One Breath at a Time

The Cave

Almost a year ago, I began a new journey and started my breathwork training.

Breathwork was already part of my life. It had found me during one of the hardest periods of my life, and through my breath, I had slowly begun to find my way back to myself. I knew there was something in it I wanted to understand more deeply, so I decided to go further.

I had no idea what was waiting for me.

At that time, my life still felt on hold. After losing my mum, I felt like I had lost something much bigger than a person. I had lost the feeling of being protected, of being supported, of knowing there was someone in the world who would always be there. Life without my mum felt scary. So I did what I knew how to do. I went back into my cave.

My cave felt safe. I kept to myself, occasionally putting one little toe outside before quickly retreating to what I knew. I was afraid to open up again. Afraid to love too deeply. Afraid to get excited about life because I knew how quickly everything could change. And somewhere in all of that, I realised I had been holding my breath.

Not just physically.

In life.

Remembering My Light

The training gave me a space to slowly begin breathing again. But it wasn't something that simply happened to me — I had to show up. I spent the hours learning, practising, listening and experiencing. I kept coming back to the breath, even on the days when I didn't know what I was going to find there.

With every session, something new surfaced. Sometimes I felt open and connected. Other times I felt emotional, uncertain, exposed, completely outside my comfort zone. I cried. I released. I questioned. I felt things I had kept tucked away for a long time.

Slowly, I began to reconnect with myself. I became more aware of my body and the quiet ways it had been speaking to me all along. I began to feel more grounded, more present, and more connected to the world around me.

And then, almost without noticing, my world began to expand. My creativity came back. My curiosity came back. My faith came back. I wanted to dance, create, make plans, explore and experience things. I found myself getting excited about life again.

And, perhaps most unexpectedly, I found myself opening my heart to love again.

Along the way, I met new people, reconnected with others, and found a deeper connection with family and friends who were already part of my life. Each became part of this chapter in their own way.

Some people reflected parts of me back to me that I had forgotten were there. They reminded me of my light. They didn't create that light in me; they simply reminded me that it was still there.

I’m deeply grateful for the ones who held space for me, challenged me, made me laugh, listened to me, and reminded me who I was when I had momentarily forgotten. They became part of my journey back to myself, and I carry something from each of them with me. I hope, in some small way, I have been that reminder for them too.

Learning to let go

The training also brought me face to face with something I hadn't fully understood about myself. I had been trying to control so much.

I thought control was keeping me safe. If I could anticipate what might happen, protect myself, keep people at a distance, and not get too excited — maybe I could avoid being hurt again. Underneath it all was fear.

Fear of loss. Fear of vulnerability. Fear of trusting life when I knew how quickly it could change.

For a long time, I thought letting go meant becoming careless or leaving myself completely exposed. But slowly, a new question emerged:

What if letting go didn't mean abandoning myself? What if it meant trusting myself?

What if I could stop trying to control everything because, whatever happened, I would still be there for me?

That realisation changed something. I didn't have to know what was coming. I didn't have to make everything safe before I allowed myself to live. I could let people get close. I could love. I could take risks. I could step outside my cave. And if something hurt, I could trust myself to meet myself there.

Safety wasn't about controlling what happened around me. It was about knowing I could trust myself through it.

I learned that I could listen to my needs, trust my own decisions, make mistakes, and still come back to myself. I could open my heart without abandoning myself in the process.

But I also want to acknowledge the work I did myself. I showed up. I put in the hours. I practised. I faced things that scared me. I allowed myself to be vulnerable, and I kept going.

This journey didn't magically change me. I participated in my own healing.

Finding My Mum, and Finding Myself

Somewhere along the way, something even deeper shifted.

I still miss my mum. I still wish I could see her, hear her voice, and have her next to me. Of course I do. But slowly, I began to find her in a different way.

I realised that she is still with me — still loving me, still supporting me, still part of the person I am becoming. Her love didn't disappear. It changed form.

I feel her in my memories, in the things she taught me, in the way I love, in the choices I make, and in little moments that catch me by surprise.

For so long, I had associated safety with having my mum there. Losing her made the absence of that safety feel enormous. But maybe safety wasn't something I had completely lost. Maybe I was learning how to carry it differently.

I was learning to listen to my needs, trust my own decisions, offer myself comfort, and create a sense of safety within me.

Growing, healing, and coming back to life didn't mean becoming fearless. It meant becoming someone I could truly rely on.

Not becoming a different person. But becoming more connected to the person I already am.

Letting It Be

There is a quote from one of my favourite books, Wild by Cheryl Strayed, that has stayed with me:

“How wild it was, to let it be.”

I think I understand those words differently now.

For a long time, I thought I had to hold everything together. I thought I had to protect myself from disappointment, loss, and uncertainty. But perhaps the bravest thing wasn't holding on tighter. Perhaps it was loosening my grip.

Letting things unfold. Letting people be who they are. Letting myself feel what I feel. Letting life surprise me.

And most importantly, trusting that if life didn't unfold the way I hoped, I wouldn't abandon myself. I would still be there.

Maybe that is what I had been so afraid of all along. Not losing control. But discovering that I didn't need control to be safe.

Because I could be there for me.

And there is something incredibly freeing about that. Something wild.

I don't know exactly what comes next. And for the first time, I'm learning that I don't need to. I'm learning that uncertainty doesn't always have to mean danger. Sometimes it can mean possibility.

I'm excited to keep creating, loving, learning, breathing, dancing and exploring. I'm excited to keep sharing what I've learned, to guide others through their own journeys, to listen, and to create spaces where people can breathe, feel, release and simply be.

Life is still scary without my mum. Maybe it always will be. There are still moments when I wish I could pick up the phone, hear her voice, or tell her something that has happened.

But now I know something I didn't know before.

I have my breath. I have myself. And I have her love with me.

I don't need to know exactly where I'm going. I don't need to control every step. I just need to trust that wherever I go, I will be there.

Maybe that's what it means to finally let it be.

To breathe.

To trust.

To live.

One breath at a time. 🤍

One Breath at a Time- My Breathwork Journey

The Cave