Breathwork

I joined a breathwork class on Oct 30, 2025. It was my first time, and I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect. I had heard and read a variety of things and knew, at the very least, that it would be a unique experience. Maybe relaxing, maybe an emotional rollercoaster. I had heard it could be healing, both emotionally and physically, that you could breathe into areas of your body holding pain or illness.

When I arrived, I spotted a friend and waved energetically, slightly anxious as I navigated the sea of people. I asked if I could place my own mat on top of one that was already laid out. The answer was yes. I settled into my spot in the full room, adjusted the provided pillow, and chose to roll the blanket under my knees for support.

We began with instructions, since a few of us were newbies. Then we were shown the primary breathing pattern: deep breath into your stomach, into your chest, then fully out, repeat. The instructor explained that there might be sobbing, laughing, or even yelling. She encouraged everyone to leave their ego at the door, to experience their emotions fully, and reminded us that if we heard laughter, it wasn’t directed at us. It was simply another valid emotional expression.

We started with slow breathing and gradually moved into the full pattern. Lying down with my eyes covered and my back firmly planted, I followed the instructions. At first, I felt dizzy, so I slowed my breathing slightly but continued without stopping, as instructed. Then I started to feel anxious. The breathing was loud, the music was loud, my eyes were covered, and my hearing felt heightened.

The theme she was speaking about was desire. The desire that surfaced for me was control. Control started with me, right there on that mat. Controlling the anxiety that was building, recognizing that I was safe, controlling my breath, and trusting the process. Oddly enough, I also felt the urge to laugh because everything felt so overwhelming, which was exactly what she had said to allow. My desire for control was an extension of my ego. I was controlling my expression, and that meant I needed to find balance.

She talked about feeling your desire to be free, to be bold. She encouraged everyone to be themselves, to be in their bodies, to express their emotions, to breathe deeply into where we are blocked and release it. She said some of us might be tense from feeling stuck in life and that we should breathe into it and let it go.

As she spoke, I realized how much work I have done over the last few years. I am not stuck. I am not dampened. I am in control. I am bold. I am reaching out and trying to do what I want, even when it is scary. I have arrived.

I also realized that everyone is on a journey. As I calmly breathed healing into my body, surrounded by people feeling so deeply, crying, sobbing, laughing, exhaling loudly, I understood something that felt obvious in hindsight. I had always felt alone in my struggles. I assumed everyone else was okay, that they had it together. This room was full of strong, beautiful women who were there to feel, to open up, to heal, and to let go. So many people carry pain despite appearances. Our journeys are only as isolated as we make them. I wish I had known that sooner.

As we moved deeper into the exercise, the breathing pace slowed and the room began to calm. The energy shifted as the remaining few people still processing their emotions softened, their sobs quieting, as if a burden had been released.

She then guided us into a visual phase, which was the most powerful part for me. I focused on the breath entering and leaving my body, taking in fresh air and releasing what no longer served me. I reflected on what I had discovered and felt proud of where I am, appreciative of the opportunities I’ve had to learn and heal, and grateful for the small moments of growth that compounded over time.

During this phase, I realized I was being guided through another layer of healing. Healing is never final, but I felt deeply connected to my inner child, the one who yearns for affection, recognition, and a hug. In my vision, I hugged her. My ancestors hugged her too, in the form of a fire, warm but not damaging, because we are Centerfires.

The vision guided us through watching a sunset, rich with oranges and reds, then toward an ember in a fire. As I approached it, the ember grew larger and its warmth began to move through my body, from my legs up through my torso. I reached out and circled my hands around it, feeling its heat. In my vision, I took my husband’s hand. He was there with me, supporting me. We exchanged smiles as I stepped closer to the fire, as instructed.

The ember, she said, was our desire.

I lifted the ember and pulled it into my body. My desire was connection. I yearned for control because I wanted life’s distractions to stop blocking my path. This desire for connection includes learning about my family, my culture, my history, and sharing it with those who need it. Our history is medicine, and that desire lives at my center.

As I drew the ember into my heart center, I saw my family. My sisters. My mother. We stood strong together, hands clasped over our hearts, holding our fire. That was when I began to cry. These were tears of joy, love, and being loved. I cried because I had lived through so much, and now I was here, connecting my physical body to my spirit and ready to connect my spirit to my ancestors.

As I held my center fire, I held my inner child. The fire wrapped around her and warmed her. She felt safe. My body settled into the ground. I lay in corpse pose, fully relaxed. My forehead softened. My jaw unclenched. My throat relaxed. My arms grew heavy against the floor. My torso, pelvis, legs, feet, and hands all relaxed. My breath came in gently, wrapping around me like a blanket, holding both who I am now and the younger self I carry within me.

We have made small connections before, but this one felt different. It felt meaningful. I now understand that my desires come from deep inside, and I only need to act on those that serve me. The ones that don’t, I can acknowledge and let go. This also means making space for rest. I am a powerful woman, and my desire for productivity is strong, but I am learning to recognize when that serves me and when I need to simply rest.

As different as this experience was, I would highly recommend it.

I hesitate to say it is for any stage of life, but based on how many women were crying, it may be especially powerful earlier on, before you arrive where you are meant to be. If you attend a breathwork session, consider what you want to breathe into beforehand. These sessions often have themes. If possible, learn the theme in advance and give it some thought.

Or don’t.

I chose not to. I felt I had already been reflecting deeply and was ready for whatever surfaced. I was pleasantly surprised by what I found.

Image: This photo was taken in March this year during the Spring Equinox. A couple of friends and I, the friend who referred me to the breathwork class, actually, burned our wreaths, which were made during the winter solstice.