For most of my life, I thought becoming a better version of myself meant becoming better at controlling myself.
Controlling my emotions.
Controlling my reactions.
Controlling how I looked, how I spoke, how I was perceived.
I became very good at it.
I could read a room quickly. I knew when to soften myself, when to make people laugh, when not to make a fuss. I liked being easy to be around. I liked being liked.
And because it worked, I never really questioned it.
Until I started working with my breath.
I didn’t begin breathwork because I thought I needed to find myself. I started because I wanted to understand myself.
What I didn’t expect was that the more I connected with my body, the more I noticed how much of my life I’d lived from the neck up.
I could explain myself.
I could analyse myself.
I could understand where a reaction came from.
But my body was telling a different story.
My stomach would tighten when I was stressed. My breathing would change. My body would hold tension long after the situation had passed. And sometimes I would feel something before I even knew what I was feeling.
We just aren’t always listening.
The Body Keeps Its Own Conversation
We are constantly receiving information from our bodies, but most of us have become very good at overriding it.
We keep going when we’re tired.
We smile when we’re uncomfortable.
We say “I’m fine” when we’re not.
We distract ourselves when something feels difficult.
We think our way out of feelings that perhaps were never asking to be understood in the first place.
Breathwork gave me a way to stop for long enough to notice.
Not to fix.
Not to force.
Just to notice.
The breath became a kind of bridge between my conscious mind and everything happening underneath it.
And what I found there wasn’t always comfortable.
I found tension.
I found emotions I had pushed aside.
I found how quickly I could move into control.
I found how much energy I spent monitoring myself.
Even something as simple as walking could become an internal conversation: How do I look? Am I walking normally? Am I being myself? What are people seeing?
It sounds ridiculous when written down.
But it is surprisingly exhausting to live like that.
And then something started changing.
I began noticing the moment the control appeared.
That moment became more interesting to me than the control itself.
Because awareness and control can look almost identical from the outside.
But inside, they are completely different.
Awareness says:
“I notice what is happening.”
Control says:
“I need to make sure what is happening is okay.”
That tiny difference has become one of the most important things I have learned.
Regulation Isn’t About Being Calm All the Time
There is a lot of conversation around nervous-system regulation now, and sometimes it can sound as though the goal is to become permanently calm.
I don’t believe that is the goal.
Our nervous system is supposed to respond.
We need activation. We need energy. We need excitement. We need the ability to act quickly when something matters.
The goal isn’t to never feel stress.
It is to have enough capacity to experience what is happening without immediately being taken over by it.
Sometimes regulation is a slow breath and a long exhale.
Sometimes it is movement.
Sometimes it is sitting quietly.
Sometimes it is crying.
Sometimes it is finally saying no.
Sometimes it is allowing yourself to feel angry without turning that anger against yourself or someone else.
And sometimes regulation is simply not running away from what you are feeling.
This is where breathwork became spiritual for me.
Not because of anything mystical.
But because it brought me back into a relationship with myself.
Coming Home
There is something incredibly simple about sitting down and feeling yourself breathe.
You don’t have to perform.
You don’t have to be interesting.
You don’t have to be productive.
You don’t have to make anyone else comfortable.
For a few minutes, there is nothing to achieve.
There is only breath.
And in that quiet, you can start to notice how much of your identity has been built around being a certain way.
The good girl.
The easy one.
The strong one.
The one who can handle it.
The one who doesn’t cause problems.
The one who has everything under control.
But who are you underneath all of that?
I’m still finding out.
And I don’t think I will ever reach some final version of myself where everything is understood and perfectly regulated.
I still overthink.
I still catch myself trying to control things.
I still have days when I disappear into my phone because feeling nothing for a while seems easier than feeling everything.
But now I notice.
And noticing changes everything.
Because between the moment something happens and the moment we react, there can be a tiny space.
Sometimes it is only one breath.
But that breath can be enough.
Enough to feel your feet.
Enough to soften your jaw.
Enough to notice that your stomach has tightened.
Enough to realise that you are trying to make yourself smaller.
Enough to choose something different.
Perhaps growth isn’t about becoming someone new.
Perhaps it is about becoming less disconnected from who you already are.
Maybe we don’t need to fix every part of ourselves.
Maybe some of the things we have spent years trying to get rid of were simply parts of us that needed to be heard.
And maybe the breath doesn’t give us all the answers.
Maybe it gives us something more valuable.
Space.
Space to feel.
Space to listen.
Space between the old pattern and the next choice.
And sometimes, in that space, we finally meet ourselves.
Not the version we created to be accepted.
Not the version we thought we were supposed to become.
Just ourselves.
Breathing.
Here.
Now.
