“Just breathe.” Why did those two simple words from a well-intentioned, caring person make me so angry!? Clearly others expect those words to help, but how? As I hear the words, the intensity of my emotions feel once again unseen. It feels like confirmation that I will never be understood. That I am over-reactive. Too sensitive.
Sometimes, my own mind says to me, “Just breathe”. I know it’s a desperate internal attempt to find calm. “Just breathe, damn it!” These are moments it feels my own mind also betrays me. My thoughts move into an anxious spiral to match my body. My heart races faster. My breathing gets shallower and difficult. The opposite of everything I’m trying to make happen. Any attempts to meditate or pray leave me with the same overwhelming result.Why does the breath help others but not me?
For some of us, even paying attention to our own breath is a trigger.
Breath = Body
Focusing on my breath meant focusing on my body – not a safe place to be. I didn’t know it at the time, but I spent decades detached from my body. Dissociated. Thinking, always thinking. Be busy. Be productive. Work harder. Research. Study. Learn. Worry. Plan. Do. Just do! Anything but be still enough to notice my breath or any stillness within.
Do anything to stay in your head at all times! My mind was a far safer place to be than noticing anything about my body – even my breath. This was my unchosen mantra.
Yoga Slowed Me Down
Eventually, I found yoga classes and learned to return to my body, but oh so slowly! 10+ years of showing up in a messy way. I settled into an acceptance that nobody was forcing me to be in my body too much or for too long. (Not that I had any words for the discomfort at the time).
I finally found a rhythm, a pace I could manage in yoga classes.
I remained mostly in my head. Nobody knew (not even me), that I could focus on my body only for a few seconds before I fixated on the bodies of my instructor or people around me.
As years went by, yoga helped me to tolerate slowing down from the inside. I could then notice little bits of my body. I tuned into which muscles were tight, areas I felt strong, and parts that were shaky. I became aware of when my posture was slumped or rigid. Just a little noticing. Not too much. The urge to flee hit if I noticed too much.
Sometimes noticing anything about my body brought waves of emotion that felt intolerable. Then I would pull my focus away from my breath or body and found solace in my busy mind again.
Savasana is Stillness
For years, I skipped out on savasana, the restful meditation at the end of yoga class. I quickly rolled up my mat with my eyes down, ashamed that I was incapable of what others could tolerate. I masked that shame with critical thoughts of how weird these yoga people are…and darted out of the room as the class settled into stillness. I knew the soft, gentle voice of my teacher, urging me to focus on my breath, to just breathe, would shift me back into fear and anxiety.
Savasana is stillness. Stillness was intolerable.
Prayer and Meditation
Like yoga or focusing on my breath, prayer and meditation triggered me for years and years. Some days, even walking into my quiet place of worship flooded my body with anxiety. Just breathe wasn’t helping. There were many days that I never even sat down, just anxiously turned around and walked back out the door once the overwhelming panic filled my body.
I returned to my car, telling myself just breathe. Just breathe. Then angrily berated myself that I could not. I felt like a failure.
My faith was strong. I believed in the power of prayer. Why was it impossible for my body? I felt ashamed that my body did not align with God, with truth, and with my own beliefs.
Grounding Through Breath
I did not give up. Trauma healing has taught me more than anything else – that I am resilient.
In time, and with a whole lot of practice, I have finally found my breath to be a consistent place where I can ground myself. This took many years of inner work – mostly through trauma therapy – EMDR, IFS, somatic therapy. I also found group therapy, continued yoga, slowly built friendships and learned to start trusting people. Opening to people who earned my trust has been powerful. I have even been able to pray now. And just breathe.
The process to find an anchor in my own breath was painfully slow. I learned that this is the pace of the body. A pace that makes change last.
Now I turn to my breath like a steady friend, knowing that my focus on it will calm my nervous system. Just breathe. When I am flooded, overwhelmed with big emotion, I resist the urge to hide from others and isolate in my depression. Instead, I return to my breath to again feel grounded.
Safe.
I return to an ability to connect with myself and other people. When I can just breathe, my breath touches the divine within me.
It doesn’t always work…but it mostly works. And it at least works more than ever before. I love my breath now. I have finally found the gift God wanted me to have since His Spirit first breathed life into my cells. I love my body now and how it talks to me. I stay for savasana. I can meditate. At least for a few minutes. Sometimes. And I love stillness.
In stillness, I have found great strength. Knowing. I have not always found peace, but I always find me. I have finally met all of me. Or maybe most of me. I am still learning who I am. My body in stillness always communicates something to me, even if that is an awareness of fear and anxiety or that I am about to numb and shutdown. In the surrender to my breath, to my body, to stillness – I am surrendering to whatever I hold within.
Thank you for sharing such a powerful and intimate journey of reconnecting with your body and breath. It’s so beautifully raw, and it’s a reminder of how healing isn’t linear—it takes time, patience, and a deep amount of self-compassion. I especially resonated with your experience of “just breathe” being a trigger, as it can often feel dismissive of the complex emotions we carry, rather than offering comfort.
I love how you’ve slowly cultivated a relationship with your breath, transforming something that once triggered anxiety into an anchor for calm. Your progress is inspiring, and it shows how important it is to go at your own pace—healing is truly about finding what works for you.
I admire your courage in embracing stillness and learning to listen to your body. It’s a reminder that true healing comes from not forcing ourselves to “fix” or rush, but by allowing ourselves to be present with what is.
Your words about learning to love your breath and body are so uplifting. It’s incredible to hear how far you’ve come—thank you for sharing your light with us!