“Listen, are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life?” - Mary Oliver, New and Selected Poems, Volume 1
I was reading a book about the practice of mindfulness in between sessions today when I came to a passage on deep belly breaths. I read all about the benefits of breathing, and as I did, murmured to myself, "Yes, exactly!"
I marveled at the ability our bodies have to self-regulate, particularly when we’re anxious or stressed, and made a mental list of people in my life who may need this gentle reminder to breathe, when it occurred to me that I probably hadn't taken a mindful breath all week.
I took the opportunity to walk a lap around the pond I’d been sitting next to, and as I walked, made space to notice my breath— in through my nose, out through my mouth, feeling my belly contract and expand, imagining my lungs filling and releasing air. I entered my next session refreshed.
Later, I sat with another client and as we talked, I wondered aloud whether she had tried the five senses exercise I often suggest to those I work with. We walked through it together, and I explained the benefits of being grounded in the present moment (instead of feeling stuck in the past or anxious about the future).
I reminded her that dwelling in the present is a struggle for all of us, that it takes a lot of practice to learn to be more mindful. I said all of this, and then I walked out of the session to grab some lunch. As I sat in a drive through line, scrolling mindlessly, I came upon a writer’s reflection on her own five senses, how she is learning to attune herself more thoughtfully to the present moment.
My scrolling stopped as I noticed how disconnected I felt from my body and from the moment I was actually experiencing. For the second time that day, I sat a little stunned at the realization that the tools I encourage my clients to utilize are just as important, just as necessary for me.
So I decided, once again, to practice what I preach.
5 things I can see: tree branches bobbing and swaying in the wind, electric green springtime grass and leaves, my neighbor’s blooming lilac bush, our empty trash cans at the corner of the driveway, the weeds pushing up through my neglected landscaping.
4 things I can touch/feel: the hardwood of my rocking chair pushing on my back, the breeze that blows at the hem of my skirt, my feet flat on the ground, the sun warm on my face.
3 things I can hear: the wind rustling through the trees, a distant neighbor trimming their grass, birds singing.
2 things I can smell: the sweetness of everything that is alive and growing in our front yard, freshly cut grass a few doors down.
1 thing I can taste: a lemon fizzy drink I just cracked open, somehow both sweet and tart, refreshing on this warm afternoon.
As I took time to notice, I found there was no room in my brain for thoughts of the past or the future. I had given myself a mental reset and even found myself fully enjoying the moment I was in. This noticing gave way to gratitude for even the smallest pleasures in my day.
Dear reader, I hope this is an encouragement to you, this reminder that we are all in process. No person is able to practice these tools to perfection. There is no shame in that. Instead, let this be a kind nudge toward the tools we have available to us that can be as simple as breathing deeply.
By Allison Wopata, Certified Clinical Trauma Specialist/Restorative Mentor