Fire Bunny Bathtime
Why I needed to restart my yoga practice
My son and daughter had a swimming lesson yesterday. Afterwards, the showers were occupied in the girls room, so my daughter had to do her washing at home which translated to bath time.
I had just wrestled my son through a shower at the pool—taking off a sticky wetsuit, making sure he holds his head under the spraying water so the soap leaves his hair, encouraging him to focus on his pant legs instead of the boy with the colorful tie-dye who just walked into the locker room.
So I was a bit “done” already with the balancing game of prodding along and honoring the human-beingness of my kids.
My wife and I were taking a moment on the couch. She asked me to help our daughter wash her hair. This was a hero’s journey call I should not have answered. I wasn’t in balance enough. I needed a break. I should have said as much. I should have walked outside and howled at the moon first.
According to Chinese Astrology, we’re in a Fire Bunny Moon (March 10–April 9, 2024)—so imagine impulsive and anxious bunny energy, but on fire 🔥
I’ve felt a fire bunny in my core the past week or so. The bunny wants me to move fast. The bunny does not want me to slow down and be thoughtful. The bunny is scared of everything. The bunny is on fire, so it’s screaming (well, spiritual fire, so maybe not screaming).
My daughter has about twelve toys in the tub or on the edges of the tub—ducks, buckets, a kayak, a fish.
At age seven, she is a master at creating worlds and getting deeply engaged with her play. No doubt she is working on something magical to her psyche—a cathartic exercise of role play that will help her work out the energies flowing through her and around her.
Maybe she’s tending to matters in another dimension that are setting the stage for our world to step into a new age where we include everyone in the circle of compassion and care. Who am I to say for sure?
But my fire bunny and I have an agenda.
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s get your hair wet so we can wash your hair, Sweetie.”
Writing this now, I notice how often I say “Sweetie” when I am impatient and off-balance. As if I could will the sweetness into her in hopes that she follows my directions.
She stays locked in her world. The fish is placed in the kayak
“We need to move along,” I say. “It’s already late because you didn’t get to shower at the pool.”
A bucket covers a duck in the shadows.
“Do you want to get your hair wet, or shall I do it for you?” I’m giving her a choice, but if she were feeling my tone (which she always does), she’s sensing the fire bunny.
Without a word, she ever so gradually moves her body to dip her hair in the water. I relax slightly, feeling like this might go okay.
Eventually, I get the soap in her hair and it’s time to wash it out. I give her the choice to pour the water or not.
Nothing.
My old triggers emerge. Like when I was a kid and my voice was too quiet to be heard. Feeling ignored. Feeling insignificant.
The fire bunny can’t take it.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll wash the soap out.”
When the water comes out of the faucet it’s a bit colder having sat for as long as my daughter has spent communing with the universe. When I pour it over her head, she screams, “Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!!!!!”
“What happened?” as my fire bunny heart starts racing and my face gets tense.
“It’s too cold!!!”
I am all logic. No empathy. I feel the water. It’s not hot but it’s not cold either.
“I’m sorry!” I shout. But again, my tone says something else. I’m not sorry, I’m frustrated.
No, I’m overwhelmed.
My wife tags me out. “Why don’t you have a seat and take a breath?”
“I can’t sit right now,” I say. Which is true. I’m in a fight/flight state and the energy needs to move.
“Then go outside,” she says.
I go to our backyard.
The grass is wildly growing as it’s been too rainy to mow just yet. But the rich green color is immediately soothing.
The sky is light enough to see some pink and orange color on the wisps of remaining daytime clouds. A sliver of a moon is crisp in contrast to the indigo coming down from above like a gentle hug from a benevolent sky gaurdian.
I take it in. I make myself stay focused on this slice of beauty just as fire bunny reminds me of the pulsing and fireworks inside me.
I follow the energy—I let my body shake.
I tense and relax my muscles over and over.
I jump up and down.
For a guy who didn’t feel very much most of his life—or better said, shut down his emotional experience at a young age—I am now flooded. As if the feelings I kept at bay by my attempts to fit in, or my attempts to make sure my anger didn’t scare anyone—it’s all backfired.
I feel.
I feel out of alignment with my true self—disconnected from the part of me that is naturally compassionate when others are having a hard time.
I feel sadness.
Back inside, I focus on the bedtime routine. I’m a bit softer but I still have inner work to do. My wife and I have some challenges getting the kids to sleep—this week the clocks changed which always messes with waking and bedtime routines.
I can empathize… Why would they go to sleep now? It’s still light outside and it doesn’t feel like bedtime.
Fire bunny is mad at people who make us change clocks.
As a father, whenever my childhood history springs up in my reactivity, I know it’s back to get resolution. For that night, all I can do is acknowledge. Move some energy. I look at what’s on my plate for the evening:
Writing
Dishes
Yoga
Nighttime vitamins
Except that yoga is always there and I haven’t done any yoga for the past three weeks or so. It keeps getting bumped.
And now, I recognize that I need this practice. I make a decision to do yoga, even if it has me up late. I need my muscles to feel more limber. I need to get my blood flowing.
One could say, I need a cathartic exercise of role play that will help me work out the energies flowing through me and around me.
Yoga lets me play with warrior focus and monk tranquility. I sink into the practice and I am ever so slightly a bit more myself by the end.
I know this about myself: when I am in practice with physical flexibility, I become more relationally flexible—in other words, less irritable.
My yoga practice is back on. Not just on my calendar as it has been, but back in my awareness as a necessity. Back as a more solid commitment for myself and for my family.
What practice might you be keeping at bay that you can welcome back before fire bunny lessons enter your life? Or since fire bunny lessons have already shown up?
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Or just share with someone in your life that could use a little self-compassion for their recent reactivity 🙏
Thank you for this post, Matthew. Many relatable points - from the ordeal of swimming lessons to hair washing! For me, the best practices are journaling (for the mind) and yoga/walking (for the body). Otherwise, as you interwove in your post, the fire bunny shows up and runs rampant.