Stuck in an Inhale

You don’t have to hold
your breath anymore.
You can exhale.

Not the half-exhale you’ve known,
the one that keeps
a little air in your lungs
for a secret escape plan.

All the way out.
Until the diaphragm rises and relaxes fully,
the ribs soften and descend,
the chest empties itself of vigilance.

Stay there.
A hot second of surrender.
This is the doorway
to personal power.

Don’t rush the inhale.
Don’t reach for it.
Let it come.

Like an archer releasing the bowstring--
ping--
let the diaphragm rebound by itself.

Feel the air return on its own,
no strain, no grasping,
as if the universe herself wants to fill you.
A gift freely given.

You don’t have to cling to air anymore.
Have faith:
it will still be there after you let go.

Trauma teaches us to hold the inhale.
Stress teaches us to brace for the unexpected.
A body that never exhales
never learns the danger has passed.

So it stays tense,
agitated and stuck in readiness.
The whole system forgets
what relaxation feels like.

And then the back aches,
and the head throbs,
and you’re so confused
about where the pain came from.

Only in the complete exhale
can you find your lost center,
the part of you that still remembers
safety and softness.
The part that can allow
life to touch you.

Because the breath you’ve been holding
contains the version of you
that deserves to be laid to rest.

Let every exhale be a little death of the old
and let every inhale be a little birth of the new.
Then observe in awe
the person that you become.