Pieces of the Present - [Danona] Book Two ✓

10. the deepest breaths

How often do you close your eyes when you take a deep breath? Every time? Every other time? How many times does taking a deep breath actually work? Does it clear the stress and tightness away from your lungs, ejecting it out into the world for someone else to inhale? 

Not very often, right? Because how is it possible that all of our stress and worry and anxiety could possibly just float away? Situations, big and small, all of those deep breaths are so misleading. All of those feelings, they don't go away when you breathe. Not when your hand touches the handle, opening up to something new. 

"Hi, nice to meet you" Katie smiled as she exhaled, welcoming the counselor in through the front door. 

Deep breaths. Comical to believe they could be our savior. Sure, they fuel the fire in our blood, keeping everything alive as it should be. But how could a deep breath kill anxiety while also keeping us alive? That's not what deep breaths do. They have one purpose and one purpose only; to give life. It would be so ironic if the breath that could breathe life could also take away pain. 

Life doesn't work that way. Oxygen does not work that way. Life is too cruel to ever work that way. 

But yet, we do it anyway. We take in a lung full of air, hoping and praying that it will somehow ease even just a little bit of the anxiety. We do it, full well knowing that it's all for naught because the more we breathe, the more oxygen travels to our brain, and the more our brain works harder to run on its treadmill— churning out unwelcome thoughts and sparks of nerves. 

 It's because of hope; that is why we continue to breathe. Hoping that the next breath will bring a miracle to our feet. As long as we just keep breathing, it has to come eventually... right? And with every deep breath that only gaslights us further, we just keep hoping. This one, or the next one, or the one after that. Because hope is the reality that hides behind the metaphors of deep breathing. It isn't about clearing your mind or exhaling the negative. It's about choosing to continue breathing. Choosing to do so because of faith that good will come out of it. 

Sometimes, it does. 

One of the nurses stepped out into the hospital waiting room. "You must be—"

A young and shocked David stood up, terrified beyond belief. He had been ever since he had received the call that he was requested to sign his rights away to a child he didn't know existed. "The father of the baby? Yes, apparently. I came as soon as you called me."  

And then... sometimes, it doesn't.

"You must be Kathryn," the counselor said as she stuck her hand out to shake. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Jane, I work for the Atlanta Adoption Association. We spoke on the phone?"

"Yes. Please, make yourself comfortable," Katie smiled nervously as she shut the door behind her. 

The bigger decisions, the ones even bigger than deciding to continue living, those are the painful ones. The ones where we take a deep breath in hopes to end the pain, rather than just the anxiety. To somehow lift the weight of the world off of our shoulders. Maybe even take the choice away from us? The sharp inhale in those moments, those are the silent prayers. They aren't a request for our hearts to slow down and for the panic to subside. They are a plea for the world to just stop spinning— just for a moment. Because dear God, It's going too fast. The centripetal force hitting against our chests like anvils as time continues to speed by before we can even think.