Learning to Breathe
April 5, 2023
Breathing is not new to me. Grief is.
I used to think grief was the feeling you had when someone you loved passed away. Now I recognize it in so many more subtle and unexpected places.
And it just popped up again. This time, it’s grief about breathing. Yes, you read that right.
Once again, I’m sharing in case anyone can relate or has had a similar experience but never really realized it before.
Here’s the story:
A few years ago, I became aware of the fact that I hold my breath sometimes. Actually, a lot of times.
It is usually an anxiety thing. When I am afraid or nervous. I named it bracing. In fact, my whole body tenses and braces. I know the language for it now. It’s my stress response system putting me in freeze (flight, fight, freeze, fawn) to protect me from whatever my mind has convinced me is most certainly coming. Bracing for the worst case scenario all the time.
A friend asked me this week, “What does it mean when you’re not breathing?” My answer - “You’re dead.” And really, that’s how it feels sometimes in those moments. It’s crippling.
But I learned something else about myself this week. I have this new person in my life (Reclaiming Melissa) who is an expert in bodies and trauma and healing. When I was working with her last week, I announced that I was going to take a deep breath. (Doesn’t everyone announce their deep breath before they take it???)
She stopped me and asked me to exhale first. I’m sure my face gave away my confusion. She went on to explain that trauma held in our bodies often means we don’t use the range of our lungs to breathe. Even when we intentionally take a big, deep one.
And when you exhale before taking a deep breath, you can access the range of your lungs more broadly. It’s like tricking out your brain and lungs.
I tried it and it worked!
And then I moved on with my day. And the next few days.
Until a few nights ago. I was laying in bed trying to give myself permission to go to sleep. I started focusing on my breathing. And I started visualizing what she had taught me.
I visualized my lungs like a tube. And I am only typically breathing within the center 33%. I don’t ever get into the upper 33% when I inhale or the lower 33% when I exhale.
To get myself to breathe in the upper and lower 33% I had to slow waaaaaayyyy down. And be really intentional. I practiced for a half hour. And I started to listen to my inner self talk as I did it.
I was getting mad at myself for taking so much time to fully breathe. I was telling myself to hurry up. “What is wrong with you? You can’t even breathe right.”
Gah!
And I’ve been thinking about all the times I’ve braced and restricted my breathing. In times of fear. In times of uncertainty. And, as a self-conscious teen, intentionally breathing shallowly to keep my mid-section from sticking out further - something society tells women is unattractive.
But when we know better, we can often do better. So, I have been practicing deep and methodical breathing each night and when I’m in the car. And I’ve been practicing showing myself love and acceptance while I practice.
SIDE NOTE: The people in my life who went to school for vocal music appear to rock at this!
I, however, am teaching my body something new. Using an organ to its fullest capacity that has been over half disengaged for as long as I can remember.
And in the quiet moments one morning this week, the grief slowly crept in.
Grief that I have been holding back but am now embracing. Grief that I have lost so much time fully using and engaging and appreciating my lungs and all they provide me.
It’s funny how many, myself included, believe the lungs hold the emotion of grief. And the lungs have often been a vulnerable place in my body - regularly succumbing to chest infections, bronchitis, pleurisy, pneumonia.
I am also accepting a new appreciation and understanding for my body that stepped in to protect me in the way it felt it needed to so many years ago.