I didn’t know I was holding my breath.
Until I exhaled. Until my shoulders dropped. Until the tightness in my chest loosened like a knot, finally untying itself.
And it wasn’t during some big moment either. It wasn’t during a breakup or a breakdown or a blowout fight. It was in the quiet. It was when I was making my bed, or pouring my coffee, or staring at the wall because my brain couldn’t process another email. That’s when I noticed—I had been holding it all in.
The pressure to be okay. The pressure to smile. The pressure to get everything done and be everything to everyone. Somewhere along the way, I started living in survival mode. Breathing just enough to function. Not enough to feel.
When did okay start feeling like a performance?
Some of us are walking around so used to tension that calm feels unfamiliar. We tell ourselves we’re fine, but our bodies know better. Our jaws are clenched. Our fists tight. We scroll, we nod, we go through the motions. But deep down, we’re begging for a pause we won’t let ourselves take.
I didn’t know I was holding my breath… until I felt safe enough to breathe again.
It wasn’t some magic day either. There was no parade or lightbulb moment. It was more like… me giving myself permission. Permission to stop pretending. Permission to cry even when nothing “bad” happened. Permission to rest even when my to-do list was still screaming at me.
There’s something so freeing about saying: I don’t have to prove anything today. I just need to breathe.
I wish more of us could admit we’re tired—not because we ran a marathon, but because life keeps throwing things at us and we just… keep catching them. And let’s be honest, if life were a game of dodgeball, some of us would be outta there —while the rest of us are just standing there getting hit in the face over and over like, ‘Cool, I guess this is who I am now.'
So if you’re like me—if you’ve been holding it all in, telling yourself “just a little longer”—I hope this reaches you before you reach your limit.
And when you finally exhale, I hope you recognize that moment for what it is. A small, quiet revolution.
Let your breath be loud. Let it take up space.
You don’t need permission, but if you’ve been waiting for it anyway—here it is.
Breathe, babe.
You’re allowed to.
