We’re All Just A Bunch Of Shallow Breathers

I’ve started to attend a local meditation at 9:30 on Sunday mornings. I used to spend the morning hiking, but I do that every weekday, and although you can call hiking a meditation of sorts; you know, outside in nature…with my dog…blah, blah, blah… REAL meditation (at least not this kind) doesn’t involve sweating and pain so, hike…or meditation? 

It wasn’t a hard decision.

The one thing the hike and meditation do have in common is breathing. Actually if you want to get into it, staying alive often involves breathing too, but controlled, or intentional breathing, the kind most of us do well—never—is what I’m referring to here.

The goal is to harness the breath to get you through either forty-five minutes of sitting silently with your legs crossed, or chugging your way up a hill, because both for me would be torture without the breath. Long, long, ago, I was taught deep breathing involving the diaphragm. Your diaphragm lives in the vicinity of your belly and there’s the rub. 

As counterintuitive as it may seem, breathing like this involves pushing your belly out on the inhalation—and contracting your belly on the exhale. Exactly the opposite of how most people breathe and when I say most people I mean women. As women, we spend every waking moment sucking in our stomachs. It’s a reflex we learned the moment we tried on our first bikini.

Stand and inhale, suck it in. Sit and inhale, suck it in.Walking and sucking, running and sucking, swim-suck, dance-suck, everywhere a suck suck. You get the picture.

So being told to push your stomach OUT is tantamount to being told to wear your vagina as a brooch. It ain’t gonna happen.

I had a friend confide to me that the happiest time of her life was when she was pregnant. “Yeah, sure I was growing a human being in my body and it was a freaking miracle, but you know what else was a miracle?” She asked, not waiting for me to answer. “My hair! It was so thick it looked like a wig (is that a good thing?) and for at least six months I didn’t have to suck in my stomach! Seriously, it was liberating! I never let anybody confuse my little pot belly in the beginning for too much pizza, I’m pregnant! I‘d scream, if anybody even looked at me sideways. I couldn’t wait until my belly was the size of a watermelon!  No more excuses! I was gigantic and nobody cared about my food consumption and exercise regimen.”

“That is quite the testimonial,” I said.

“God, what I wouldn’t give for that now,” she said, pushing a piece of kale around her lunch plate. “I never did loose that last ten pounds.” I could see her actively sucking in her stomach.

Which leads me to shallow breathing.

All of this to say: shallow breathing is our default setting and it’s not healthy. Physiologically it’s terrible for us and it triggers anxiety. Spanx should be labeled a health hazard (But let’s get real here, if they were against the law I’d still wear mine under penalty of prison). 

I was reminded of all this after a few of the young women in meditation simply could not push out their stomachs. “Oh, I can’t,” they giggled self-consciously. I threw up a little in my mouth. They may as well have been asked to breathe under water. Or give up Twitter. They acted like it was physically impossible for their body to function that way. Pahleeeez.

Fine. We’re all just a bunch of shallow breathers.

After class, me and the woman who leads the thing exchanged eyerolls, even though I’m sure inside those comfy yoga pants of hers—she was sucking in her stomach.

I know I was.

Carry on,
xox