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.