I Don't Have Time for Breathwork
By Francisca Hernandez
Thursday, April 29, 2021
I didn't have time for breathwork last Sunday. Yes, I always feel lighter and more connected after breathwork, but Conscious Connected Breathwork isn't always enlightening.
You see, something magical happens every once in a while; the music and atmosphere are just right. And that's what makes me come back time and time again.
Back to work
Getting back into the groove of working after a week's vacation wasn't too hard. Especially after hearing my client on Saturday say, "You're meant to do this work. If you never do anything else, that's fine. But please don't stop doing this work. It's magic." I'd just guided her through an in-person two-hour Reiki, Conscious Connected Breathwork, Aromatherapy, and Oracle reading session.
On Sunday, I knew my regular breathwork client was on the books and that I was leading an exclusive group Conscious Connected Breathwork session. But I woke up later than I usually would because I'd settled into vacation mode and had turned off all my alarms.
I don't have time for breathwork.
Trying to fit morning pages, walking Rocky, meditation, yoga, breathwork, and getting presentable seemed impossible. I was gonna have to miss doing something in my Sunday self-nurturing routine.
Typically skipping any one of these isn't a big deal. But that day, I kept getting the nudge that said, "you have time for breathwork." I got the nudge in morning pages, then again while stretching, then again while walking Rocky.
Sometimes breathwork is challenging. You never know what you're going to get. Breathing through sad feelings, trauma, anger, and sometimes numbness isn't always easy. So you can see why anyone would hesitate to take the extra time for breathwork.
I finally gave in right before my shower. I looked through my playlist, rearranged some songs, got in bed, pushed play, and breathed.
And boy, am I glad I did because I had no idea what I would experience during that Sunday breathwork session.
Since I was short on time, I used the straw method. And by the second song, I was balling. "Maybe I don't know, but maybe that's okay," Jon Bellion sang. Maybe I don't know what my next step will be, and maybe that's okay. I thought to myself through tears as I went back to breathing.
"You're meant to do this work. If you never do anything else, that's fine. But please don't stop doing this work. It's magic." My client's words were swimming in my head.
The next song came on. Memories of fights with my exes started coming up.
Then memories of my dad swimming out to get me and carrying me on his back flooded in.
When the undertow takes you in
When I was a kid, my dad often took us to the beach after church on Sundays. With seven kids, I guess any free outdoor activity was ideal. I must've been around 8 or 9 years old because it was a couple of years before my father passed.
While playing in the shallow part of the water, my younger brother, two sisters, and I somehow drifted off and could no longer reach the ocean floor. By the time we knew it, the undertow had taken us about fifty feet from the shore.
Not too far, but it's a scary thing when you aren't a great swimmer, and your siblings are panicking. We noticed a small wrecked boat and swam to it. As we clung to the safety of the barnacled side of the vessel, we called out to our dad on the beach.
After a man on the shore started throwing a line out to us, my dad realized we weren't goofing around and started towards us. Thinking that it was no big deal, he laughingly walked out to us and then quickly sank into the dip, resurfaced then swam to us. After he reached us, he carried us one by one back to the safety of the shore.
Feeling a sense of being carried and tightness in my heart, I placed my hand on my chest because I sensed that the energy was not flowing there. Through tears of remembrance, I found the pace that was right for me as I breathed into my belly, then into my chest, then relaxed the exhale.
And I kept breathing, keeping my inhales deep and full, my exhales soft, and my breath connected. Making more space with each breath.
Then I asked myself, what would it feel like if I could fully trust?
"We don't talk enough. We should open up. Before it's all too much. Will we ever learn? We've been here before. It's just what we know." Harry Styles sang as memories of a dream I'd had of my father's hand on mine started flooding in.
When you have no idea how you're gonna fix it
I was low on cash in my late thirties, jobless, living at my mom's house, and had gone back to an abusive relationship when my red Chevy Cavalier broke down.
I had found the strength to end the relationship a few weeks before when I'd felt my dad or something lift my spirits as Pink Floyd's "Wish You Were Here" played on the car stereo.
But there I was again, trying to figure out how I would get myself out of that abusive relationship, fix my car, get a job, and fix my life.
And then my dad visited me in a dream. I was looking at the car engine, trying to figure out how to fix it. My dad stood there next to me and didn't say a word. He just put his hand over mine in that dream. And I knew things were somehow going to be alright.
An overwhelming sensation of love and energy began exploding throughout my entire body.