Yamas for Mamas
Yoga is a lot like raising kids: both require patience, endurance, and commitment. But can I lean on the source text of yoga, The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali, as a guide for better parenting?
Patanjali gives us the Yamas, the ethical principles or “restraints”, that lay the foundation for practice. These are five rules borrowed from a Jain text that predates Yoga. If I cannot apply this stuff specifically to the daily fabric of my life, I’m not sure I want to invest my time in studying it. So, I’ve made an attempt to see how the Yamas apply to my life especially as a parent.
Ahimsa, or do no harm
First up, Ahimsa, the disruption of harm. Growing up, my family swept their grievances and needs under the rug. There was no accountability. When I left home for university, my mom and dad rarely called or wrote. When I went home for the summer and asked why they seldom reached out, instead of apologizing, they each blamed the other.
No shade on my folks specifically; this is a generational, family-system issue. Growing up in a house where no one apologized meant that I doubted my own perceptions and wondered if my feelings were exaggerated or uncalled for. Was I being too needy and overly sensitive? I am certain that was also my parents' experience growing up and that of their parents as well.
So, to correct long-term systemic harm and mitigate unresolved trauma, I commit to apologizing.
For instance, the other day I let my daughter, Ava, take her sister's paints from the pile of craft supplies to make a birthday card for her dance teacher. A few minutes later, Brynn entered to find her paints in use and she hit the roof. They were a special gift (that she hadn’t even used yet!), and furthermore, Ava never shares her own stuff.
Emotions spiked, and much yelling ensued. Brynn was feeling the injustice, I was on the defensive, and Ava just likes to get in on the drama wherever possible. At top volume, I reminded Brynn that we keep special items in our bedrooms to avoid this kind of problem.
Arguing like this felt familiar, comfortable even. And I suddenly remembered the sting of confronting my parents that summer after college.
In that moment, I saw my chance to start disrupting hurtful patterns.
I had the miraculous wherewithal to shut up and pull Brynn into a hug. I said “I’m sorry” and promised to ask her permission next time.
Satya, or tell the truth
Next is Satya. For me, upholding truth means confronting internal false narratives like "I'm a bad mom." The reality is that I make poor choices sometimes when depleted, but a poor moment here and there does not make “a bad mom.”
Confronting and correcting my less-than-honest inner critic is one way I work with Satya. As I ask myself over and over whether these criticisms are actually true, I’m learning to catch myself in a lie before any storyline gains too much momentum.
People who self-aggrandize are participating in the same exercise as those of us who diminish ourselves. It’s false identification.
We get closer to the truth by listening to the storytellers in our heads with a grain of salt.
Getting a handle on who I really am is how I begin to show up authentically with my actions aligned with my values.
Asteya, or don’t steal
Like many parents, I let my phone steal my attention from my kids.Too much scrolling robs me of the bandwidth I need to engage with them the way I want to. It’s all too easy to get hypnotized by Instagram, even when my littlest is eager to show me her impromptu fashion show.
On my good days, I manage my screen time by letting myself scroll only once I have posted some of my own content and by putting my phone to rest on the charger when the kids are home from school.
I do this to preserve enough focus to connect with my small humans in real-time. That way, I’m fully available to field gripes about some teachers, troubleshoot homework, and scrape together a decent dinner. It’s about being aware that I have a limited amount of attention and then choosing not to squander a disproportionate amount in mindless ways.
Aparigraha, or non-hoarding
I practice this by not hogging all the airtime. I give space for my girls to share about their day WITHOUT imposing my well-intentioned mom advice, like, "I hope you remembered to say thank you," and "Are you sure she’s a good friend to have?"
The idea is to listen without an agenda and without telling them what to do. It’s also about modeling a social skill—showing how we contribute to conversations without becoming a tiresome bore.
Brahmacharya, or having boundaries
I was waiting by the door with 5 minutes left to get to Crow’s Woods soccer field. Juney continued to play Minecraft when she should have laced up her cleats ten minutes ago. So, I took off my coat, put down my keys and said, “I drive kids to practice who are ready on time.” I killed the wifi in the house and got on with the business of making dinner while she crafted an apology email to her coach.
Rather than telling my kids what to do, I indicate what I am prepared to do when certain conditions are met.
This puts the responsibility of the task on them without repeated requests and demands from me. I don’t have to put my energy into nagging, and my kids learn intrinsic motivation. It’s a win-win. Whine all you want, I hold these loving limits tightly because I’m your mom (aka guardian, protector, “Oh Wise One”). I have to be okay with pushback and resentment.
How likely is it that Patanjali was a dad? He is considered both real and divine, and it’s not known if he was one guy or multiple people since the books he authored (Yoga Sutras, Mahabhashya, Carakavarttika) might be hundreds of years apart.
If the history of great men tells us anything, his wife probably wrote the whole thing and put his name on it. In which case, the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali might truly be feasible as a Common Sense Guide to Parenting.
