Breathwork

Breathwork at Well Collab Acupuncture is:

A form of active meditation. And it is really active, which is why I currently limit it to a quick, 30 minute group session that consists of:
- Groups that take place through Zoom, where everyone’s video and audio are shut off, so you don’t have to worry about anyone else seeing or hearing you
- Groups, because even though it’s through Zoom, the energy is palpable. How? Well, that’s the answer to the question of why I am a breathwork facilitator. As the person holding space for the group, whether it’s 2, 20, or 200 people, I’m doing just that: my own form of active meditation, which consists of guiding you, holding space for you, and connecting you.
- I start everyone out with the intention for the session that day, and I talk a little bit about how it’s universally relevant. If the group is small, I often know how it’s relevant to the participants and through anonymity still tie it into your personal life, which can be helpful for the actual breathwork aspect of it.
- …the breathing, aka the werk: you lay down. You have what you need with you. The work consists of two sharp intakes of breath, and then a quick and forceful exhale. Sharp intake one: into your belly. Sharp intake 2: into your chest. And then exhale it all out. This three part breathing does not stop, unless you want it to. If you get dizzy, slow down. If you feel out of control, breathe into that. Part of what makes it work is letting your body experience it all. Because: you’re laying down. And you’re breathing. And you’re safe. So you go at your own pace, and the work is knowing when it’s time to push yourself a bit, and do a little more breathing.
Something that can change your relationship to yourself, your body, how you experience the world, creativity, pain, sadness, anger, joy…

Breathwork at Well Collab acupuncture is not:

Easy, lol. Because it is work, and I don’t want you to think that you’re breathing softly and mindfully for 10-15 minutes… and that’s it. There are meditations like that; this just isn’t one of them. The active breathing portion is really active, and is good for someone who’s feeling angsty, ADHDy, monkey-mind-y, or an overwhelm of any emotion (regret, desire, anger, guilt, sadness… add your own here).

How do you find yourself coping?

We have a myriad of ways to disconnect, to soothe, to distract… but all paths ultimately lead to dissociation as the most “effective” way to push away stress.

It’s a coping mechanism. It’s how we tune out and feel less. It’s us slamming on the breaks of being human and slipping into automaton for just a brief moment (or, for long stretches of moments).

Feeling can suck. Remember being a teenager?

Well, you may have grown out of the angst but the feelings are still there. You just have more socially acceptable ways of dealing with them now.

ENTER EMBODIED PRACTICES AND FOR THIS PARTICULAR MOMENT IN TIME, ENTER BREATHWORK.

Embodied practices help to re-sociate you.

Many of us are coming out of what has been a mind boggling juxtaposition: in the midst of a literal, actual global pandemic, we have been largely confined to our homes and yet in this social distance, we’re ever the more connected through social media.

You need theory and practicum to learn anything, and within this pandemic there’s just been a whole lot of theory (that’s the social media) without a lot of practice (actually being social).

We have been consuming, taking in, often binging on non-stop news that circulates around the world, without being in the world. So it often gets stuck, in a pit, in your stomach, because it’s too much. We are taking in too much.

A particular type of imbalance begins, or maybe this unsteadiness has already been a part of your life. I know that for myself, I have great trouble with taking in, pausing, digesting, and then moving on. What ends up happening is I take in take in take in because it’s all so exciting and informative to me, and then it just piles up: undigested. Relatively unknown. Ungrown. Untended.

AFTER ALL, WE’RE ALL A PART OF THIS MODERN WORLD.

We’re not particularly inspired to pause to absorb, synthesize, and reflect before moving on to the next thing.

In fact, we’re often encouraged to do the opposite: take it all in and deal with it later.

And then there’s the consequences of the virus itself: it attacks the lungs, our source for literal and (at least in Chinese medicine) metaphorical inspiration. Breathing affords us space. It expands the boundaries of the alveoli to allow for an exchange of oxygen and carbon dioxide. It keeps us on our feet (as in, we can remain upright, should we not pass out). The rhythmic nature of it sets the beat for our digestion, circulation, immune system, nervous system, and conscious mindset.

Think of the triumvirate of the two lungs and the heart. The lungs act as the source for new — breath, oxygen, contact with the world — and the heart, ever faithful in its circulation, beating between them, bringing that newness to the rest of the body through the blood. The heart, allowing for joy, for connection, for spark. The three individual organs, working harmoniously. But what happens if the lungs contract? Because this is what happens with loss, with grief. What happens to the inspiration? What happens to the spark? The joy?