, their huge emotions…it all held up a mirror.
And instead of just responding, I saw something deeper: myself.
Because despite all my tools and knowledge, I was still learning how to sit with my emotions.
When I teach my kids, I reteach myself
That’s when I really understood: When I teach children’s mindfulness, I don’t just raise them. I’m re-raising myself.
I’m learning to do things that I could never have taught: to feel. Breathe. To maintain discomfort. It retains space without stabilizing or running away.
And through the process I heal the parts of myself that I have been waiting quietly for years.
I remember this moment clearly:
My child was on the floor and was overwhelmed by emotions. A kind of meltdown that brings out primal from you. All my instincts wanted to scream. Leave the room. Shut down.
But instead, I paused. I sat there. I took a breath. And another. I whispered, “I’m here.”
That moment wasn’t about control. It was about connections. And that’s what changed everything.
What does it look like in real life?
I thought mindfulness had to look calm and quiet, but it wasn’t perfect.
It’s not the silent yoga flow or lavender oil (though we love them too). I pause before I respond. When you want to scream, it is a whispering assertion under your breath. It sits by my child and breathes together, without trying to erase the emotions. It puts your hands on your heart and remembers you are safe now. It makes your child see you go back to regulation, repair and love. It’s passing a tantrum. Not because I stopped it, but because I stayed. It is building a home or classroom where children do not need to learn their emotions later.
It’s not about perfection. It’s about existence. It’s about joint regulations that are really necessary for children to feel truly safe.
Because children are not at ease when they are told to. They calm down when their nervous system meets ours. With softness. With breath. Safety.
It’s mindfulness.
That’s the real job.
Heal yourself and my pedigree
The more I practiced this parenting method, the more I realized that it wasn’t just my child’s feelings. I was soothing the emotional patterns that I had lived in my family for generations.
I lived in a loved one, but the trauma was tough on them. They didn’t know how to regulate their emotions. They didn’t know how to sit with discomfort, or how to handle it instead of a project.
So they cried out. They shut down. They pushed through as they were taught. And that was also the blueprint I inherited.
I am part of the first generation trying to raise emotionally regulated children while learning how to feel safe in their own body.
And that’s not easy. It is a sacred work. It’s mental work. It’s a systematic job.
Every time I whisper to a child “I’m here,” I whisper it to the younger version of me who needed it.
There is a calm, almost sacred moment when you hear the child gently turn into ham while you are playing the chime. Close your eyes and say, “This sound makes my heart better.”
No one explains the resonance. No one showed them how.
And at that moment I remember. Our kids come to this world knowing that we have spent years trying to get back.
We believe we are teachers. But in their tranquility, their plays, their pure beings, they will lead us into the home.
Plant mild seeds
One day my son shed tears and looked up at me and said, “Mom, I need you to sit with me.”
And then at that moment I realized: I did too.
That moment changed everything. That was the beginning of a softer way. A new rhythm exists and remembers, remembering that breathing, being, and that we are not just to teach children how to regulate. We are here to learn how to be with ourselves.
I began to notice the magic of slowing down. To listen. To celebrate what was happening within me, I was able to fulfill what was happening within them. There is a connection, not a control.
Something ancient is rewritten every time a parent sits on the floor and breaths with his child.
Rather than shutting down the emotions, break the pattern every time you make them into names.
It’s not just raising mindful children. We cultivate ourselves.
The truth is: All the breath we teach our children to take is something we never taught ourselves to take.
And now we can learn together.
About Mariana Gordon and Sondra Bakinde
Mariana Gordon and Sondra Bakinde are co-creators of Mantis’ book and Mindful Mantis to Meditate. Mariana is a former school psychologist and energy healer. Sondra is an artist, interior designer and creative visionary. Together, they bring softness, storytelling and healing to everyday life. For more information, see more on Instagram, Facebook and Tiktok.
