I need to tell you something a little embarrassing.
For weeks after my husband’s accident — weeks that turned into months, if I’m being honest — I forgot how to breathe.
Not metaphorically. Literally. I was surviving on tiny sips of air without even realizing it. Shallow little inhales that barely reached my chest. My jaw was clenched. My shoulders lived up near my ears. And my body was in a state of low-grade panic every single waking minute.
People told me to breathe. Friends, nurses, family members. “Take a deep breath, Jenny.” And every single time, I wanted to scream at them. Don’t they know what I’m going through? What a stupid, insensitive thing to say. I was insulted. Really, truly insulted that anyone would reduce what I was living through to something as simple as breathing.
Here’s the thing, though. They were right. Every single one of them was right. And it turned out to be the most helpful piece of advice anyone gave me during the hardest season of my life.
I just wasn’t ready to hear it yet.
What Was Actually Happening to My Body
I learned later — both through my own research and through my studies in grief and bereavement — what was going on inside me during those weeks and months of shallow breathing.
When you’re under extreme stress, fear, or grief, your body kicks into a physiological response. Your breathing becomes shallow and rapid. You might hold your breath without knowing it. Your body is essentially living in survival mode — flooded with cortisol and adrenaline, ready to fight or flee from a threat that, in the case of caregiving, isn’t something you can fight or run from. It just… is.
And here’s what that does over time. When your body doesn’t get enough oxygen — when you’re surviving on those little sips of air like I was — it triggers your system to release even more stress hormones. Your immune system takes a hit. Your digestion gets disrupted. Your sleep suffers. Your ability to think clearly starts to erode. You feel exhausted but wired. You might get sick more often. Your patience runs thin. Your emotions feel like they’re right at the surface all the time.
Sound familiar?
I walked around like that for months before I finally understood that so much of what I was feeling — the rage, the brain fog, the crying at the drop of a hat, the bone-deep exhaustion — was being amplified by the simple fact that I wasn’t breathing.
My body was in crisis. And at the core of it was that I needed to breathe.
The Day It Clicked
I don’t remember the exact day, but I remember the moment.
I was standing in my kitchen, leaning against the counter, feeling like the weight of the world was pressing down on my chest. My dogs were sitting at my feet looking up at me with that expression dogs have when they know something is wrong. And I thought, Okay. Fine. I’ll try the stupid breathing.
I put my hand on my chest. I breathed in through my nose — slow, deeper than I had in months. I held it for a second. And then I let it go. Long, slow exhale through my mouth.
I did it again. And again.
And I cried. Not the panicked, desperate kind of crying I’d been doing. A different kind. A release. Like something that had been wound impossibly tight inside me was starting to uncoil, just a little.
Three breaths. That’s all it took to shift something I’d been carrying for months.
Now, I’m not going to pretend that those three breaths fixed everything. They didn’t. My husband was still in recovery. Our life was still upside down. The bills, the appointments, the uncertainty — all still there. But something in me changed. I felt clearer. Calmer. More like myself than I had in a long time. Like I’d been underwater and just broke through the surface.
Breathing is the bridge between fear and peace. I believe that with every part of me. And it’s why I teach breathwork in every single coaching session I offer. Because it’s that powerful, and it’s that simple.
Why Breathing Is a Caregiver’s Best Friend
I want to break down why this works, because I think when you understand the “why,” you’re more likely to actually do it. (I’m like that too — I need to know why something works before I trust it.)
It calms your nervous system in real time. When you take a slow, deep breath — especially a long exhale — you activate your parasympathetic nervous system. That’s the “rest and digest” part of your body, the opposite of the “fight or flight” response that’s been running the show. One deep breath can start to slow your heart rate, lower your blood pressure, and tell your body, “We’re okay right now. We’re safe.”
It clears brain fog. So much of the foggy, scattered thinking caregivers experience comes from oxygen deprivation. When you breathe properly — deep into your belly, not just your chest — your brain gets the fuel it needs. Decisions become easier. Your thinking sharpens. You can respond to situations instead of just reacting to them.
It gives you something you can control. This is the one I come back to the most. When everything in your life feels out of your control — the diagnosis, the prognosis, the insurance company, the family dynamics — your breath is the one thing that belongs entirely to you. You can change it anytime, anywhere. Nobody can take it from you. And in those moments when the world feels overwhelming, having one thing you can control makes all the difference.
It helps your emotions move through instead of getting stuck. I’ve learned through my own experience and through my bereavement studies that emotions are meant to pass through us. They’re not meant to set up camp and stay forever. But when we hold our breath, clench our jaws, and brace against what we’re feeling, we trap those emotions in our bodies. Deep breathing creates space for them to move. Inhale. Exhale. Let the feelings come, let them pass. All in all, your feelings want to be recognized; only by inhaling and exhaling will they be allowed to pass through you and out.
It’s always available. You don’t need an app. You don’t need a special room. You don’t need 30 minutes. You need your lungs and an intention. That’s it. You can breathe deeply in the hospital waiting room, in the car before you walk into the house, in bed before you fall asleep, in the bathroom with the door locked for two minutes. It goes wherever you go.
5 Breathing Practices You Can Try Right Now
I’ve tried a lot of breathing techniques over the years. Some are beautifully involved and require real practice. These aren’t those. These are for the caregiver who has two minutes and a body that’s running on fumes. Start wherever feels right.
1. The 3-Breath Reset
This is my go-to. Before your feet hit the floor in the morning, before a hard conversation, before you walk into the hospital or the doctor’s office — take three slow breaths.
Inhale through your nose for a count of 4. Hold gently for a count of 2. Exhale slowly through your mouth for a count of 6.
Three rounds. That’s it. The longer exhale is the magic — it tells your nervous system to stand down. I do this multiple times a day. My husband and I both do.
2. Hand on Heart Breathing
This one is for those moments when anxiety is high and you need to feel grounded. Place your hand over your heart. Close your eyes if you can. Breathe in slowly and feel your chest rise against your hand. Breathe out and feel it fall. Focus on the warmth of your hand and the rhythm of your heartbeat.
Something about that physical connection — your own hand on your own heart — reminds your body that you’re still here. You’re still okay. It sounds simple because it is. And it works.
3. The Box Breath
This is a technique used by the military and first responders, so if you want something that feels structured, this is your breath.
Inhale for 4 counts. Hold for 4 counts. Exhale for 4 counts. Hold for 4 counts. Repeat 4 times.
It’s called “box” because all four sides are equal. This one is great for when your thoughts are racing and you need to bring your brain back online. I think of it as a reset button for your whole system.
4. The Sigh of Relief
Sometimes you don’t need a formal technique. Sometimes you just need to exhale like you mean it.
Take a big inhale through your nose — fill your lungs all the way up. And then let it all out through your mouth with an audible sigh. Like “ahhhhhh.” Don’t be polite about it. Make noise. Let your shoulders drop. Do it two or three times.
This is what I call “shaking it off through your breath.” Your body holds so much tension, and sometimes a big, dramatic exhale is the fastest way to release it. (My dogs look at me funny when I do this. I don’t care.)
5. Walking Breath
If sitting still feels impossible — and some days it does — take your breathwork outside. Walk slowly, and match your breath to your steps. Inhale for four steps. Exhale for four steps. Let yourself notice what’s around you. The sky. The trees. The sound of your feet on the ground.
I was lucky that I had dogs during those early months, because they got me outside even when I didn’t want to go. Those walks saved me. Not because of the exercise (though that helped), but because they gave me a reason to slow down, breathe, and remember that the world was still turning.
Start Where You Are. One Breath at a Time.
If someone had told me, during the worst of my husband’s recovery, that breathing would become one of the most important practices of my life, I would have rolled my eyes. Hard. I was the person who got offended when people told me to breathe, remember?
But here I am, years later, teaching breathwork to every caregiver I coach. Because I’ve seen what it does. I’ve felt what it does. And I’ve watched other caregivers go from running on empty, barely holding it together, to feeling clearer, calmer, and more like themselves after just a few weeks of intentional breathing practice.
You don’t have to start big. You don’t have to meditate for 30 minutes or join a yoga class (though both are wonderful — I love Qigong especially). You just have to start.
One breath. Right now. In through your nose. Slow exhale through your mouth.
That’s the first step. Every new normal begins with a deep breath.
And if the idea of building a breathing practice into your caregiving life feels like too much right now, that’s okay. Start with three breaths in the morning. Three breaths before bed. That’s six breaths a day. And those six breaths might just change everything.
You can’t always change what happens. But you can choose how you breathe through it.
A Gentle Invitation
If you’d like help building a breathing practice into your life — or if you’re just tired and need someone to talk to who understands what you’re carrying — I’m here.
I offer a free Caregiver Clarity Call. It’s not a class, it’s not a pitch. It’s just a conversation. I might even teach you my favorite breathing technique during the call. (Fair warning: it might make you cry. The good kind.)
Because I know from the deepest part of my experience: when you remember to breathe, everything else starts to shift. And you deserve that shift.
Book Your Free Caregiver Clarity Call → CLICK HERE
Xoxo, Jenny
