The importance of breath.
‘We all have a medicine cabinet inside of us; it’s called our breath.’
As I sit down to write this essay, the above quote (from a friend, reflected by another friend) sits at the forefront of my mind. It could not be more fitting for the topic at hand: the importance of breath.
Because, ultimately, there is no end to its benefits. To its value. It is the thread that underpins everything, from regulating our stress response to improving our physical health.
My own relationship with breath is a complicated one – which feels bizarre to write, since breathing is the most natural and (should be) uncomplicated thing in the world. And yet, for me, breath is the first thing that goes out of the window whenever anxiety comes knocking. It becomes erratic. When I have emotional flashbacks, it rises like a boiling pot of water high up to my collarbones, clinging tight with its debilitating claws. Breath becomes something that I fear – because the moment it slips out of sync, it means that a storm is approaching.
And yet – it is also the thing that brings me back down to earth.
When I reflect on my pranayama practice, it is clear that breath guides me through the changing seasons of my life.
I am struck by the amount of times hummingbird breath has quickly eased an episode of deep anxiety, an emotional flashback or a moment of stress. Every time, it managed to centre me, free my mind and create more space. Likewise, when I have felt unsettled or lacking in energy, pranayama has filled me with exuberance: I have quite literally left the practice even a short one) in a different state of mind after practicing Surya Bedhana or Lion’s breath. And then there’s the times that pranayama has birthed new ideas for me: after an Enzo breath practice, a poem that I didn’t even know existed tumbled from my pen.
This isn’t a coincidence, and it certainly isn’t a placebo. A consistent pranayama practice improves brain function, lowers stress levels and regulates the nervous system. According to The Science of Breath, there are only two known ways of gaining conscious control over the involuntary nervous system, and one is ‘by systematically practicing breathing exercises and preparing oneself for understanding the various vehicles and channels of prana.’ It can then take us into the parasympathetic nervous system; the space where we can fully allow the body to relax. Alternatively, we can use it to bring more fire and energy into our internal world. It’s the gift that keeps on giving.
Which is why it is such an intrinsic part of yoga. Yes, we are taking our students through a movement practice. But this is just the outer layer; the shell surrounding the truly extraordinary work. More importantly, we are guiding them through an internal transformation. If breathwork has been proven to enhance this, why would we not take hold of it with both hands and place it at the core of our teachings?
Everything we do requires breath.
Movement. Digestion. Thinking. It all calls for breathwork. By breathing more deeply and more intentionally, our everyday functions will improve. However, for me, that’s just the tip of the iceberg. One of my standout points in The Science of Breath was about prana and the mind. ‘He who has controlled his mind has also controlled his breath.’ The book also talks about how breathwork can become ‘a potential tool for intervention in interrupting or controlling undesired emotional response patterns.’ GAME-CHANGER. As someone who flits between emotions easily (although it feels far from easy), this set off an almighty lightbulb in my mind. It’s an invaluable tool – I’m sure – for so many. If I can do one thing throughout my pranayama teaching, it will be to encourage students to turn to their breath to help regulate spikes of emotion. It’s life changing.
Now, let’s put all the cards on the table – despite knowing how integral pranayama is for physical, mental and emotional health, as well as acting as a portal to higher spiritual awareness, it is the element of my yoga practice that I neglect the most. Why? It’s a question I ask myself on a daily basis. I think that the reality is the same as that which comes with my meditation practice: I am afraid of what I will find in the silence. In Jessamyn Stanley’s book of essays Yoke: My Yoga of Self-Acceptance, she writes: ‘The stillness lives between the cracks in your chaos.’ Sometimes (a lot of the time) I feel like my small corner of existence is a never-ending cycle of chaos. One block of chaos rolls into another, and stillness can seem like a faraway fantasy. Undoubtedly, this means that I need to seek it out more, more, more. I should welcome those cracks, rather than hide from them.
It is our responsibility to care of our body and mind.
And as I move through my life, this is becoming increasingly important. In The Science of Breath, it states that: ‘according to yoga and the science of pranayama, disease is a manifestation of an imbalance in the flow of prana.’ We all know that the NHS is grappling amidst an ever-building dam of understaffing, over capacity and lacking funds. The simple fact is that we cannot rely on our current medical system to fix every ailment; and nor should we. Let’s go back to that quote at the start of this essay; it’s time to open up that medicine cabinet. In a personal capacity, my physical and mental health has taken a beating these past few months. I now have an overwhelming need to climb back into the driver’s seat. I know that my breathwork must be a regular and powerful part of that.
I feel excited to bring this knowledge into my yoga classes – to help other students who may also resist the magic of pranayama for reason either similar or totally polar to mine. As a teacher, I hope to plant seeds: seeds that my students can take pride, ownership and joy in nourishing. Breathwork will lay the soil for these seeds to thrive.
