The Pause That Heals: How Slowing Down Transformed My Chronic Symptoms

I can still remember that hike with my friend. She wasn't just any friend—she was the kind of person who truly listened, who carried this remarkable calm with her everywhere. A yoga teacher and breathwork facilitator, she embodied the practices she taught.

 

When we started up the trail that day, I was a mess. My breathing felt labored, and that familiar tightness was creeping into my chest. After decades of respiratory issues and a history of asthma, I recognized the warning signs. My body was preparing to betray me again, or so I thought.

 

"I don't know if I can do this today," I told her, explaining my breathing concerns between strained breaths. We were walking uphill, and I was already struggling—not just physically, but with the mounting anxiety that comes from feeling your breath become unreliable.

 

This was during that impossibly difficult period of my life—living in our mold-infested home, trying to grow my business while raising four boys on my own. Stress wasn't just an occasional visitor; it had become a permanent resident in my body.

 

As we continued along the path, something unexpected happened. Instead of focusing on my breathing troubles, my friend gently guided our conversation elsewhere. She asked questions that pulled me away from my spiral of reactivity. Nothing dramatic—just simple curiosity about aspects of my life beyond my immediate struggle.

 

And then, about twenty minutes into our hike, she paused and smiled at me.

 

"Did you notice your breathing has stabilized?" she asked.

 

I hadn't—not fully anyway. Somewhere along that path, I had completely forgotten about my years of asthma struggle. My chest had opened. My breathing had deepened. The tightness had dissolved without me even working on it.

 

That moment taught me something profound about how our bodies work with our minds. When we can slow way down—really slow down—something shifts. When we feel supported and truly safe in another's presence, our nervous system can step out of those familiar loops that trigger stress and create symptoms.

 

I realized what had happened was beautifully simple. By slowing down, I had created space. By creating space, I disrupted the stress response that was feeding my symptoms. I had interrupted a pattern so familiar I couldn't see it from within.

 

What my body needed that day wasn't an inhaler. It needed someone to listen without judgement—to all those volatile emotions I had been carrying. This was something I never experienced as a child. I grew up terrified to express any emotion because I was accustomed to them not being met, acknowledged, or attended to. So I learned to tuck them away, to pretend they weren't there. But those emotions didn't disappear; they accumulated, finding expression through my body instead.

 

Our survival brain doesn't distinguish between physical and emotional threats. When something triggers us—whether it's a memory, a sensation, or a thought—our brain activates ancient protective patterns. We shift into fight, flight, or freeze before we're even conscious of it happening. Our breathing changes, our muscles tense, and suddenly we're caught in a symptomatic loop where fear creates symptoms and symptoms create more fear.

 

But we can rewire these patterns. That day on the trail showed me how. When we create that precious space between noticing a sensation and responding to it—when we can be with discomfort rather than immediately reacting to it—we give ourselves the chance to see what's really happening.

 

Behind every chronic symptom lies a story. Sometimes it's a story of protection, of our body trying to keep us safe in the only way it knows how. Sometimes it's a story of unprocessed emotion finding a physical voice. When we slow down enough to listen, we often discover that the symptom itself isn't the problem—it's the messenger.

 

That hike changed how I approach my health. Now when symptoms arise, I try to create space first. I ask myself what my body might be telling me beyond the obvious. I remember to breathe, to feel supported, to allow myself to be exactly as I am in that moment.

 

And sometimes, just like on that trail years ago, the simple act of creating space allows the symptom to release its grip—revealing that what my body needed wasn't medical intervention but presence, patience, nature, movement and the courage to feel what needed to be felt.

Breaking Symptom Loops Through Interoception and Presence

 

I believe this story beautifully illustrates a profound truth about the relationship between our bodies, minds, and the symptoms we experience. 

 

The Power of Slowing Down

 

When we slow down, we're not just reducing physical speed—we're creating a fundamental shift in our nervous system. This slowing allows us:

 

- To step out of automatic reactivity and into responsive awareness

- To notice sensations before they cascade into symptoms

- To interrupt the rapid-fire connections between trigger, thought, emotion, and physical response

 

In my hiking experience, the gentle pace, supportive presence, and redirection from worry allowed my system to reset. This wasn't coincidental—it was my nervous system finding safety.

 

Breaking Symptom Loops

 

Our bodies often get trapped in loops where:

1. We notice a concerning sensation (labored breathing)
2. This triggers fear and worry based on past experiences (asthma history)
3. The fear activates our survival response (sympathetic activation)
4. This amplifies the original symptom (further respiratory distress)
5. Which reinforces our fear, continuing the cycle

 

Creating space between sensation and response is the crucial intervention point.

This space allows us to:

- Witness the sensation without immediate judgment

- Choose our response rather than react automatically

- Interrupt the cascade of stress hormones that amplify symptoms

 

The Survival Brain vs. The Present Brain

 

Your nervous system doesn't know the difference between a tiger and a troubling thought. When we're triggered:

 

- The amygdala activates before our rational mind can assess the situation

- Blood flows away from digestive and immune functions toward muscles

- Breathing becomes shallow and rapid

- Stress hormones flood our system

- Past traumas get reactivated as if happening now

 

This survival response makes perfect evolutionary sense but becomes problematic when chronic or triggered by non-life-threatening situations—like worrying about asthma during a hike.

 

The Healing Power of Being Witnessed

 

What's particularly insightful about this experience I am sharing, was me recognizing that being truly heard created safety. As children, when our emotions aren't validated:

 

- We learn to suppress bodily signals rather than interpret them

- We develop poor interoception (internal body awareness)

- Our nervous systems don't learn how to self-regulate effectively

- Emotions get stored in the body rather than processed

 

My hiking companion provided what developmental psychologists call "co-regulation"—a calm presence that helped your nervous system find its way back to balance.

 

Rewiring Through Interoception

 

Interoception—our sense of our body's internal state—is the foundation of emotional awareness and self-regulation. Developing this awareness:

 

1. Helps us recognize symptoms earlier, before they intensify
2. Allows us to respond with curiosity rather than fear
3. Creates opportunity to address root causes rather than just symptoms
4. Builds a sense of agency over our health rather than victimhood

 

Your pain is a messenger leading you to the solution 

 

That hike changed everything for me. Now when my body speaks through symptoms, I try to listen differently. Instead of immediately reaching for solutions or falling into fear, I create space first.

 

I've come to see pain as a messenger, not an enemy. When my chest tightens or my breathing shifts, I ask myself, "What are you trying to tell me?" Often, the answer surprises me—it's rarely just about my lungs or my airways.

 

Living in constant reaction to every bodily signal was exhausting me. Each symptom would trigger fear, that fear would create stress, and that stress would make everything worse. I was caught in a loop of my own making, missing the wisdom my body was trying to share.

 

These days, I practice creating that tiny moment of pause between feeling a sensation and responding to it. In that pause—that sacred space—I find my power. I can choose how to meet what's arising instead of being swept away by it.

 

Sometimes I discover emotions hiding beneath physical discomfort—grief that needs to flow, anger asking to be acknowledged, or simply the accumulated tension of trying to hold it all together for too long.

 

My body isn't betraying me after all. It's communicating in the most honest way it knows how.

 

When I share this story about my hike, I'm not just talking about asthma or breathing. I'm talking about transformation—how I moved from fear-driven respiratory distress to peaceful breathing through the simple yet profound gift of slowing down and being truly seen by another person.

 

That's the journey I'm still on. Creating space. Listening deeply. Finding freedom in the pause between symptom and response. And remembering that sometimes, the most powerful medicine isn't a pill or procedure—it's presence.

 

If you've been struggling with chronic symptoms that don't seem to respond to traditional approaches, I'd love to help you discover the wisdom your body is trying to share. Through my work supporting individuals on their healing journeys, I've witnessed remarkable transformations when people learn to create that healing pause and listen differently to their bodies' messages. I invite you to experience an initial health session where we can explore how finding that space between symptom and response might open new possibilities for your health and wellbeing. Sometimes all we need is someone to truly listen and help us create that pause that allows healing to begin.