Just Breathe: The Dreaded B Word

Danielle Morran
Nov 11
3 min read

Why I used to roll my eyes—and what’s changed.

If you’ve ever wondered how something as simple as a breath could possibly help, you’re not alone.

For a long time, breathe felt like an overused word — one that didn’t fit the depth of what I was actually feeling. When I was anxious, tired, or wired, breathing felt irrelevant, almost frustratingly small compared to what was going on inside.

So yes, I used to roll my eyes at the B word.

A New Way to Think About Breath

Here’s the thing I didn’t know then: your breath is less about relaxing and more about relating.

It’s not a fix. It’s a signal. A way to get curious about where your nervous system is in this moment.

Like the tide, your breath rises and falls — sometimes gentle and steady, sometimes choppy and quick. It mirrors your internal weather long before words can.

Is your breath quick and shallow? Maybe your body’s on alert, ready to move or protect. Is it slow or heavy? Maybe your system is pulling inward, conserving energy. Is it held, barely there? Maybe you’re bracing—waiting for something to pass.

Each pattern tells a story. And instead of changing it right away, you can start by simply noticing: Oh, this is where I am.

That noticing is where regulation begins.

Small Invitations for Grounding

When you start to notice your breath, you might try adding a small, gentle cue of safety:

A slow exhale, just a little longer than your inhale.
A hand resting on your heart or over your ribs, reminding your system you’re here.
A steady rhythm—like matching your breath to the sway of a walk, a hum, or the sound of your own voice.

These aren’t tricks to calm down. They’re ways of saying, hey body, I’m with you. You’re building communication, not control.

Just as roots steady a tree through shifting seasons, these simple moments can help you feel grounded when life feels unpredictable.

Why Practice Matters

We practice when we’re safe so our body remembers how to find its way back when we’re not. Each gentle check-in—each breath you notice, each hand you rest on your chest—becomes a breadcrumb trail home.

And over time, this builds trust. Not the kind of trust that says “I’m fine,” but the kind that says, “I can meet myself, even here.”

Like returning to a familiar forest path, practice helps your nervous system recognize safety — even when the terrain of life shifts beneath your feet.

What Changed for Me

Once I stopped using my breath as a way to get rid of discomfort and started using it to be with myself, it became something else entirely. A guide. A rhythm. A soft reminder that I don’t have to work so hard to earn calm—it’s already within reach, one breath at a time.

Now, when I say “just breathe,” I mean: Come home to yourself. Let your body show you what it needs. Begin right here.

When I pay attention to my own breath, it’s not about perfect control or teaching anyone else how to breathe. It’s about noticing my nervous system and staying attuned to what’s happening in the moment. That attunement allows me to be present with clients in a way that supports their own regulation—helping them feel seen, steady, and capable of noticing and responding to their own system over time.

In this way, the breath becomes less about a technique and more about a bridge: a way to be present, connected, and supportive in real time.

A Gentle Reflection

You might take a moment now, without changing anything, to simply notice your breath. What story is it telling today? And what would it be like to meet yourself there, without needing to fix or force a thing?