Each time I breathe, I relax and let go.

Hold a sleeping baby against your chest for ten minutes and your own breathing quietly reorganises itself to match theirs. Nobody instructs anybody. One rhythm gives way to the slower one in the room.

Breath is the only part of the nervous system that runs by itself and still takes suggestions, which makes it a door that opens from both sides. Nothing about a hard morning is altered by it. What is altered is the rate at which the body keeps being told there is an emergency — and that rate is negotiable, over and over, without anybody in the room noticing you are doing it.