Chapter 31: Breathing Room
Feelings come and go like clouds in a windy sky. Conscious breathing is my anchor. ~ Thich Nhat Hang
Dropped in mid-journey? Walk Straight is best experienced from the beginning.
Hadley was due April 19th. She had different plans. Although I didn’t know she was a girl yet, it was clear that the baby growing inside me was already determined to take up space in this world, starting with my body. Some babies might like to spend their time on the inside, in shall we say, a wee studio apartment. Not my Hadley. She put in an order for a penthouse from the get-go. By three months, I was well into maternity clothes, by five months, people were congratulating me on almost being there, and by seven months, asking when my twins were due. Needless to say, checking in with my doctor always began with a dreaded weigh-in.
The nurses tried their best to be supportive, with nary a judgmental glance in sight, but I had grown up in an environment where a premium was placed on being slim. I didn’t need the nurses to shame me; I had enough in reserves to do a dandy job all by myself. Facing the medical scale, I slipped out of my flip flops, hoping to avoid the extra ounce or two they might add, and stepped onto the teller of truth and harbinger of humiliation. The nurse moved the large sliding block measuring 50-pound increments from 50 to 100 and onto 150, then began sliding the smaller single-pound block up the horizontal balancing beam. It made it to the end without a budge, the left side of the scale still resting heavily in its starting spot. Reaching up, she shifted the 50-pound block from 150 to 200. The scales didn’t move.
My Mom gained somewhere around 30 pounds during pregnancy. I’d just blown past 72. The nurse ooched the single-pound block up slowly. 201. Didn’t budge. 202, nothing. 203, the scale looked like it might start levitating, at least in my mind, but it was a non-starter, requiring more before reaching the magical number that would bring the scale into equilibrium. She turned her head and looked at me; our eyes met, and then, quicker than quick, her hand swooped across the pound block, scooting it back to zero. “You know, we can stop there. Go ahead and come down. That baby is coming out any day. We’re done here.” By the time Hadley made her entrance almost two weeks later, I couldn’t touch my hands around my body.
In addition to 65 plus pounds on my post-delivery frame, my ribcage stuck out. The bottom ribs appeared perpetually lifted in the front, my lower spine had a way deeper curve than before, and I had a constant ache in my back. Although I figured they were related, at that point, I didn’t think there was anything I could do about it; I didn’t know pregnancy could change your skeleton.
Who would have thought that my nose and sinuses would be the key to fixing my ribs and back?
For the majority of my life, I breathed a little through the nose, a little through the mouth, plowing through antihistamines and enjoying an intermittent Afrin addiction. I had a severely deviated septum on one side of my nose and a slew of allergies. At 18, the septum was fixed, but less than two weeks after surgery, an accidental smack to the nose shoved the newly centered septum to the other side. By 30, I had broken my nose a couple times. Breathing was never without effort.
As very young children, we begin developing what typically becomes an ingrained Pavlovian response during our regular visits to the pediatrician. The doctor takes out his stethoscope, puts it on our chest or back, and asks us to take a deep breath. He or she then usually models the command by taking a big inhale that requires lifting the chest, often the shoulders, too, accompanied by loud breathing sound effects. We mimic the doctor several times as the stethoscope is moved around so they can listen to our hearts and lungs.
Through that universal interaction, reinforced at nearly every doctor’s appointment thereafter, and echoed in breathing imagery, patterns are set. Although we might save the most performative versions for the doctor’s office or when we’re asked to take a deep breath, the familiar strategy remains. The chin tips up, the spine lifts, the chest rises, and the shoulders follow. Inhalation becomes a neck and chest event rather than a diaphragmatic one. Air is released, and the exhale becomes an afterthought.
I’m convinced this early patterning is one of the precursors to what many now describe as an epidemic of inefficient breathing. It’s so familiar we rarely notice it at all. We just do it. People who practice exercise, movement, drama, or music are often introduced to alternative breathing strategies to serve specific goals — involving the belly, mouth, diaphragm, or the lateral and posterior ribcage. But instructions for breathing, like movement, too often rest on assumptions and gaps in physiological understanding. In my experience, even those trained in multiple breathing techniques rarely breathe in ways that consistently support their musculoskeletal structure.
When I was newly pregnant, before Hadley completely took over my body, I went looking for a health-focused pregnancy community. A woman at work mentioned she’d heard great things about a Sikh woman leading pregnancy Kundalini yoga in her condo on the Westside. I didn’t know what a Sikh was. The idea of going to someone’s home to learn a yoga practice with a name I couldn’t say lest I blush, much less spell, along with a bunch of pregnant women I didn’t know, that already knew what they were doing, on the Westside no less, was somewhat terrifying… actually completely terrifying. But I was ready to grow, more than just physically, and the voice screaming “GO!” in my head drowned out the little girl in the corner holding up her hand, “Are we sure?”
So I listened. And on what I feel certain was a Wednesday evening, with my heart pounding out of my chest, I walked up the stairs of a condo somewhere just off 3rd and Sweetzer. At the landing were several pairs of various-sized shoes; so I followed what appeared to be the protocol, slid off my shoes, and set them beside the others.
When no one answered my knock, I slowly opened the door to reveal a woman who would deeply impact my life. She was radiant with deeply tanned skin, wearing a welcoming smile and a bright white turban. From the moment go, my time with Gurmukh was inspiring, invigorating, and exactly where I was supposed to be.
That first class was spent watching and mimicking movements. Everyone was breathing deeply, their chests lifting, the sound of long inhales emanating from their noses, and “Haaaa” as they exhaled mouths opened and relaxed. I did the same and remember feeling faint but elated at this new adventure. The breathing thing would be difficult, but I was up for all of it. Mind you, being pregnant already made breathing difficult, so it was a challenge on top of a challenge. I snorted, gasped, and mouth-breathed myself through the duration of yoga until Hadley was born.
Although breathing in yoga became a bit easier after delivering Hadley freed up some space inside my body, it remained a challenge. That’s when I began to notice my ribs sticking out, but not in a skinny way, in a those bones in front didn’t used to be like that kind of way. We continued counting out long breath cycles as well as short percussive ones, and I became aware of how the various forms of breath affected my body differently. I began to examine breathing more closely. How long was my natural breath cycle? Where did I feel it inside when I inhaled and exhaled? I discovered that the first place I felt breathing was in my nose, followed by the chest, neck, and shoulders. In yoga, I could make my belly stick out during certain breaths when that was the instruction, but the star of the show always remained my nose.
Step one was to figure out how to get my nose out of the equation, as it was my biggest obstacle. I found the key when I tried to bring in air so quietly that my nose wouldn’t notice. At first, there wasn’t enough air, and I’d have to chase the effort with a gulp of air from my mouth. I needed to relax and take my time. I began elongating my inhales to 6 counts or 9, keeping them so quiet I couldn’t hear them in my head, feel them in my nose, or see them in my neck or chest. That is when everything changed.
This approach prevented the swelling or tension that happened in my nose when I pulled air in. It is not an exaggeration to say it was life-altering. I could take deep breaths through my nose without Afrin. All the peripheral muscles chilled out, and my diaphragm kicked in.
I could actually feel my diaphragm expanding deep inside, pulling air into my lungs. Then my ribs began to move; not lift, but widen. It was a weird sensation at first. I felt only one side move. Then, the other side would catch on. It wasn’t smooth either; it was more like there was something sticky inside me that the ribs were having to navigate as they expanded. It took a while, but the ribs finally began expanding together.
Breathing became like an internal chiropractor releasing tension. Bellows that lived inside my torso stretched me from the inside out with every breath. It was nothing short of magical. Within days, the tightness in my neck and shoulders that had led to a decades-long habit of pulling my neck side to side subsided. For the first time, images of a 360-degree diaphragm encircling the base of the ribcage made sense, and the direction to inhale deeply and exhale completely took on a whole new meaning.
And yet, my lower ribs were still sticking up. So I added a new habit to my new breathing regimen. Throughout the day, when my hands were empty, I would practice my breath, but on the exhale, I would slide my hands down the front of my ribcage. With one palm on each side, I’d create a V shape and gently guide my ribs down and in as the exhale progressed until I was empty.
In the early efforts, I noticed myself bending forward a bit, curling my torso down as I pressed on my ribs, so I began practicing standing sideways, looking into a mirror to make sure I didn’t flex forward, or lose any height. In my head, I’d repeat, “Inhale slowly to the count of 6 or 9 so quietly you can’t hear it in your head, feel it in your nose, or sense it in your face. Relax your chest.” As I exhaled, I’d think, “Blow all of the air out of your mouth slowly and evenly like you’re blowing out loads of birthday candles until there is no air left while simultaneously lengthening the spine and relaxing the chest.” A mouthful, yes, but it did the trick.
Over and over, I practiced these routines in my head until they became ingrained habits. It didn’t take long before I could feel the muscles of the abdominals drawing the ribs down and in, encouraged by my hands while I retained length in my spine. As the pattern strengthened, I was able to switch from my mouth to exhaling out of my nose while retaining the dynamic feeling that exhaling out of my mouth provided.
As the ribs in the front of my body found their new home in vertical alignment with the inner pelvic bones and pubic bone, the lowest ribs on the backside followed into vertical alignment with the back of the pelvis. The shift in ribcage alignment reduced the curve in my lower spine, and the pain I had been experiencing since early in my pregnancy disappeared.
I learned to breathe efficiently by creating a mental habit that actively involved most of my senses; I observed through my eyes, felt with my hands, and focused on my body. I believe this is why the repatterning was so successful. Just as there is a difference between sleep and sleeping well, there is a difference between breathing and breathing well. These habit-forming routines are game-changers.
Inhale Routine
Begin Sitting With Intention using the bare bones alignment components from Chapter 29.
Inhale slowly to the count of 6 or 9, so quietly you can’t hear it in your head or feel it in your nose, face, or neck. Keep your chest relaxed. Once you begin to sense movement in your torso as your diaphragm expands, add to your routine the image of your ribs widening in the back and sides.
If it is comfortable to lie on your stomach, practice lying down with your forehead on your hands or head turned to one side. The pressure from the floor on the front of the ribcage facilitates the ribs expanding and opening on the back of the body. In this position, it is important to alternate the direction the head is facing for comfort, observation, and balance.
It can also be helpful to practice seated, holding a pillow in front of your body for support as you curl, not hinge, forward around it. This position supports stabilized ribs in the front body, facilitating expansion of the ribs on the back body.
Explore breathing while relaxed and while activating Anti-Gravity Mode (AGM).
Exhale Routine
Blow all of the air out slowly and evenly, like you’re blowing out a cake packed with birthday candles. Continue blowing until there is no air left while simultaneously lengthening the spine in Anti-Gravity Mode (AGM) and relaxing the chest. Explore counting from six to fifteen seconds.
Exhaling audibly out of the mouth as you “blow out the candles” is the most conducive approach for natural internal activation when practicing controlled exhales. We often just release air rather than expel it, or contract the torso to push it out. Both result in ineffective patterns.
Breathing matters because it is happening all the time, whether we are paying attention or not. It quietly shapes how load moves through the ribs, how the spine organizes itself, and how much unnecessary work the body does just to stay upright. When breathing is inefficient, those costs accumulate slowly and predictably. And because most of us never think to examine it, we breathe well enough to keep us alive, but undermine the healing potential it offers.
Do you have a tight neck? Shoulders? Could be the way you breathe… I’d love to hear from you. xD