The Rhythm of the Porch: Finding Peace in Breathing Exercises
By Grace — The grandmother you always needed. Sourdough, wisdom, and zero judgment. ·
The Slowing Down
It’s June here in Vermont, and the farmhouse is finally breathing again. The windows are open, letting in that sweet, heavy scent of lilac and damp earth. I spent this morning sitting on the porch with a cup of mint tea, watching the bees bumble around the lavender. It’s funny—when Tom was still here, I used to rush through my mornings. There was always a lunchbox to pack, a school bell to beat, or a garden bed that needed weeding before the sun got too high.
Now, at sixty-seven, I’ve learned that the world doesn’t fall apart if I stop for ten minutes to just… be. I’ve noticed a lot of you writing in lately, feeling that same frantic pull I used to know. You’re looking for a way to catch your breath when life feels like it’s running a mile a minute. I’ve shared a few thoughts on grounding before, but today, I want to talk specifically about the mechanics of our breath—not as a chore, but as a homecoming.
Why We Hold On
When we’re stressed, our bodies have a funny way of trying to protect us by going rigid. We hunch our shoulders, we tighten our bellies, and, most importantly, we start taking tiny, shallow sips of air. It’s like we’re afraid if we take a full breath, we might accidentally let something out that we aren't ready to lose.
In my thirty years of teaching second grade, I saw this in the children all the time. When a little one was frustrated with their reading, their chest would go still as stone. I’d have to gently remind them, “Honey, let’s let the air back in.” It’s no different for us adults. We’re just dealing with bigger problems than long division, but our bodies are speaking the same language. When we hold our breath, we’re telling our nervous system that we’re in danger. If we want to feel safe, we have to teach our bodies that it’s okay to let go.
The “Vermont Porch” Technique: A Simple Rhythm
You don’t need a fancy meditation app or a yoga mat to find your center. You just need your lungs and a moment of intention. I call this the "Porch Rhythm" because it reminds me of the steady, rocking motion of my favorite chair.
1. The Invitation: Find a place to sit. It doesn't have to be perfect—a kitchen chair or the edge of your bed will do just fine. Put your feet flat on the floor. Imagine your heels are roots digging down into the soil. 2. The Release: Place one hand on your chest and one on your belly. Take a breath, and as you exhale, imagine you’re blowing out a birthday candle that’s a few feet away. Make the exhale longer than the inhale. That’s the secret, truly. The exhale is where the nervous system gets the signal that the “threat” has passed. 3. The Expansion: On your next inhale, try to push your belly out against your hand. Don’t worry about how you look—no one is watching. Just fill that space. If your mind wanders to the grocery list or the pile of dishes, just smile at the thought and let it drift away like a dandelion seed in the wind.
Do this four or five times. That’s all. You aren't trying to achieve a state of enlightenment; you’re just inviting your body back into its own house.
Breathing Through the Heavy Seasons
I won’t pretend that a few deep breaths will fix a broken heart or a mountain of bills. When Tom passed, there were days when no amount of breathing felt like enough air in the world. Grief has its own timeline, and it doesn't care much for instructions. But even in those dark, heavy months, the breathing gave me something to do. It gave me a small, private place where I was still in control.
When you’re feeling overwhelmed, try "Box Breathing." It’s steady and predictable. Inhale for a count of four, hold for four, exhale for four, and pause for four. It’s like drawing a little square in the air with your mind. It’s a very grounding practice, especially when things feel chaotic or unpredictable. It’s a way of saying to yourself, “I am here. I am safe in this very second.”
A Gentle Reminder
We spend so much of our lives holding on—holding onto our responsibilities, our worries, and our expectations of how things “should” be. But breath is the ultimate lesson in letting go. You take in what you need, and you give back what you don’t.
So, today, I want you to try it. Not because it’s another thing on your to-do list, but because you deserve the quiet. You are doing a wonderful job, even on the days when you feel like you’re doing nothing at all. The sourdough starter is bubbling on the counter, the coffee is warm, and you have enough air in your lungs to get through this Tuesday.
If you find yourself trying these out this week, I’d love to hear how it went. Did you find a favorite spot in your home to practice? Or did you find your mind wandering more than you expected? Don't worry—wandering is just part of the journey. Pull up a chair and leave a comment below; I’m always here to listen.