Yesterday was a long day.
My son skipped his nap, and by the evening the accumulated tiredness showed itself in frequent wake-ups after I finally got him down.
By 7pm, I could at last sit on the couch and exhale.
Instead of turning the television on, my husband went outside to make progress on some home projects, and I stayed inside reading Breath by James Nestor. I ended up reading for almost two hours, slowly, attentively, with my awareness resting on my own breath.
As I read, I began to experiment gently, breathing more fully, then playing with the length of my exhale. At one point, while James was discussing breathing depth and cadence, I tried taking very large, deliberate inhales and exhales, almost pushing the capacity of my lungs. It left me lightheaded. A clear reminder that breath isn't about force. The balance between oxygen and carbon dioxide matters more than volume.
Eventually, I settled into a slower rhythm. James mentions that many prayers share a similar breathing pattern: roughly six seconds in, six seconds out. I followed this cadence for a while, not tracking time, simply letting the breath move me into a quieter state.
Afterwards, I felt deeply relaxed.
For several weeks now, I've noticed a sense of wetness in my right ear, often appearing the day after facial massage or TMJ release. While reading, I felt it again, and had the thought that perhaps fluid wasn't draining as freely as it wanted to. I wondered if gentle massage might help encourage movement through the lymphatic pathways.
Still breathing slowly, I began massaging around my ear, then down the side of my neck and into my clavicle on the right, the side where I've previously held significant jaw tension. I stayed there for some time, unhurried, simply noticing sensation and breath.
After about ten minutes, when I stopped, I felt a distinct shift. A clear sense of movement, as though fluid had finally found a path to drain. My breathing felt more open on the right side, and the sticky, congested sensation I'd been carrying in my throat had eased.
What struck me most was the contrast between sides. The left had never felt as restricted, but the right now felt markedly clearer, freer, more responsive.
It made me wonder whether, as with my earlier pelvic bowl release, the breath itself had helped establish enough safety in my body for something to finally let go.
While part of me is curious to see what else might shift, I also sense the importance of pausing. Allowing my body time to recalibrate and integrate rather than pushing forward too quickly.