My Breath Story

Image by Daniel Lorin from Lummi.ai

The Early Years

I was a child with asthma. Serious bouts of it had my father rushing me past lines of patients into our family doctor's rooms so that I could receive an adrenaline shot to revive me. This continued into my twenties, although not as intensely as in childhood; it was still present, especially during stressful times.

My childhood and early adulthood were a war zone of stress, with pressure detonating periodically and leaving me frozen. Looking back, I wonder if some of those episodes were panic attacks and anxiety presenting as asthma, a psychological and full-bodied reaction to my environment and circumstances.

Stress and Survival

In my thirties, the symptoms disappeared. But in my early forties, the familiar tightness returned. I visited my doctor, and she prescribed a rescue inhaler, which I used as needed. I always kept one nearby, just in case.

Then, in 2018, I landed in the Intensive Care Unit (ICU). A virus had reduced my lung capacity to fifty-two percent at the time of my admission. I had been feeling breathless for weeks, but I was so disconnected from my body that I ignored all the signs it was giving me.

The ICU and the Wake-Up Call

I was in a ward with gravely ill people. Machines beeped and screeched at night as someone's heart stopped, and they surrendered to death. I was weak, could barely walk, was on oxygen, and had missed my first-ever solo trip to Bali.

After a week in the hospital, I begged my doctor to let me go home, promising I had a support system in place. He agreed. But Bali was out of the question. I was off work for almost a month.

I remember attempting a yoga class a few weeks after I was discharged. My arms were bruised, lines of blue, green, and black from the IV drips. My entire body trembled in that class as it tried to move in ways it was not yet ready to. It took weeks to get through a full class and a year to regain my lung capacity, just in time for COVID.

The Cortisone Pump and the Compromise

The pulmonologist prescribed Symbicort, a cortisone pump, and said I would need to take it for the rest of my life. That episode had scared me, so I made peace with the medication. However, the side effects over long periods of use concerned me. I reduced the dosage to once a day, at night, and that seemed to work. I was still working in a stressful role and often felt a clammy tightness in my chest. Taking the pump seemed to help.

Forty Days of Breath and a New Understanding

In January 2024, I began my breathwork training. One of the practical exercises was to complete forty consecutive days of breathing for at least twenty minutes and to record my observations, thoughts, and insights.

By then, I had been out of corporate life for less than a year and had been certified in many body-based modalities. I was beginning to connect with my body and learning to listen to the cues it offered.

Learning to Listen to My Body

During the forty-day practice, breath awareness became my daily ritual. I began to notice a pattern. When I felt anxious, my chest would tighten, and I would instinctively reach for my pump. It did bring relief, but I started to question whether the symptoms were only physical or whether something else was contributing.

There were psychological, energetic, and even spiritual layers to explore. I had always been an anxious person. I had just never thought of myself as one. Perhaps my lifelong asthma diagnosis had been treating anxiety and panic, without ever naming them as such.

So, with my doctor's knowledge, I began to experiment. I paused before taking the pump and chose to breathe through the sensations instead.

Breath as Medicine

What I discovered was powerful. My breath calmed my system, and in doing so, reduced the pressure in my chest. I have not taken the pump since. There are still a few boxes tucked away in a cupboard, a kind of safety net, but I have not needed them.

Now, I use my breath to meet whatever arises. Humming Bee is my favorite, so is the psychological sigh, and balanced breathing. But it was daily breath awareness that changed everything.

What My Breath Has Taught Me

For the first time in my life, I breathe deeply without the breath getting stuck. I have come to understand that repressed emotions can alter our ability to breathe freely. But awareness is a powerful catalyst for change.

Awareness invites us to stop, observe, become curious, and then choose how to respond. It reminds us that our bodies are always speaking. We just need to learn how to listen.

The Invitation

As a practitioner, I want to give others hope. Sometimes, what is familiar is not necessarily what is good for us. Childhood diagnoses, long-term medication, and beliefs that once kept us safe may need to be reviewed through the lens of healing.

There is courage in searching for a different kind of medicine. Often, it is found in the simplest things - sunshine, fresh air, movement, music, connection, gratitude, kindness, and your breath.

Your breath is a superpower, if ever there was one.

Most of what we need to heal is already within our reach. The salve for our unhealed wounds is not to be found externally. It begins with a willingness to change and a desire to move through all that has been, toward a place where your breath flows freely.

How liberating it is to be alive and to take a deep, full, beautiful breath.

Disclaimer: This is a personal story and not a substitute for medical advice. Please speak to your doctor before changing or stopping any medication or course of treatment.

With Gratitude

Surayya Hassan - The Holding Space