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Last week I was in the dying throes of a breakup. This was a breakup like any other breakup, not interesting for its particulars. But I did have one of those light bulb moment—that most of my pain in romantic relationships is about me and my own shit getting triggered. I didn’t need to understand him, I needed to understand my reaction to him. Trying to figure him out was a pointless distraction from figuring myself out, because I can only change one of us.
Armed with this newfound wisdom, I wanted to believe that I could think my way out of pain. But while my brain may help me spot unhelpful patterns earlier next time, it did absolutely nothing to help me escape the anger, anxiety, and sleeplessness that our final interactions had wrought on me.
We’ve all been there. Whether it’s a romantic partner, a boss, a friend, or a relative, someone has triggered deep emotion that we can’t get rid of.
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Every time I thought about his last words, my body reacted before my mind could stop it. A flash of anger, frustration, and sadness started as a pain in my stomach, then continued as a hot flush through my chest, up my neck to my head. My mind would try to reason its way out of the pain through endless cycles of imagined conversations and explanations. Lather, rinse, repeat, lose mind.
I meditated through the sensations, trying to move beyond the negative emotions. It provided a momentary respite, during which time I would congratulate myself for having moved on. But sleep tells all, and unresolved emotions woke me up at 3:30am every day.
We’ve all been there. Whether it’s a romantic partner, a boss, a friend, or a relative, someone has triggered deep emotion that we can’t get rid of.
On day four of sleep deprivation, I was fragile and drained. So when a friend invited me to an event called “Connected Breathing” that promised emotional release, I was all over it. As we drove to the event, I told my friend about my week, barely able to hold back the tears. I warned her that I might not be my usual calm, collected self. (This is terrifying to me, therefore I assume it must be terrifying to others too.)
I looked like a Pompeii victim, on my back gasping for air, stuck in the ashes of my suffering.
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We arrived at the appointed house, and 12 of us laid down after we were given just a few instructions: breathe through our mouths, breathe deeply and quickly, and keep going even when you want to stop. We were trying to induce hyperventilation to access our subconscious brain processes.
Three minutes into breathing I started feeling tingling in my hands and feet. Five minutes into my breathing, I was unable to move them. 10 minutes into breathing, my hands were stuck in a claw-like grip and I was paralyzed below the elbows and knees. I looked like a Pompeii victim, on my back gasping for air, stuck in the ashes of my suffering. The teacher had told us we might experience some tingling in our extremities due to tetany. But this was a hell of a lot more than tingling, so I raised my hand/claw and got her attention. Once she told me that paralysis was normal, I relaxed into the breathing again and kept going. As I continued to rock back and forth and breathe through gritted teeth, I had revelations about my relationships with people, and what I wanted to accomplish in my work. I felt more connected to other human beings and their pain, and from that feeling flowed love, forgiveness, and gratitude for people in my life (yes, even the ex).
At some point I noticed that other people were screaming and crying and shouting, and being the competitive gal that I am, I wondered what I was doing wrong. I focused on my mouth and throat and noticed that my teeth were gritted, my jaw clenched.
When I relaxed them, I started sobbing convulsively, with an abandon that my shame and self-judgment have allowed me only two or three times in my adult life. An abandon made possible by the implicit permission of everyone else’s emotional release.
I left with a sense of calm and gratitude, feeling that I had just discovered something significant in my life.
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After about 45 minutes the cacophony died down, the music softened, and it was over. I stopped breathing hard and feeling slowly returned to my limbs. I lay in a state of bliss that even the best drugs couldn’t mimic.
We sat together and shared our experiences. Some had hallucinated, many had experienced various kinds of emotional catharsis. I left with a sense of calm and gratitude, feeling that I had just discovered something significant in my life.
But I’ve experienced temporary relief before. Would this be like a massage glow, fading after an hour or two, leaving me wondering why I spent all that money? Or did this practice hold the potential for lasting change?
Each of the last 5 days I’ve been testing myself by purposely thinking about my ex-partner’s last words to me again. And each day, instead of instigating an endless cycle of emotion and spiraling thoughts, I shrug my shoulders and think to myself, “That’s really too bad. I wish things had ended better.” The profound bodily anger and sadness are gone, replaced by a calm pragmatism.
I’m less reactive to stress in other ways. While driving the last few days, I noticed that I’m a calmer, more generous driver. I’m not as agitated when people jump a stop sign. I let other cars merge into traffic more often. It’s a significant achievement, considering that all my personal growth seems to fall away when I get in the driver’s seat. The car is my last bastion of bitchiness.
Oh, and I’m back to sleeping through the night again.
The power of breathing to relieve my suffering has been proven unexpectedly profound. I understand now that emotional wounding happens in my body, out of reach of conscious thought. I’ve decided to go deeper into the world of somatic healing. I’ll let you know what I find.
A version of this post was originally posted on Medium.com and is republished here with permission from the author.
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Photo credit: Pixabay
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