Mindfulness Practice

  Breathing is the most ordinary thing you do. But when you pay attention to it, the results are anything but ordinary. The way you breathe can dial stress up or down, sharpen focus, and even influence how well your immune system stands guard. Stress and Immunity Go Hand in Hand Fast, shallow breathing locks your body in fight or flight. That means stress hormones like cortisol stay high, which weakens your immune response. Slow, steady breathing is the off switch. It drops stress levels and lets your immune system get back to its real work. Oxygen is Fuel for Your Defenses When you breathe deeply into your diaphragm, you are delivering more oxygen to your bloodstream. That oxygen powers your white blood cells and the rest of your immune system. Shallow chest breathing is like running on half a tank. Deep breathing fills you up. What Huberman Calls “Controlled Stress” Huberman has highlighted a style of breathwork known as cyclic hyperventilation, often used in the Wim Hof ...

  She’s the Betty to my Wilma, my sister-from-another-mister 🤣, the one who just makes life, well, better. Now she’s far away. Still texting, still calling, still here in spirit, but not beside me. Some days it feels like I’ve lost a limb. The laughs, the random chaos, the little moments that made life feel full are gone for now. Mindfulness doesn’t make the missing go away. It just lets me feel it without spiraling. The tug in my chest when I want to tell her something ridiculous. The ache when I remember it’s six months until the next hug. The little spark of joy when my phone buzzes with her name. I try to treat all that as proof of love, not a problem. Missing her means she matters. Longing means connection is still alive, even from a distance. So here’s what I do: Breathe in, think I miss you. Breathe out, think I’m grateful you exist. It doesn’t close the gap, but it makes it easier to sit in it. Even if she’s not here, she’s still the Betty to my Wilma, just as ...

Some days my mind feels like a battlefield. One voice says I’m not enough, another snaps back, and I’m left standing in the noise. It’s not elegant or Zen. It’s messy and exhausting. Mindfulness is not about pretending the fight isn’t happening. It is about noticing it, even when it’s ugly, and choosing not to pile on. Here’s one thing that has helped me: Pause. Feel your feet on the floor. Inhale slowly for a count of four. Hold it just long enough to notice your heartbeat. Exhale for six, letting your shoulders drop. Do that three times. It will not solve everything, but it cracks the door for a little kindness to slip through. After that, name one thing, anything, you still care about. A friend’s laugh, the smell of rain, even your favorite mug. Let it remind you that you are more than the harsh voices. Being human is rough work. Meeting yourself with a scrap of compassion in the middle of the chaos is the practice.

Most of us never sit down and choose the kind of person we want to be. We just… drift. You pick up habits from your parents. You echo your friends without thinking. You react the same way you always have because it’s what you’ve always done. Before long, you’ve built a whole personality without ever really deciding if it’s yours. Here’s something worth knowing: the word identity comes from the Latin identitas , built from idem meaning “to be” and “repeated.” In other words, identity is about who you keep being over and over again. And that’s where the danger is. If you never stop to check in, you’ll just keep repeating the same patterns, not because they’re right for you but because they’re familiar. The type of person you are isn’t set in stone. Every day you’re shaping it in what you agree to, what you let slide, what you make time for, and how you behave when no one’s around to clap for you. So what would it look like if you chose on purpose? Not some perfect fantasy self. J...

“A tree’s true power lies in its roots.” Before your feet even touch the floor, you have an opportunity — a quiet, sacred moment — to connect with yourself. This is the essence of a grounding practice: not something to master, but something to meet yourself in. A tender act of care. A gift. 🌿 Start Before You Rise Your day doesn’t have to begin with a to-do list. It can begin with presence. As you wake, stay still for a moment. Do a gentle body scan. Feel your breath. Notice where your body feels soft, where it holds tension. There’s no need to change anything — just observe with kindness. 🌿 Touch the Earth When you do rise, let your feet meet the ground with intention. Stand, even just for a moment, and feel the contact between your soles and the earth. This small act reminds you that you are here. Anchored. Alive. 🌿 Use Breath as Anchor Take a few deep, slow breaths. Let each inhale remind you that you are safe in your body. Let each exhale release what you don’t need t...

Sometimes I catch myself—shoulders tight, jaw clenched, lungs empty. Not because I’ve stopped breathing altogether, but because I’m barely breathing. It’s like my body is waiting, bracing for something I can’t quite name. I didn’t even realise how often I was holding my breath until I started healing. Now, I notice it all the time. Stress. Fear. Even excitement. And suddenly, I’m frozen, breath trapped in my chest. No one ever taught me that breath was power. That it could anchor me. That it could calm the storm inside me. That I could use it to come back to myself when I felt overwhelmed or lost. But now I know better. And even though I still forget sometimes—even though I still find myself gasping for air after hours of shallow breathing—I come back. To the inhale. To the pause. To the exhale. To the letting go. Try it. Right now. Breathe in slowly. Hold it for a moment. Now exhale, longer than you think you need to. Do it again. Feel the difference? That’s your body softening. Tha...

I blew up my life. Not in a dramatic, movie-style way. It was quieter than that — slower. A series of choices, secrets, shame-filled moments. And then, like a dam finally giving in, everything burst. That moment? That’s what I call the pivot chapter . It’s the part of the story no one wants to live. The dread. The weight. The horror of it all being real — and out. And you’re left to face it. I found out then who was really with me. And who never had been. Some people disappeared — maybe out of fear, maybe out of hurt. But some stayed. And in the middle of the mess, I realised I still had me. Shaky, terrified, ashamed… but still standing. Shame is a strange thing. It feels like the price you should pay — like penance. But the truth is, it’s selfish. Shame pulls the focus inward: I am bad. I am broken. I am the worst thing I’ve done. And when you sit in that, you don’t move. You don’t heal. You don’t help. I carried shame for things I couldn’t even control. I shackled myself ...