This Practice Starts with Breath

📍 A Breath Between Things

Hi friends,

I took a couple of weeks off from writing, from teaching, from trying to “push through.”
And honestly? I’m proud of that.
I needed the break. I honored it. That, too, is part of the practice.

This week, I’m feeling ready to return—with more softness, more breath, and more care.
We’ll be practicing together again this Sunday, and I’ll be teaching the class I had originally planned: a restorative sequence with affirmations, focused on truth, rest, and visibility.
It still feels right. Maybe even more so now.

In this letter, I’m offering a quiet check-in.
A little about pranayama, the practice of breath awareness, and how it supports nervous system care.
And a peek at a game that’s been giving me soft hopepunk vibes and a reason to smile.

I’m glad to be back. And I’m even more glad you’re here.

💨Breathing Is a Practice, Too

Sometimes you just have to breathe.
Intentionally. With awareness. 
That slowing down, turning inward, and just noticing is a whole practice in itself.

Pranayama—the yogic art of breath awareness—teaches us that breath is more than survival.
It’s connection.
To self. To the moment. To the world.

In yoga philosophy, the breath is prana, life force.
Not just oxygen, but energy. Vitality. Spirit.

And the beautiful thing?
You don’t have to get it “right.”

You can breathe big and loud.
You can breathe shallow and hesitant.
You can just notice your breath and let that be enough.

Some days, I practice sama vritti, or equal breathing. Inhale for four, exhale for four.
Other days, I lie down and let the breath come.
Both are valid.

Especially if you’re navigating overwhelm, burnout, dysregulation, or grief, pranayama can be a way home to yourself.
Not as performance. Not as punishment.
But as presence.

Let’s start there. With breath.
And see what unfolds from that truth.

🎮 Borrowing Hope: What I’m Playing

If Stardew Valley and Animal Crossing had a softly glowing MMO (massively multiplayer online game) baby, it might look a lot like Palia. It is a cozy, free-to-play life sim where you can farm, forage, fish, build relationships (and furniture), and explore a gently magical world. It gives off those hopepunk-type vibes: hopeful, gentle, and rooted in repair. A subtle reminder that life goes on.

Set in a post-human society, you play as one of the first humans to mysteriously reappear after generations of extinction. The world is now inhabited by Palians—gentle, curious beings who welcome your presence with intrigue and kindness. It’s a soft place to land.

What I love about it? You can collaborate with others. When you work together, you all get the same resources it’s non-competitive. And you can take a break without missing out. There’s no combat, no rush, no pressure, just exploration, connection, and satisfying routines. The kind of game where your nervous system can unclench.

If you’re looking for something low-stakes, queer-coded, and quietly hopeful to unwind with… this might be your sign.

 🪷This Week’s Practice: Restorative Yoga + Affirmations

🗓️ Sunday, June 8 at 9PM Eastern
📍 Watch on YouTube

This week’s live class is a soft, heart-centered return: a restorative practice paired with affirmations—because words have power, and the right ones can help us feel more whole.

We’ll move slowly, with long-held supported shapes and a strong emphasis on breath and nervous system care. I’ll offer affirmations throughout, and you’re welcome to repeat them, adapt them, or just rest in their presence.

This class is especially for those navigating overwhelm, burnout, or a general feeling of "I don’t know how to be in my body right now."
You don’t need to be flexible, focused, or “ready.” Just bring your breath. Your body. Yourself.

Suggested Props:
• 2 large pillows or a bolster/couch cushion
• 2 smaller pillows or yoga blocks
• 2 blankets or towels
• Optional: eye pillow, warm socks, tea for afterward

If you practice in a chair, you might want a second chair for folds or to raise your legs.

Taking a break doesn’t mean stepping away from your practice.
Sometimes, it is the practice.

Thank you for letting me pause. And thank you for meeting me here again.

Whether you’re returning, starting fresh, or just gently observing from the sidelines, your presence matters.
Your breath matters.
Your truth matters.

Here’s to showing up imperfectly, with honesty and care.
And to the power of beginning again, together.

In breath and queer joy,
Shannon