How Meditation Made Me Less Stabby

Letters From Morningside

Me being Zen and slightly less stabby.

A small lady who was as short as she was round opened the door to her first-floor flat and greeted me, wearing a perspex visor, a plastic apron and rubber gloves. She immediately thrust a vat of hand sanitiser at me, insisting I put a mask on and ushered me inside. This was not the calm, Zen start I’d been hoping for when I booked my introductory session to Transcendental Meditation (TM) back in August 2020.

She kindly enquired as to why I was keen to learn TM.

“Is it to reduce your anxiety?” I assumed she was referring to the cunningly named flu virus that was doing the rounds.

“No, it’s to stop me from wanting to stab people,” I replied matter-of-factly.

The rage had hit me hard. It had been building for some time. Only the previous summer, I had complained to a friend whilst out training for our epic trek to Nepal that my husband’s breathing was deeply irritating to the point where I was hoping he would stop it. Even my friend, not known for her empathy at the best of times, was taken aback.

“That’s a bit harsh.” She offered.

“He’s just so bloody loud,” I replied, feeling justified in my ire.

So, when we were all locked away in the spring of 2020 and I watched as my business went down the toilet in a nanosecond, the rage was in full force. My husband was outside, in the garden, happily building his vegetable patch, living his best life, enjoying the benefits of furlough. I, on the other hand, was sitting locked away in my office, brooding darkly whilst attempting to learn the dark arts of digital marketing and sensing that if something didn’t change soon, I would commit murder.

My youngest child was outside helping her dad, the pair of them bonding contentedly over soil, frolicking in the warm, spring sunshine. They did jolly things such as watching the sunrise at dawn and building bird houses. The only thing I built was an Active Campaign email sequence so complex it would probably take you to Mars. Each day, my rage and disbelief grew steadily at the utter nonsense being spouted by people I once thought were intelligent.

The planned trip to Nepal was shelved, as was every other plan I’d made in honour of my fiftieth year on this planet. Three kids, a toxic marriage, numerous businesses, a successful marriage and a lovely home deserved celebrating with an arduous, yet spiritually uplifting trip to the nether regions of Nepal. Quite frankly, I was astounded I’d made it that far.

I took my incandescent rage to the TM lady, and over a period of a few weeks, she taught me how to meditate. The tuition ended with a sweet ceremony involving some rose petals, a white hankie and a secret mantra she created just for me. Being the sardonic Mancunian I am, I found this most amusing, but held it together without sniggering.

Armed with my new, shiny mantra, I cycled home to begin my practice. Just over five years later, I’m still practising every day, sometimes twice a day. Strange things have happened since then. I can now see vivid colours when I meditate, I’ve had a spiritual awakening (I’m working up to writing about that), and I’ve had an out-of-body experience, which all sounds very whoo whoo, probably because it is. It’s not all due to the meditation, though, I am also armed with HRT gel or mad cow gel as I like to call it, plus I practice yoga twice a week.

Before you mistakenly think I’ve gone full Zen, the other thing that I’ve stopped doing is pandering to complete tossers. In the world of business, there are many different kinds of tossers: the know-it-alls who tell you exactly what you’re doing wrong, even though you’ve not asked for their opinion, the arrogant twats who don’t even speak to you because they’re far too important, and the creeps. I don’t need to define their weirdo behaviour. Once upon a time, I believed I should engage politely with such types, even if they were utterly incompetent idiots. Happily, TM, HRT and yoga have taught me the error of my ways, and I avoid them like the plague, blank them or block them on LinkedIn.

Don’t get me wrong, I still have the occasional mini-rant, but it’s more controlled and much less ‘stabby’. I’m also happy to report that I love the fact that my husband is still breathing. As for the gin, on a Thursday evening, I help myself to a large gin and tonic, which numbs whatever angst I have lingering from the working week. Friday is my day off, it’s the day I choose to ignore the world and focus on myself. I highly recommend giving it a go if you can.