From Practice to Embodiment: Living the Breath
When I first began this journey with breathwork, it felt like something outside of me. A tool I had to remember to use, a practice I would set aside time for. Over time, as I shared in my last blog, it expanded beyond myself, helping me connect more deeply with others and the world around me.
Now, I find myself entering yet another layer. Breathwork is becoming less of a practice I “do” and more of a way I live.
What I mean is this, the breath is no longer something I only turn to in sessions, or in moments of overwhelm. It has started to weave itself into the fabric of my everyday life. Not just when I consciously stop and take a breath, but in the awareness of how I move through the world.
I notice how I hold my breath when I’m waiting for someone’s approval, or when I’m anxious about an outcome. I notice how shallow my breathing becomes when I’m rushing, or how it deepens when I’m truly present. And in these moments, the breath gently invites me back. Without judgement, without pressure, just a quiet reminder - here I am, here you are, right now.
It’s subtle, but powerful. Like a gentle thread running through the day, holding me steady.
This shift feels important because it’s teaching me something I never realised before. Healing isn’t always about big breakthroughs or dramatic changes. Sometimes it’s about the small, steady, embodied choices we make every single day. Choosing to soften the shoulders. Choosing to breathe before speaking. Choosing to meet ourselves, again and again, with kindness.
And the more I practise this, the more natural it becomes. The breath is no longer just a tool, it’s becoming part of who I am.
That doesn’t mean it’s perfect, or that I always remember. Far from it.
There are still days when I get swept away, when the old patterns and stories pull me under. But even then, the breath is waiting. Ready to welcome me back the moment I choose to return.
Living the breath, for me, is about trust. Trusting that I don’t need to control or force everything. Trusting that my body knows how to find its own rhythm, if I only let it. Trusting that presence is always available, no matter how many times I forget.
So perhaps this is what embodiment means. Not reaching some final destination, but allowing the breath to be with me, in the joy, in the grief, in the mundane. In all of it.
Because life is still messy, uncertain, and beautifully human. But when I live it with breath, I feel more rooted, more resilient, and more alive.
