From Our Blog

Zen Caregiving Project has been running free online sessions to support our wider community throughout the pandemic. In these sessions, we’ve shared our mindfulness-based approach to managing difficult emotions, coping with loss, cultivating compassion, and accepting things as they are. These sessions have touched people in different ways. Joan attended 10 sessions and below she shares how the sessions have helped her.

Joan’s story

I am a Licensed Professional Counselor (LPC) and have worked for Hospice of Wichita Falls in Texas for the past eight years, with the last three years being in the Bereavement Department. My role involves working with people who have lost a loved one, and helping them process and work with their grief. 

In such emotionally charged work, I know that I am susceptible to compassion fatigue. Being able to support others when they are suffering is an honor but it can also be emotionally tiring. I know that there is a very fine line between compassion fatigue and burnout, and I often walk that line. 

ZCPs sessions have helped me recognize the importance of practicing regular self-care, and that it is necessary for me to look after myself in order to take care of my patients, my family and my colleagues. As a counsellor I do know that self-care is important but I don’t have a lot of people advocating and affirming that it is necessary for me to do on a regular basis. And with my busy job, with lots of multitasking: sending emails, phone-calls, counseling clients and families, it’s easy to say to myself “I’ll do one more thing, just one more, and one more” and never stop. The sessions from ZCP have taught me about the benefits of even little moments of mindfulness, stopping in the middle of the business of the day and saying “OK Joan, sit back and take three deep breaths”. Or practicing a one minute meditation with my hand on my heart.  

And if there are evenings that I finish work and I am still really wound up or have “monkey mind” (as Roy refers to it), that’s when I will go and re-watch a recording of one of the sessions, which are posted on the ZCP website, and I feel more grounded and calm.

What I’ve learned in the sessions I’m using at work too.  I am slowly introducing mindfulness techniques to a weekly grief group I run on zoom. Many of the people that attend the group are widows who have been “doing, doing, doing” all their lives so it is not in their nature to slow down and take time for themselves. But when they do, when they breathe and have the space to listen to their heart, the tears come, and I am there to let them know that it is OK, and that crying is natural and healthy.

I had known some of these mindfulness techniques from doing mindfulness years ago, but if you don’t have someone reminding you about them regularly you forget them. Having these sessions has helped me remember ways to share mindfulness as well as learn new techniques and practices.

I am deeply grateful for the ZCP sessions and appreciate the team so much. I feel a strong sense of community with ZCP and those that attend the session and feel so supported by what ZCP offers. The way I look at it, ZCP supports me so that I can continue my work supporting and helping others. What a nice way to share and support each other as a community.

This August marked almost a year since we partnered with the Chinese-American Coalition for Compassionate Care (CACCC) to translate our Mindful Family Caregiving course into Chinese. In that year we’ve trained volunteers, translated the course and CACCC have launched the first “Mindful Self-Care for Caregivers” in Chinese. Phew! Below we share more about the process and the outcomes and what’s next.

The need for translation

According to the most recent census data, 21% of the US population speak a language other than English at home. Of these, 12% (7.3 million people) don’t speak English well, or don’t speak it at all. This data, coupled with our own experience supporting caregivers in a linguistically diverse area, made it clear that we needed to start offering our family caregiving support in languages other than English. 

In August 2019 we partnered with CACCC to translate our Mindful Family Caregiving course into Chinese and to train Chinese-speaking volunteers to deliver the course. With over 1 million Chinese speakers in California alone, over half of whom feel they speak English “less than well”, we knew this project would be meeting a real need.

The process

The translation process had three main stages. 

Stage 1: All volunteers took our Mindful Family Caregiving (in-person) allowing the team to see what elements of the course translated well to Chinese, and which didn’t. (See our original blog to read more about that.)

Stage 2: The team selected which modules to bring into the new Chinese course, and all materials were translated, including lesson plans, support documents and handouts.

Stage 3: Volunteers received more training on Mindful Family Caregiving content and teaching skills which, thanks to COVID-19, was all conducted online via zoom.

Finally, the teaching! 

In August 2020, Mindful Self-Care for Caregivers Training was launched. It is an online, 8-week course in Chinese, taught via zoom.

The class reached its max capacity at 12 students, with another course being run in October 2020. Results from the first cohort show that 100% rated the course excellent or very good, and everyone agreed the course would help them use mindfulness in their caregiving, be a better caregiver and feel a greater sense of wellbeing. 

During these first courses, the Zen Caregiving Project instructors have been observing the teaching and providing feedback to the volunteers, helping them deliver the highest quality experience and support for course participants.

Looking to 2021 and beyond 

Mindful Self-Care for Caregivers is scheduled to run every quarter next year, reaching 50 family caregivers in need. If you are interested in having the course run at your organization, please contact CACCC at info@caccc-usa.org.

Having designed and worked through the translation process with CACCC Zen Caregiving Project would love to work with other partners, particularly Spanish-speaking organizations who would be interested in partnering with us. To find out more, please get in touch by clicking the button below.

by Bethany Becker

Every week for almost a year, I visited Laguna Honda Hospital on Wednesday evenings to serve as a volunteer caregiver through Zen Caregiving Project (ZCP). These five hours were among my most cherished of the week, giving me time to connect deeply with residents of the palliative care ward, fellow volunteers and staff while disconnecting from daily distractions. Our sessions always began with a meditation and check-in with our fellow volunteers, where we’d center ourselves and share our feelings and experiences that day. After that, we had several hours of open-ended time to spend how we chose on the ward. Some days, that meant listening to someone’s life story or helping the staff with various tasks; others days, it meant sitting beside someone who was close to dying or providing support to visiting family members.

Once the pandemic hit, Laguna Honda closed their doors to outside visitors in order to protect residents and staff. My Wednesday night ritual was replaced with a growing uncertainty about when we might be able to return. Of all the losses I felt at the start of shelter-in-place, this one hit the deepest. How do you replace physical touch or silent presence from afar?  

The community of ZCP volunteers began meeting over Zoom each week to help us stay grounded and process these changes. Week after week, familiar and new faces lifted each other up and vulnerably shared their fears. After a few months, with help from Laguna Honda staff, ZCP set up a remote volunteering program through which volunteers could video call with  residents via iPads. This new type of interaction has offered new experiences, both challenging and enriching. 

While I’ve lost the ability to do so many things–sit quietly with someone who is actively dying, offer comfort through physical touch, connect with non-verbal residents, have spontaneous encounters with new residents or nurses–I’ve also gained experiences I would not have otherwise. Because of my work schedule, I used to visit in the evenings, when many residents were already asleep. Participating in the video chat program during the day, I am able to interact with residents that I would not have been able to speak to in-person during an evening visit. 

For the past few months, I’ve had regular virtual visits with three residents. I have been pleasantly surprised by my growing connection with Edna*, a resident with progressive dementia. She may not know me by name, but we have delightful conversations. Edna has a remarkable quality of speaking like a poet, and she always drops incredible tidbits of rhyming wisdom. We end every conversation with “I love you” and well wishes for each other’s families. 

I’ve also reconnected with Martha*, who I sometimes had dinner with during my in-person visits. Martha’s initial skepticism over video chats turned to joy and wonder in our first session. She couldn’t get over how much it felt like I was in the room with her. Because of her short-term memory loss, I’ve been able to witness this excitement over virtual connection many times over. 

I’m not sure when I will be able to return to Laguna Honda in person. The nature of this work is to embrace change, let go of expectations and accept what is. I try not to dwell on what’s to come next. Today, I choose to answer a call and get transported to Edna’s universe. For 20 minutes, we are not living through a pandemic or talking through an iPad, we are just two people, laughing our way through Thursday. 

*Names changed for resident privacy

The problem

When hospital clinicians have consultations with their terminally ill patients, the patient is often accompanied by a family member or friend. In many cases, this family member or friend is also providing some kind of care for the patient – driving them to appointments, picking up groceries, helping with medication, doing cooking etc. These family and friends are in the role of family caregiver.

We know from research and our own work that family caregiving can bring purpose and connection, but can also bring challenge and stress, with caregivers that feel burdened being at higher risk of depression and burnout, which in turn impact their ability to provide care. 

Hospitals want to support the family caregivers they are in contact with, but funding this support is challenging with health-insurance being tied to treatment for the patient and not support for caregivers. In facilities like Zuckerberg San Francisco General Hospital (ZSGH), whose patients are primarily from underserved backgrounds with no private healthcare insurance, there are few funds to hire in external organizations to provide support to caregivers on an ongoing basis. 

To solve this problem Zen Caregiving Project (ZCP) and ZSFG received funding from the Stupski Foundation to create a sustainable Train-the-Trainer program in which hospital staff are trained to deliver support sessions to family caregivers.

The program

ZCP’s Mindful Caregiving Education (MCE) teaches mindfulness-based approaches and tools to build the emotional resilience of caregivers, reducing their stress and likelihood of burnout. MCE courses are traditionally taught by instructors with decades of mindfulness and meditation practice but we realised that time-poor hospital staff wouldn’t be able to attend extensive training. To overcome this time-barrier our team has created lesson plans, exercises and recorded videos explaining the key concepts within MCE. Hospital staff will then be trained by our experienced instructors in how to facilitate family caregiver groups using these ready-made materials. In this way we reduce staff training requirements from months to 11 hours while ensuring the quality of the teaching is maintained. 

After the 11-hour training, facilitators will lead courses for family caregivers, with each course consisting of six two-hour sessions. Family caregivers can drop in to one session or attend all six. All of our staff training, and all of the sessions will be run online via Zoom due to the particular health risks of COVID with a vulnerable population.

By training staff, and providing materials, we are enabling ZSFG to provide support to family caregivers in a low-cost and sustainable way. And we know that by supporting caregivers the hospital will also be supporting the patients they care for. 

Next steps

Staff training for ZSFG staff will begin in Jan 2021, with the first course for family caregivers scheduled for March 2021. We will be testing and learning as we go, getting feedback from staff and participants, and will continue to iterate and improve the design across the next year. 

We will apply for further funding in 2022 to expand the program to cater to Chinese-speaking and Spanish-speaking caregivers. We also hope to expand the program into more hospitals, reaching family caregivers who otherwise would go without support. 

If you are interested in the program, or running it at your hospital, please contact Naomi@zencaregiving.org

Noriko Smith is a Massage Therapist who works with medically fragile adults and children, including in a family cancer center. Noriko also volunteers as a Gentle Touch Therapist at a children’s hospital and a hospice in California.

In November 2018, we lost our home of 22 years in The Woolsey fire in Malibu, CA. We lost everything. When we had to evacuate, I took only our cats and a dog and a carry-on bag. The next day we heard the news that our house was completely gone. I couldn’t function at all for at least a couple of months. There was no hope, total devastation. I never thought I would be able to get over the sadness and anger or feelings of loss. I am still in the grieving process.

Then the pandemic hit, and like so many people, I wasn’t able to carry out my work, and that’s when I found Zen Caregiving Project’s online sessions and I am so glad I did.

One of the most important things I learned from the sessions was how to acknowledge the suffering I was experiencing and stop judging myself.  I usually try to discount my suffering and criticize myself for not being strong but the sessions helped me to acknowledge my suffering and the feelings of all the loss I had experienced. They helped me tell myself “You are doing good. You are more than enough”. I’ve realized how important it is to bring compassion to myself as well as others.

The sessions also definitely helped with my anxiety. I have suffered from depression and anxiety for many years. My mind gets stuck in the future or the past worrying about things I don’t have control of. But since attending the sessions, I can now notice when I am in an anxious state, recognize my feelings and accept them instead of covering them up or running away from them. Throughout the months I’ve attended the sessions I have also seen my emotional capacity growing. Instead of reacting quickly to my kids or husband, I can pause and observe myself and respond in a more helpful way (well, at least I think that’s the case!)

The whole experience of taking these sessions has helped me be more in touch with my emotions and open to sharing my feelings and being more vulnerable. And I’ve discovered that when I become more vulnerable, I also become more resilient.

We finally just got the rebuilding permit, believe or not, almost 2 years after the fire happened. There have certainly been a lot of struggles between now and then. Obstacles and challenges keep coming. It’s called life I guess… which is why I so appreciate the Zen Caregiving Project’s sessions, as they support me in accepting what is happening now, no matter what is going on in my life.

We all have gifts. I believe we are given this life to deliver our gifts. I thank Zen Caregiving Project for the gift of these courses.

A worry that is often raised by volunteers is that they aren’t having any impact, or that they aren’t being a “good” volunteer. This concern was raised by one of our Zen Caregiving Project volunteers who served at Laguna Honda Hospital’s S3 Palliative Care ward. Alistair Shanks, our Volunteer Program Manager, wrote this response to the volunteer, which touches on the very core of our approach to serving at the bedside. It has been edited to remove certain personal references and protect privacy.

Dear _______,

Your doubts are not an indication that something is wrong but a natural reflection of the difficulty of this work. Doubts are an invitation for self-reflection. Being with another human being in a volunteer/patient relationship is simultaneously an artificial construct and a natural, fundamental, human undertaking, a meeting of two spirits. Volunteers process and navigate this relationship in a variety of ways. And it is rarely easy. 

Very often we don’t know what our impact is on the people we serve. The residents of S3 Palliative Care Ward have all kinds of conditions; many have varying degrees of cognitive impairment; all are struggling in one way or another with disruptive life transitions, fear, uncertainty, and doubt. What we offer to them may be nothing more than our simple presence, perhaps a brief moment of connection, feeling less alone for the duration of the visit. Or it may be much more.

I frequently point out that volunteering is about relationships, that what we do at S3 is form relationships and I believe that to be true. We meet people, we get to know them a little, become witnesses to their stories, and in some cases form deep bonds of affection and regard for them. We even fall in love with them. But we are still volunteers, constrained by the role.

The precise nature of the role of volunteer is one that I have reflected on frequently and its complexity still surprises me. We are not friends, nor are we family. This gets to the heart of the question of the role of a volunteer. We are neither/nor. We are not friends because we do not have a long history, common experiences, and social connections that bind us. We meet them as they are, seeing only a sliver of a long and unimaginably rich life. We do not have the obligations of friendship though we should always strive to be constant, reliable, trustworthy, and kind. We make ourselves available emotionally in the way we want our friends to be, but there are lines we do not cross. One of those lines is that of reciprocation and expectation. We do not expect to be able to rely on the people we serve, to meet our needs or to be available for us. We may even be met with rejection or dismissal. In this sense there is not the customary social contract. 

This is not to say that deep, meaningful relationships of true tenderness, regard, and even love  don’t develop. They absolutely can and do, but they are circumscribed by ethical constraints. We cannot give or receive gifts of any value. We don’t give advice. And perhaps most significantly, our contact is limited to one regular five hour shift per week. 

The act of sitting at the bedside of someone who is terminally ill is incredibly intimate. It is a privilege. As volunteers, we are given the opportunity to interact with strangers in ways that are profound and rare. It can be painful, gratifying, surprising, and deeply nourishing. But we can’t necessarily know what our impact has been on the people we serve. This may be the most important lesson. Our actions will have consequences yet we are not often privy to them. It always reminds me of the metaphor of casting a stone in a pond. The ripples fan out in concentric circles eventually reaching all of the shoreline. We don’t know how our ripples will impact a life after our contact with someone has ended. 

Part of the practice of volunteering is the ability to engage in self-examination, to look deeply at our own struggles, doubts, and edges. This is what we do in shift change meetings and is a critical aspect of the volunteer experience. It is the self part of mutuality and it is the practice of self-knowledge that in my mind is the cornerstone of spiritual practice and inquiry. Being vulnerable in this way and verbalizing it in front of peers is a way to see what is true for us but just as importantly allows the people who witness us to feel comfortable doing the same. Vulnerability begets vulnerability. Everyone is served. I have witnessed you doing this, so thank you for being a model for your fellow volunteers in this way.

Thank you for your service to the residents of S3 and keep in mind you may never know the impact you had on the people you visited but I can assure you it made a difference.  As it says in the Tibetan Book of Living and Dying, “Whatever we have done with our lives makes us what we are when we die. And everything, absolutely everything counts.” I believe this to be true. People so often despair that they are not making a difference, that what they do is not enough. I take the opposite view. I believe that everything we do matters; it all makes a difference; it all counts, a smile, a kind word, an acknowledgment. Thank you for the difference you have made.

On March 2nd, Laguna Honda Hospital, where Zen Caregiving Project volunteers have served for over 30 years, announced volunteers would not be permitted on campus indefinitely due to COVID-19. In my third year as a volunteer, that meant I would not gather with my shift mates at 9 AM the following morning for meditation and check-in prior to my regular Wednesday morning volunteer shift on the palliative care ward. Soon afterward, our family’s school district announced that Friday, March 13, would be the last day of school for our three kids meaning we had to manage two weeks of improvised homeschool before the originally-scheduled Spring Break. 

First and foremost I am grateful for our safety and health. In addition to this feeling of gratitude each day since then, I have awoken acutely aware that I and my family members are grappling with how to handle the uncertainty we are facing at so many levels. Will any of us get sick? Will any of our family members get sick? Will we be okay financially? When will this end? Will there be a vaccine? Why aren’t our leaders doing more to protect healthcare workers? If everything is canceled, what are we supposed to do?

For my family, our busyness in our “normal” lives had given us a false sense of control and purpose. Our lives had been filled with non-stop “doing” and whether we liked it or not, we were now being pushed, kicking and screaming, to exist in the present – to simply be in the absence of all of our normal things to do. And it has been really difficult.

One of the precepts that guides our practice as volunteer caregivers is to “cultivate don’t know mind.” The idea is that most of us in our daily lives are strongly identified with our rational thinking minds and that our efforts to impose control and certainty limit the possibilities of what a moment may hold. As Frank Ostaseski, Zen Caregiving Project Co-founder says, “don’t know mind is one characterized by hope, curiosity, and wonder. It is receptive, ready to meet whatever shows up as it is.” 

So in practice, this means that when we enter the rooms of the residents at Laguna Honda Hospital, many of whom are suffering from chronic and terminal illnesses, we leave our ideas and judgments at the door. Being open to what comes when we sit with residents at the bedside means meeting them with an open heart. Letting our rational mind guide us narrows our vision and limits the possibilities of what we will consider. When we meet residents with “don’t know mind,” we can be an open-hearted witness to their experience, whether it is one of joy or suffering. 

While I have had this idea of myself being gradually immersed into a practice of mindfulness over the past three years, the last four months have felt more like a dunking; if there has ever been a time to focus on the present and practice “don’t know mind,” this has to be it. I am practicing letting go of judgment and opening my heart to the possibilities that could emerge. It’s become more clear than ever that the present moment demands our attention, and it is a subversion of our creativity and potential to use our precious human energy to regret the past or worry about the future.

So now as my family and I continue to wake every morning with more questions than answers, I draw upon my training and experiences at Laguna Honda Hospital to be more comfortable saying “I don’t know” when I’m asked when soccer practice will start again, when we can visit Grandma and Grandpa and our friends, and when Coronavirus will be under control. I feel moments, even briefly, of lightness and relief when I am able to experience the freedom of opening my heart to the possibilities. 

When our volunteer community gathers on Zoom to share how each of us is bringing our practice to bear on the current situation, I feel immense gratitude for the wisdom and compassion of our shared community. And being able to bring the openness of don’t know mind to this present moment of conflict, suffering, and overwhelming loss that we are witnessing is how I remain grounded to find hope as I face what the next moment will bring. I don’t know what it will be, but as I’m continuing to learn, despite all of my planning and our always-full calendar, I never did, as none of us ever do.

Nancy Wakeman has been a supporter of Zen Caregiving Project for over 25 years. Here we explore her relationship with the organization, why she continues to support us, and her thoughts on the organization’s impact.

Nancy first heard about Zen Caregiving Project, then called Zen Hospice Project, in the early 1990s. It was a time of change and transition for her: she had lost two friends over a short period and had spent time caring at home for her father who had a stroke that was eventually fatal. During this difficult time, Nancy started to explore meditation and saw an announcement for the Zen Hospice Project Volunteer program, which combined her desire to explore and process her loss, her interest in meditation, and her drive to help others.

After completing the 40 hour Volunteer Program training Nancy volunteered for a year with Zen Hospice Project in the palliative care ward at the Laguna Honda Hospital. When asked what she had learned from the experience she shared her three main takeaways:

I learned a lot. I learned that everything changes in life. Even though I often assume there is stability in my life, I know that everything is still always changing.

I learned the value of being in the moment. And although you can’t always be in the moment, I am now more aware of when I’m not. When I am not being present to what’s going on right now I can become more judgemental and opinionated. When I am in the moment, I know everything is as it is, and I don’t feel I need anything else.

Finally, I learned the power of being with other people. We are all in life together and in a way, we are all one, even though we are all different.

Nancy has continued to support and donate to the organization as it has evolved and changed. She volunteered in the kitchen at the Guest House care facility, later supporting the organization as we closed the Guest House, leading to a greater focus on the education program and volunteering. When asked what moves her to continue to donate to the organization she shared:

I think sitting with people who are dying is really important work, as is supporting caregivers. When my father had a stroke, my mother and I cared for him at home with the support of a nurse. During the day it was my mother and I who cared for him, moving him in his bed, dampening his mouth with water, cleaning him. I understand first-hand how challenging caring for someone you love can be and how essential support is to those in that role.

It is so important to provide resources to caregivers because we, as a society, are reliant on having people in the community who are willing to provide care.

We’d like to take this opportunity to thank Nancy for her financial support of the organization across the years, her engagement with our mission, and her support of our staff and work.

Since the shelter-in-place began we’ve heard a lot more about mindfulness in mainstream media. It’s being suggested on websites, videos, and posts as one way to support us through the pandemic, and a good self-care practice to adopt.

But how is it helpful? And why should we think about building mindfulness into our daily life when we already have so much going on? We posed this question to Zen Caregiving Project’s Executive Director, Roy Remer, and here’s what he had to say. 

Can we start at the beginning? What is mindfulness? 

A definition of mindfulness I like is: paying attention to the present moment, on purpose and without judgment. Let’s break that down.

• Paying attention to the present moment: often our minds are not really tracking what is happening right here, right now. Many of us get stuck thinking about past events and what we have done or should have done. Or we are jumping ahead to the future – what’s next on our to-do list, what we hope will happen, or what we are worried might happen. The practice of mindfulness helps us keep our attention on what is happening in the present moment. For instance, when we are washing our hands, instead of rushing through to get it done, we can work on really being there with the activity, feeling the sensations of water on the skin, listening to the sounds of the water, observing the suds from the hand soap. It doesn’t mean it takes any longer but it is an opportunity to return to the present moment experience,  and you will probably find more pleasure in the activity.

• On purpose: By this I mean, noticing when the mind gets distracted. Distraction is natural – it happens to all of us, all the time. Even the most experienced meditators will find that their minds wander as that is what minds do. But the point here is to notice when this happens. The noticing allows an opportunity to bring our distracted attention back to the present. 

• Without judgment: As it is human to become distracted, we should also be kind to ourselves when we notice we have once again become distracted. We congratulate ourselves on noticing our mind has wandered and gently return to the present moment. This process of noticing distraction and coming back to the present is a lifelong process – which is why it is called mindfulness practice – we need never stop working on it! Though, over time it does get easier. 

How does mindfulness help us in our daily life?

1. Mindfulness helps settle the mind. A calm mind allows us to respond thoughtfully rather than react immediately to an event or thought.  When our mind is calm it can help calm those around us. I am sure we have all experienced being with someone who is very anxious or agitated and how that can leave us feeling unsettled too. It is also true one person’s calmness may have a calming effect on others. 

2. Mindfulness helps to focus attention. We all know that multi-tasking is tiring, and often not productive. Mindfulness helps us to focus our attention on one thing at a time, reducing fatigue. It also reduces human error as we are a lot less likely to make mistakes if we have all our attention on the task at hand. As a caregiver, this reduction in error is particularly important. 

3. Mindfulness increases awareness of the present moment. Many of us spend a lot of time dwelling on negative thoughts about past events that we can’t change and worrying about future events that haven’t happened yet. Mindfulness helps to interrupt those looping thoughts and helps us see the difference between our thoughts and what is actually happening right now. 

Being more aware of our present moment experience also helps with self-care. We notice sooner when we feel tired, or are having an emotional experience, and make sure we stop and look after ourselves.  

How can mindfulness help me in difficult situations?

Having a mindfulness practice allows us to stay calm in challenging situations. It also helps build our resilience by supporting our ability to bounce back from difficult circumstances. When we are paying attention, we can see when we add something extra that does not help a situation. Negative or harmful thinking for instance. There is a difficult situation, and then there is the way we meet a difficult situation. We can stop, take a few breaths, and see what is in front of us clearly. Mindfulness builds a capacity to be with discomfort.

But what if I don’t have a lot of time for mindfulness?

The more you practice, the greater the benefit. The good news is you don’t have to spend hours meditating to get benefits. Meditation helps a lot. Though, even integrating a little bit of mindfulness into your daily routine is helpful in building the skills I mentioned above. And you may just find that instead of being another thing on your “to-do list”, mindfulness becomes something that you just do naturally, or even something you want to do! Start out with small, easy mindfulness activities. 

How do I find out more? 

There is lots of information online about mindfulness and we also run a course called Foundations of Mindful Caregiving, that explores how to integrate mindfulness in caregiving and the related areas of compassion, loss, and self-care. Please check our website for updates on our course offerings.

By Alistair Shanks

We are living in a time of disappearances. For the most part, we have been stripped of our distractions, our busyness, our schedules, and plans as we shelter in place. We are being forced to reorder our activities, our needs, our lives.

We are in a state of continual waiting,  a perpetual state of uncertainty. Like a dream, we are at the mercy of an alien, inimical force, invisible and unpredictable. The world has come to a standstill. Construction sites are silent, cranes still, businesses dark, the streets empty.

We are grieving the loss of normalcy, a sense of safety and order; everything has been upended. Nothing is normal. Leaving home feels risky, a trip to the grocery store dangerous. People have lost jobs, businesses, livelihoods. People are dying alone in isolated units surrounded not by family and loved ones but by medical teams clad in protective gear.

While also grieving the loss of a sense of connection to others — friends, families, our broader social networks, work colleagues — new opportunities arise to connect in different ways, to offer small kindnesses. There are the friendly smiles and knowing nods as I pass masked people on the street, the greetings of strangers who would normally go by unnoticed. A woman offers a bottle of hand sanitizer to a homeless man outside a Safeway. Many people recognize that we are in this together, that we are all struggling to adjust to this new normal.

Our separation has only made more obvious our dependence on one another, our interconnection. We breathe the same air, share the same sidewalks and streets, depend on invisible supply chains to provide our food, our medications, our consumer goods. We are interdependent in every way, a fact that is easily lost in the daily tumult of overbooked lives.

In the midst of this pandemic, the cycles of life go on unperturbed. It is still spring and trees and flowers continue to bloom, only to disappear in their own time. The days become longer. In the absence of human activity, nature offers signs of reasserting itself: wild boar on the streets of Barcelona, mountain goats taking over a town in Wales, whales in Mediterranean shipping lanes, baby turtles in Brazil surviving in higher numbers due to deserted beaches.

And there is the fear, the vulnerability. We are all vulnerable, for once unable to distance ourselves from the world’s tragedies. It is no longer just an image of suffering on our TV screen. It is here and we are not in control, our lives moving in an arc out to the horizon, a line of disappearances. This is not necessarily a bad thing.

I often point out to our volunteers that a lot of what we do as we sit with those suffering near the end of life is to also sit with our own sense of helplessness. We are simply witnesses to the pain and struggles of our fellow human beings. Our volunteers learn to be with discomfort, with uncertainty, helplessness, the unknown. In many cases, it is all we can do and it is no small thing. I have seen the impact of a single steady, mindful presence transform a room.

What can we do with our helplessness? In this time of upheaval, we have been shorn of our assumptions, our certainties. In our helplessness the only sane, rational response, as ever, is love. Maybe our task is, as the poet David Whyte writes, “To love and to witness love in the face of possible loss, and to find the mystery of love’s promise in the shadow of that loss.”

We all need self-care in times like this. Zen Caregiving Project volunteers are trained to practice self-compassion, to acknowledge doubts and difficulties, and hold them with tenderness and care. As Jack Kornfield has said, “In this moment we can sit quietly, take a deep breath, and acknowledge our fear and apprehension, our uncertainty and helplessness…and hold all these feelings with a compassionate heart.”

We can embrace our interdependence. We can turn to the person next to us and ask, “What is your experience? What is it like for you? How are you doing?”

And listen.
Listen deeply.