Just breathe

I realized today that I have been holding my breath for four years.  Yes, I’ve obviously taken in oxygen but not with my body really moving, not taking a true deep breath.

I realized this while laying on my side on a massage table as my friend used a type of bodywork called craniosacral therapy on my back and ribs.  We thought she was working on tightness from my shoulder surgery and wearing a sling.  That is until she moved to one spot in particular on my right (non-surgery) side and, as it softened, I had the thought, “That spot hasn’t breathed in four years!”  I was seriously giddy as I left her house.

An hour and a half later, my lungs are still suddenly taking deep breaths, like they just can’t believe they are actually free.  To celebrate, I decided to try a little cup of gelato that’s been in my freezer for weeks…and as I ate (the whole thing, sorry family), my right arm would just float up in the air with the spoon.  I don’t know ballet, but I’m pretty sure that’s what it was doing.

Here’s the thing: I know how to breathe.  I can do it in my sleep.  I also know how to encourage my body to calm down, breathing into my abdomen and expanding my rib cage.  I just taught a breathing exercise to two other women recently, for cripes sake!  And yet, I wasn’t really breathing myself.

I’m done listing our traumas.  I have written about many of them on ComeSoAlive.com, so if you’re just tuning in, you can find them there.  But they need to float away just like my arm was doing.  Like balloons, it is time to release them.

Suffice it to say, the last four years have been horrible.  As my rib cage let go of something that it had been holding on to during that time, I realized, somewhere along the way, I put on a backpack that has been slowly collecting bricks.  One brick of terror and trauma at a time so I wasn’t really paying attention to them all as a whole, to just how much pressure their total weight exerted on my back, my ribs, my breath.

I know exactly what that first brick represents: Chuck’s text telling me that the doctor set a date for his (first) open-heart surgery.

I had previously experienced other terrifying news and traumatizing events, but that one in particular froze my lungs. I was sitting on my couch when my phone pinged with his message…and suddenly I couldn’t breathe.  My brain felt like my skull just disappeared – there was this big floating sensation of nothing holding it in anymore.

Yes, that’s a good brick to let go.

So, after it fell apart and drifted away, I ate gelato and let my arm dance while feeding me.
…
I got stuck writing this post because I don’t know how to end it. I don’t have a magic, one-size-fits-all solution for how to lay down your bricks, to have that physical release followed by the freedom to just breathe.

I think maybe the first step is to simply take that backpack off. Sit down, unzip it, and unpack it (as scary as that is). Alone. With a loved one. With a therapist.

Start with just one brick. Cut the string that has tethered it to you for too long. Inhale in freedom; let your arms float and dance.

Celebrating with a cup of gelato can’t hurt either.