“Let yourself be complex and messy,” my page reads.  Notes from my recent writing class.   My Virgo Sun and Taurus Moon dislike the sound of it.   Virgo loves order, and Taurus loves simplicity.   I read the words again and I pause to breathe them in.   In through my nose and into my belly.  Then out once again.  I repeat until I get to 10.   As I breathe, I feel my body.   I pause momentarily, acknowledging my lack of awareness of my body just moments ago.  I was caught up in my head.   

Now the entire surface of my body is awake.  Breathing feels so good.   I remind myself to remember this later when I feel like I'm suffocating.   

I don't know why I feel like I'm suffocating lately.  I suspect it's some combination of things. 

Perhaps it’s my laser focus on my 14-month-old who had four tantrums yesterday, and my wavering awareness of my own self.  Perhaps it’s because I haven’t been able to dive into astrology in the way that I used to when it was just me.  My astrology studies fuel my soul growth and change my perspective. 

Sometimes I long to be out in the world, in the community of healing women I love so dearly.  In my community, my 11th house Sun is energized.  I also crave alone time, time in nature.  I need to be outdoors when the moon is out so I can see her.  It has been so many months since I’ve seen her. 

There was also that massive overhaul of my body called pregnancy.  It changed everything about me, including my breath.  My breath.  The one thing I could always rely on and return to when my world was spinning out of control.  My breath is no longer mine.  Or I’m no longer me.  My ribcage expanded far beyond where it was for the first 35 years of my life, to make room for the growing baby.  My abs stretched like an old hair tie that will never return to its original shape.  These changes make it feel impossible to breathe the way I did before.  I contract my belly tightly to squeeze all the air out.  It takes so much more focus and awareness than it used to.  I press my belly forward, creating a vacuum that draws a chest full of fresh oxygen into my lungs.  I practice my bellows breathing now that I’m thinking about it.  In time and with practice, my breathing muscles will strengthen to my liking once again.

I suspect this feeling of suffocation also has something to do with how much I've been looking down at the ground to see my tiny boy running around at my feet.  Head down, throat closed. 

I've also been working from my phone so much lately.  Head down, throat closed. 

I readjust the alignment of my spine, stretching the top of my head and my tailbone in opposite directions.  Breathing is immediately easier.   I strengthen my corset muscles to keep my body in this new alignment.  This used to be something I did unconsciously, but not since the great stretch out that was pregnancy, and the great bottom blowout that was birth.  Where did my muscles go? I long for the earlier days when my body felt strong and put together.  My Taurus moon loved when I felt strong like a bull. 

I suddenly shift into melancholy.  I feel sad but I don't know why.  I edited my words as I was writing them, and now the sadness will remain forever a mystery.

I shift my awareness to my toes, my legs, my butt, breathing into them.  My lower half marinates in my slow breath.  This is what relaxation feels like for me?  I catch myself in a moment of judgment.  Be nice to yourself Stephanie.  Be gentle with you.  How you feel is how you feel. 

I suddenly know that to ease the grip of the tightness around my throat I need to be with it.  Be with my body.  Be with myself.  I resist briefly before I put my pen down to let myself find my min.  That's what I call it when I unwind.  I turn on a recording of me talking.  I’m reading my adaptation of a mudra meditation from a book I love.  The recording is less than 9 minutes long.  I can do it.  I have the time to relax. 

Baby boy stirs.  He’s sitting up in bed crying.  I hit pause just three seconds into my meditation and run up to his room to hold him and nurse him and lay with him for what feels like 10 minutes before I ooze away.  I pause for a few moments to take him in.  I am in awe of this tiny human.  This tiny piece of my heart walking around outside of my body.  He’s grown so much but is still so small.  So independent when we go to the park or a playgroup, and so attached to his mama at home.   I watch his breathing deepening naturally, as my breath does the same.   

I climb back downstairs and lay my body on my bed to pick up where I left off.  At first, I am just a sea star staring up at the ceiling.  Then I bring the soles of my feet together and prop up my splayed-out knees with my bed pillows.  It is finally time to relax. 

Life is messy and complex and full of interruptions, and I can still make time to let myself relax.  If I don’t, I will suffocate.