Why We Dismiss The One Thing That Keeps Us Alive

I didn’t go into the breathwork class looking for some big transformation. I went because I’m curious. I try new things. It’s how I’ve moved through different careers, different stages of life, always asking, “What’s next?” Always willing to try something new.

I thought I would come as an observer. I would participate politely, maybe walk out more relaxed, like I’d just done some yoga or taken a nap. But that’s not what happened.

The instructor began by saying something that felt small at first but kept echoing in my head: “When we think about health, we think exercise. Then diet. Then water. And maybe, way at the bottom, breathing. But it should be the other way around. You can go days without food and water, but only minutes without breathing. And yet, we treat it like an afterthought.”

And she was right. I never gave breathwork much credit. I always thought it was something people did on wellness retreats while wearing linen pants and talking about their “auras.” Yoga, to me, was always a nice nap disguised as movement. I’m the person who waits for the final pose, when you get an eye mask and are told to relax. That’s the part I like. Or I curl into child’s pose and stay there.

So I figured breathwork would be a longer version of that nap. I thought the people who were into it were a little out there. Not like me.

I tend to dress like I’m going to a business meeting even when I’m grabbing a coffee. My sister teases me constantly. Structure, control, professionalism: that’s me. So, when a woman in the class said she drove from Atlanta to New York and camped for seven days just to attend this breathwork series, I thought: What am I doing here?

These were not my people. Or so I thought. But maybe I don’t even know who “my people” are. I always say I should have been born in the 70s, dancing barefoot at music festivals. I crave that sort of freedom, that carefree existence. But I also love a crisp blazer and a color-coded calendar. I live in a paradox: half hippie, half boardroom. Part barefoot dreamer, part heels and high expectations. I used to think that made me inconsistent. Now I think it makes me real.

Still, I stayed.

The class started with awareness. One hand on the chest, one on the stomach. “If your chest rises first,” she said. “You’re taking shallow breaths, the kind of breathing that keeps you stuck in a stress loop. In hustle mode.” But if your stomach rises first, you’re breathing deeply. You’re telling your nervous system it’s safe, that it can rest.

And I realized: my chest always rises first.

That breath, that rushed, shallow inhale, is what I’ve lived on. I’ve built a life on it. Always doing. Always producing. Always pushing through.

Even now I’m in hustle mode. It’s summer. I don’t have to do carpool. The house is quieter with just one kid at home. But instead of taking a breath, instead of enjoying the slowness, I catch myself thinking: Great, now I can accomplish all my goals. I should finally write the things I’ve been meaning to write, build what I’ve been meaning to build, plan what’s next. The voice in my head says, This is your time—don’t waste it!

Rest still feels like something I have to earn.

But when we started breathing deeply, deliberately, something in me gave way. My body took over. My brain got quiet. I fell into what felt like a trance, not mystical, just surrendered. And it terrified me how unnatural that felt. How foreign stillness was.

I’ve never thought of myself as a controlling person. I’ve always been adaptable. I’ve started over. Changed direction. Let go of what didn’t work. But in that room, on that mat, I felt it: the internal grip. The effort I carry, quietly, all the time. This belief that if I just do the right things: say the right words, follow the right path, work hard enough, then maybe life will stay in place. Maybe I can control the chaos.

But that’s the lie. Life is not something I can micromanage.

Logically, I know that. Emotionally? That’s another story. I’ve seen how quickly life changes. One call. One diagnosis. One moment. And still, I’ve built an entire identity around earning my breath. Around proving my worth before allowing myself to rest.

But what if rest isn’t something to be earned?

What if breath—slow, steady, and deep—is the most natural thing we’re meant to do?

The science says so. Breathwork lowers cortisol, reduces anxiety, slows the heart rate, even improves emotional regulation. It activates the parasympathetic nervous system, which tells the body, You’re safe now. And somehow, we’ve ignored it because it’s not flashy. It’s not loud. It asks nothing of us but to stop.

And we don’t stop. Not in our hustle culture. When we feel stressed, we don’t pause to breathe, we grab another coffee. We scroll. We keep moving.

At one point in the class, we started humming, literally humming out loud. And I thought: This is the weirdest thing I’ve ever done. But then something shifted. I felt my whole nervous system go quiet. I can’t explain it. It was like the sound made its way through my body and told every part of me to unclench.

Later, I remembered reading that humming actually activates the vagus nerve, the one that helps calm us down. There was even a study in The New York Times that said it reduces stress. Humming. Who knew?

But again: are we going to start humming in the middle of the day when we’re overwhelmed? Probably not. We’ll go for another iced latte instead. Because stillness feels radical. It feels like rebellion in a world that wants us productive.

That class didn’t transform me. But it cracked something open. And I don’t know what will come through that crack. Maybe softness. Maybe truth. Maybe a willingness to rest without apology.

I don’t know if I’ll ever become a person who breathes deeply all the time or hums between meetings. But I know now that I want to be someone who doesn’t have to earn her breath.

I want to start there, with permission. With breath. With being.

Because maybe, just maybe, that’s where real peace begins. n

Tamara Gestetner is a certified mediator, psychotherapist, and life and career coach based in Cedarhurst.  She helps individuals and couples navigate relationships, career transitions, and life’s uncertainties with clarity and confidence. Through mediation and coaching, she guides clients in resolving conflicts, making tough decisions, and creating meaningful change. Tamara is now taking questions and would love to hear what’s on your mind—whether it’s about life, career, relationships, or anything in between. She can be reached at 646-239-5686 or via email at [email protected]. Please visit TamaraGestetner.com to learn more.