The other morning I spent a couple of hours playing Native American style flute. It was freeing to explore without needing anything to sound perfect. The flute gives me room to breathe and room to make mistakes. Even when I play a note that does not belong, I can place a finger back down and find my way again. There is safety in the simplicity of the instrument. While it can sound deep and profound, it also allows me to stay within a scale that invites improvisation. It lets me step outside my head and follow whatever wants to come through.
As I played, I remembered a time in my life when I did not feel that kind of space or safety inside myself.
My anxiety lived in my body, and even simple things could set off a spiral that felt impossible to stop. It shaped how I moved through the world long before I understood what was happening.
At sixteen I was seeing a psychiatrist who was trying to help me manage the constant anxiety. Among other things he prescribed Xanax and assured me that it was safe and effective. In many ways it helped me function, but I could not see how deeply it would weave itself into my life or how long it would take before I trusted my own nervous system again.
My fear of flying was one expression of that deeper pattern. I avoided planes for almost twenty years because imagining the walk down the aisle to my seat would send my body into a reaction before my mind had a chance to speak. It was not about logic. It was the simple truth that I did not yet know how to stay with myself long enough to let the fear soften.
Things began to shift in 2019 when I discovered breathwork.
I had never known a practice that could reach me the way it did. Breathwork helped me feel my body again. It gave me enough room in my own mind to begin releasing patterns that were no longer helping me.
After breathwork helped me open up, Qigong and walking meditation began to help me move and trust my body again..
As I walked, I began paying attention to the land around me, the trees, the animals, and the more than human world that held me. Time in the woods helped me begin to rewild my mind. It reminded me that I belonged to something larger and steadier than my fear.
Over time these embodied practices helped me loosen my dependence on Xanax until I stepped away from it completely in late 2024 after thirty years of use.
These practices also gave me the steadiness I needed to fly again. My first flight after nearly two decades was a long one to Amsterdam for the Global Inspiration Conference, a gathering of breathworkers from around the world. It was not a small step. It was a leap the old version of me could not have imagined. Since then I have flown many times with a steadiness that almost surprises me each time.
The journey back to myself also taught me something important about self-care.
I used to think it was only about comfort. What I have learned is that real self-care is something more loving and supportive than that. It is not about avoiding discomfort. It is about learning to stay with ourselves in new ways. Sometimes it asks us to sit in the places that once overwhelmed us, not as an act of force but as a way of supporting ourselves with love. Even when it feels uncomfortable, our practices are holding us as we meet what needs our attention.
Self-care is also about tenderness. It can be a warm bath with Epsom salts or a massage that helps the body settle. It can also be to simply take it easy on a quiet morning without rushing into your day. Complete self-care is gentleness and courage working together. It is leaning into discomfort when that is what heals us and leaning into delight when that is what nourishes us.
There are many paths that help us return to ourselves. Breathwork showed me what healing could look like. Time on the land helped me build a sanctuary of my own. And now even the simple act of playing a flute has become another way of remembering that it is safe to explore and learn.
If your inner world feels unsettled or uncertain, you might begin with something small. A breath deep into your belly, a slow mindful walk, or a warm bath that helps your body soften. These are simple things that do not ask you to perform, only to listen.
The practices that steady us do not need to be elaborate. They only need to help us return to the place inside that knows how to breathe and feel safe again.
What has helped me over the years is giving myself permission to stay with whatever feels real and letting supportive practices become part of my daily life. These gentle ways of returning to myself have carried me further than I ever expected.
If breathwork, walking meditation, or embodied healing speaks to something in you, you can click the link before to learn more about working together.
I offer a simple exploratory call where we look at where you are, what you are working on, and how these practices might support your life and your work.
But, more than anything, I hope you find the practices that help you remember your own presence. They are the doorway into the life that is already waiting for you.
*Click on this link to Explore Working Together
Keith Rowe is a breathworker, teacher, and founder of Vital Healing, a nonprofit that helps people reconnect with the wisdom of their heart through through breathwork, inner exploration, and walking meditation.
He is co-creator of the upcoming Walking Pilgrim app, a 33-day journey of mindful walking and presence. Sign up to receive updates for when it is released at walkingpilgrim.com.