Meditation and Motherhood: Redefining Practice When Life Gets Beautifully Chaotic
I discovered my most profound meditation practice didn't happen on a cushion- it happened while rocking an unsettled baby in the early hours, feeling her tiny chest rise and fall against mine, both of us breathing in the darkness. In that moment, bone-tired but heart so full, I finally understood what my meditation teachers had been pointing toward all along: presence IS a way of being.
For years before becoming a mother, I had what many would consider a "proper" meditation practice. I’d take ten or twenty minutes, sometimes on a cushion, in a quiet corner, with my special timer and just the right low lighting. Incense stick optional. I was committed to a regular stillness practice. I read books about advanced techniques and often attended retreats and trainings.
Then life handed me two small humans who turned my carefully constructed routine into a new and beautiful chaos.
If you're reading this while your toddler builds a fort around your legs, your baby is feeding, once the kids have finally gone to bed or during those precious ten minutes of naptime when you're not sure whether to meditate, shower, or just breathe … you're not alone in this and I have some wisdom to share on meditation for parents.
The Myth of the Perfect Practice
Let me tell you what no one mentions in those serene meditation tutorials: sometimes the most profound spiritual practice happens when you're doing three things at once while someone small tugs on your sleeve asking for snacks. Hear me out…
Research from Dr. Kristin Neff's work on self-compassion shows us that our inner critic (that voice that says we're "failing" at meditation when we miss days or can't find a moment’s peace while tending to everyone else) - actually blocks the very awareness we're trying to cultivate. When we berate ourselves for not having a "real" practice, we're essentially adding suffering to an already full life.
The truth is, claiming time for yourself as a parent isn't selfish - it's necessary. But it's also complicated. Your time isn't entirely your own anymore, and pretending otherwise leads to frustration and self-judgment. It has taken me sooooooo long to wrap my head around this one. Years, in fact. What if instead of fighting this reality, we worked with it, instead?
The Gift of Interrupted Practice
Eight months into motherhood with my first child, I remember struggling with the persistent feeling that I was "doing it wrong" because I couldn’t find any form of flow like I used to. At that point my baby was grumbly and teething and unsettled. My practice felt scattered. The days felt long. My mind fragmented. I craved to be calm and balanced, but I was exhausted, touched out and couldn't connect to what inner peace felt like at that time.
That's when something shifted. Instead of pushing through or giving up on my practice entirely, I began to notice the spaces between moments. The way my breath naturally deepened when we cuddled. The automatic mindfulness and warming moment of peace that comes with watching a child sleep. The present-moment awareness required when small hands reach for yours or noticing when your baby does something new.
Neuroscientist Dr. Amishi Jha's research on attention training shows that mindfulness isn't just about formal sitting practice - it's about strengthening our capacity to notice what's happening in real-time. This "meta-cognitive awareness" can be developed through brief, informal practices woven throughout our day.
Micro-Moments of Mindfulness
Here's what you need to know: you don't need twenty uninterrupted minutes to maintain a meaningful practice. You need presence, and presence can happen anywhere, anytime.
While running the baby bath, I feel the warm water on my hands and notice the satisfaction of seeing the bubbles rise up as I smell the lavender scent. When my daughter has a meltdown upon leaving the house, I find my breath and feel my feet on the ground, modeling calm in the storm to her, rather than adding to it. Walking from the car to daycare pickup, I notice three things I can see, hear, and feel … and try to see this world through her eyes too.
These aren't lesser forms of meditation - they're meditation in action, adapted to real life. And research supports this: Dr. Judson Brewer's work on mindful awareness shows that brief, frequent practices can be as effective as longer formal sessions for developing emotional regulation and stress resilience.
When the Cushion Becomes a Playground
Now, more than four years into this parenting journey, my practice looks nothing like it used to - and that’s fine by me. Some mornings, I set my timer for ten minutes and sit before the kids come in to my room. Other times, my little early risers beat me to it. Instead of trying to block out their voices, I let them become part of the soundscape, like birds in a forest or waves on a shore, or I invite them to come cuddle up in my lap while I meditate.
"Mama, what you doing?" my two-year-old asks, climbing onto my lap mid-meditation.
"I'm practicing being still and following my breath swooosh - in -ahhhh out " I tell her. "Want to try it with me?"
Sometimes she does. Sometimes she doesn't. Both are perfect.
Other days, we practice together. We lie on the living room floor and put stuffed animals on our bellies, watching them rise and fall with our breath. We do "listening meditation," seeing how many different sounds we can notice. We practice "loving-kindness" by sending good wishes to everyone we love, including the dog and family overseas.
This isn't about creating mini-meditators (although the research on mindfulness and children's emotional regulation is compelling stuff!). It's about modeling self-care, showing them that taking moments to pause and breathe isn't selfish - it's necessary, and it’s something mummy does when she can.
The Art of Safe Awareness
Of course, parenting requires a different kind of awareness than solo practice. Whether I’ve set them up with their own quiet activity close by, or I’ve invited them to share my practice with me, I'm never fully "gone" in meditation when my children are awake. Part of my attention stays gently attuned to their safety and needs. But this divided attention is all part of the meditation.
Dr. Dan Siegel's work on "mindsight" describes this beautifully: the ability to hold multiple awarenesses simultaneously. I can be present with my breath while also aware of my daughter colouring nearby. I can feel the sensations in my body while keeping one ear open for the toddler's movements around the room. This isn't distraction - it's integration.
Some days, meditation means sitting with my eyes closed for fifteen minutes. Other days, it means being fully present while my child tells me an elaborate story about unicorns. Both are valid. Both are practice.
When Your Partner Becomes Your Teacher
"Why don't you go sit for a few minutes?" my husband suggests after a particularly long day when I'm clearly frazzled. "I've got this."
These words used to make me resistant and at times, defensive. Don’t dismiss me or send me off elsewhere - I thought. But I've learned that accepting support isn't weakness, it's wisdom. And sometimes the most loving thing we can do for our family is to take ten minutes to come back to ourselves. So now, I say yes every time.
Research on parental stress and family wellbeing consistently shows that when parents take care of their own emotional regulation, the entire family system benefits. Our children learn emotional literacy not from our lectures but from our modeling. I’m grateful I have a partner who recognises, understands and supports this approach.
The Seasons of Practice
Some weeks, my practice is regular. Other weeks, it's three conscious breaths between loading the dishwasher and clearing up after dinner. I've learned to let my practice ebb and flow like everything else in life, without making it mean something's wrong with me. This is the life season I am in, here and now.
Dr. Rick Hanson's research on neuroplasticity reminds us that even brief moments of mindful awareness create positive changes in the brain. The mother who takes five mindful breaths while her coffee brews is strengthening the same neural pathways as the monk who sits for hours.
This isn't about lowering standards - it's about raising awareness of what practice actually looks like in a full and colourful crayon stage of life.
Permission to Begin Again
If you're reading this and feeling guilty about your "inconsistent" practice, please hear this: you are not failing. You are not behind. You are exactly where you need to be.
Think about it this way: the fact that you even want to cultivate more presence in your life is already a form of awakening. The fact that you're juggling seventeen things while caring for small humans and still seeking moments of peace takes courage.
Your meditation practice doesn't need to look like anyone else's. It needs to look like yours. Maybe that's ten minutes before dawn when the house is quiet. Maybe it's three conscious breaths as the bath runs. Maybe it's the full presence you bring to bedtime stories and the goodnight squeeze, feeling grateful for this ordinary miracle of loving someone and being loved so completely.
Starting Where You Are
Here's what I know now that I wish I'd known then to go easier on myself and take the unnecessary pressure off - the parent who meditates for five minutes while their children play nearby isn't doing a "lesser" practice than the person who sits in perfect silence for an hour. They’re doing exactly the practice that fits their life, and that's exactly the practice they needs. Life seasons change.
Begin where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can. Your presence is a gift to your children, your partner or those around you, and yourself. And presence - real presence - can happen anywhere, anytime, even in the beautiful chaos of family life.
The path to peace doesn't require perfect conditions. It requires only your willingness to notice this moment, exactly as it is, and meet it with kindness.
What would it feel like to let your practice be as flexible and loving as you are?
How has your practice changed during different life seasons?
Share your thoughts or tips and leave a comment below.