Breath is Medicine : Unlocking the Healing Power of Breath for Wellness and Peace

Discover the Healing Power of Breath: Embrace Wellness with Every Inhale.

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Segment 1 · Episode 5

Breath is Medicine

To breathe better is to live better. — Dr. Kidi

Reflection

As a medical student on my first OB-GYN rotation, I stood in the delivery room holding my breath. A baby had just been born, and for a long second, there was only silence.

The tiny body lay still,

as if life had not yet arrived,

as if it were hovering between two worlds.

Then it came.

A sudden gasp, a piercing cry.

The first breath.

The first medicine.

The baby’s chest rose, its skin flushed with color, and the room filled with relief. Around me was a collective exhale, a release of a long sigh we had all been holding, the body’s instinctive reset, almost as powerful as the cry itself.

In science, we call this a physiological sigh, a deep double inhale followed by a long exhale.

I grew up hearing the sound of the physiological sigh, especially among the elders in Ethiopia. They called it Efoyta—two deep breaths followed by a long, unhurried exhale, often carried on the word Efoy. I didn’t know its value then; it was simply a sound of release woven into daily life, offering comfort without explanation.

For the doctors, nurses, and the patient’s partner in that room, the sigh brought the breath back into balance, into its regular rhythm, and signaled that it was safe to be here again. Amid the blur of hurried footsteps and the steady chorus of machines, the newborn took its second, third, fourth breaths, and on and on in constant rhythm as it will until its final day on Earth.

Now let’s step into the anatomy lab together, where the breath opened me to a different kind of experience.

My first close encounter with lifelessness was in the anatomy lab, a place where the living are studied through the stillness of the dead. Our group was assigned a cadaver, whom—at my urging—we named Lucy, after the first human skeleton unearthed in Ethiopia. Naming her softened the sharp edge of truth, though it could not disguise the detail that held my gaze: fingernails unevenly painted, chipped pink polish hinting at a story once alive.

I found myself wondering about her life. Did she paint those nails herself, or were they brushed on in a salon? Were the chips a choice, or just the quiet passing of time? Did she notice them one last time, believing there was still enough life left to make them whole again? Where was she when she took her final breath, still thinking she would fix them later?

I thought of my own moments, walking with chipped polish, promising I would remove it tomorrow.

For her, tomorrow never came.

For me, those small cracks became mirrors of the pauses and postponements of living.

That small, ordinary trace of her life pierced me. She died young, and I know there was a moment when we were connected by the same thin thread of breath until hers returned to the greater air. My imagination would not be quiet. I could not focus on anything but the stories I made up about the chipped polish. My mind hopped from one imagined scenario to the next while breathing air filled with a faint scent of formaldehyde.

For the full story, explore my short story journal series Tinfash, where I share pieces from my diary, on Substack.

I removed the polish and gently covered her hands, a small kindness for a task she could no longer finish. Maybe it was my way of saying goodbye and making peace with the limit of breathing. Maybe it was simply a student trying to pass a class. I will never know.

What I know is that medical school was where I first began to pay attention to breath, because everything we studied and practiced returned to preserving it. As a student, I witnessed breath in both healing and in absence. I learned to listen closely to its rate, its rhythm, and its fragile constancy.

Yet my journey through life has been one of learning about the essence of breath as something far more than air moving in and out. From the very first inhale to the final exhale, and in the quiet sighs that carry us between, breath holds the entire story of being human.

Breath is presence.

Breath is possibility.

Breath is restoration.

Breath is memory, a bridge between what was and what still remains.

Breath is the quiet medicine that draws us back to wholeness.

In the next few sections, we will travel the path to embrace breath as a healer, a companion, and a guide. I will share simple practices you can return to whenever you need to steady yourself, restore balance, or remember presence. Above all, I encourage you to remain curious, listen to your body closely, and learn continually from the most powerful healing tool you carry within you: the breath.

Recap: Stillness is a Form of Healing

In Stillness is a Form of Healing, I reflected on how stillness is not simply the absence of sound or movement, but a steady presence that allows the body and mind to restore. You can read the full reflection here. Life so often pulls us into noise, speed, and distraction. Yet beneath the rush, the body continues to speak in quiet signals: the ache in our shoulders, the heaviness behind our eyes, the quickened beat of the heart.

Stillness shows us that healing often arrives in the pause, the quiet space between intention and action.

Breath is the gentle guide back to that stillness—an anchor that steadies and a doorway that renews. It carries us through every moment of our lives, and when we meet it with mindfulness, breath itself becomes medicine. Each inhale creates space. Each exhale softens tension. In stillness, we notice our breathing and protect the peace where deep healing unfolds.

Returning to stillness and breathing mindfully requires intention. It is a process that asks for your active participation. As my friend David reminds me, stillness is a lifestyle and a long journey, not a switch to be flipped. Just as a joke loses its spark when explained, awakening cannot be handed down in words. His wisdom keeps me humble. True healing must be lived, breathed, and discovered through our own experience. I have shaped my writing not to be an answer, but a companion and guide to walk with you as you travel the path of stillness.

In the next few sections, we will begin with the basics of breath, exploring how it works in the body and learning to form a relationship with the very organ that keeps us alive.

There is more to Breath

We all begin the same way, with an inhale that opens our tiny bodies and a cry that announces our arrival into the world. From that first breath, respiration is more than biology. It becomes the rhythm of our days, repeated nearly 20,000 times, life rising and falling without our command. Something so essential, it often escapes our awareness. What if I told you that conscious breathing is the gateway to your healing?

You have seen breath appear in many forms as I have: the shallow, hurried breathing of someone gripped by anxiety, the steady rhythm of a runner finding their stride, the deep sigh of relief after receiving good news, the fragile whisper of breath at the bedside of the dying. In each of these, breath speaks its own language, carrying stories of presence, of struggle, of surrender, and of healing.

Unlike other systems like the heart in our body, which carry on faithfully beyond our reach, breath belongs to both worlds. It sustains us without effort, yet it is also something we can shape with intention. This dual nature is astonishing. It means in every breath, we have the ability to join the body and guide ourselves back to balance and healing. Each inhale is an opening, a widening of possibility, a fresh invitation to begin again. Each exhale is more than release. It is a softening, a letting go of what no longer serves us, a quiet return to stillness. Breath offers us a doorway into our own restoration, always waiting, always available. Let us choose to become conscious and use this gift to gently support our healing.

We can breathe to quiet the mind and return to the present moment.

Before sleep, we can slow it down to help the body soften into rest.

In moments of stress, a single deep breath can interrupt the spiral of worry.

Athletes can steady their breath to endure.

Singers can shape their breath to carry sound.

Parents can breathe deeply to calm themselves before calming a child.

To breathe with awareness is to stand inside this wonder.

To breathe with awareness is to return to balance.

To breathe with awareness is a way back to peace no matter what life holds.

Beneath the skin, protected by ribs, lies a quiet mystery that deserves our attention. So let us begin there.

This is not an anatomy lesson but an introduction to what so often remains unknown within us. To open a deeper connection to the organ that carries us, breath by breath. Meeting these inner parts is like meeting someone new. Once you learn their name and hear a glimpse of their story, you begin to see them differently, to understand them more clearly, to feel a quiet pull to protect them. The same is true of our organs, and here we begin with the one that sustains every moment of our lives: the lungs.

How Breath Begins

Seeds of a Hidden Forest

The lungs depicted as a vibrant forest, illustrating the intricate connection between nature and the human respiratory system.

Before you ever took your first breath, your body was already preparing for life. Picture yourself as small as a grain of rice, only weeks after conception. Even then, tiny buds began to grow, stretching outward like the first branches of a tree. As you developed, those branches divided again and again, until thousands of little tips appeared. Each tip was like a leaf waiting for sunlight. These tiny leaves are called alveoli, and they are the places where, one day, breath would bring oxygen in and send carbon dioxide out, keeping you alive with every inhale and exhale.

The First Cry: Medicine of Life

At birth, the alveoli were still folded and silent, holding the quiet promise of air. With your very first cry, they opened and filled, ready to exchange oxygen and carbon dioxide. That first cry was more than a sound. It was the beginning of life on Earth, the first medicine. Over time, the alveoli multiplied into hundreds of millions, creating a surface as vast as a forest canopy within your chest. Every breath you take depends on this hidden landscape, a living forest of air where life is renewed with each inhale and each exhale.

The Muscle Beneath the Breath

The Lung Anatomy Illustration: Trachea, alveoli, diaphragm and oxygen and carbon dioxide exchange.

This inner forest does not breathe on its own. The work belongs to the diaphragm, the great muscle of breath. Shaped like a dome beneath your lungs, it moves with quiet strength through every moment of your life. As it contracts, it flattens and draws downward, creating space for your lungs to fill. As it relaxes, it rises once more, gently pressing the air back out.

Practice Before Birth

Even before birth, the body was rehearsing this life-giving dance. Babies do not breathe air in the womb, since oxygen flows through the umbilical cord, yet their diaphragms still rise and fall in practice. These tiny motions prepare the lungs for the first cry. Sometimes they appear as hiccups, those small rhythmic taps a pregnant mother may feel deep within her belly. I remember them as gentle drumbeats inside my own body, reminders that a child was practicing the breath of life long before meeting the air.

The Forest and the Wind

Together, the lungs and the diaphragm create the wind that moves through this hidden forest. Each inhale sweeps oxygen deep into the alveoli, like sunlight pouring through countless leaves to nourish the body with energy. Each exhale carries carbon dioxide away, like shadows drifting back into the air. The forest, the wind, and the exchange between them form one living scene inside you, working silently to sustain every heartbeat, every step, and every thought.

If you would like to learn more about the breathing process, you can explore further through this link.

Air and Breath

The forest within us reveals the wonder of breathing, yet there is still a deeper mystery to explore. Air surrounds us everywhere, but breath is what transforms it into life. Air drifts through the world unseen, while breath becomes the song of the body, the exchange that keeps us alive.

To pause with this difference is to glimpse the sacred work of the lungs. In the next section, we turn to the space between air and breath, and to the healing hidden in the transformation that happens with every inhale and every exhale.

For those who would like to read more about the science of how lungs develop, you can explore this detailed review on alveolar development here.

How Breath Becomes Medicine: Healing Through Every Inhale and Exhale

We have seen how the body breathes. Now let us explore how breath itself becomes a tool for healing. At its core, breath is more than air moving in and out.

Most of the body carries on without us. The heart beats faithfully. Digestion does its quiet work. The liver keeps its steady rhythm. Blood moves without asking permission. Breath, however, belongs to two worlds. It continues without our notice, yet it also answers when we turn toward it. We can slow it, deepen it, soften it, and in doing so we open a path toward healing. This unique flexibility is what gives breath its healing power.

Try this simple practice with me.

Place two fingers gently on one side of your neck and feel your pulse beneath your skin.

Count the beats for ten seconds.

Now see if you can make it move faster.

Could you?

Next, notice your breath.

Count the number of breaths you took in ten seconds.

Then breathe a little faster and count again for 10 seconds.

Did the number change?

What you just witnessed is the remarkable flexibility of the breath, a tool that can guide us into healing. Slow, steady breathing can lower the heart rate, lowers blood pressure, and gently lead the nervous system toward calm. In this way, breath itself becomes medicine, always within reach, as close as your next inhale.

Yet, for all its power, we often overlook it. We pass it by without noticing, forgetting the gift that sustains us moment by moment.

We take breath for granted

In medical school, I often pictured the body mirrored in nature as a way to learn and remember. The lungs became a hidden forest, branches and leaves unfolding in silence beneath the shelter of the ribs. This living forest is designed to keep us well, constantly signaling what it needs to thrive. But when those signals are ignored, the forest can grow scarred and brittle, its canopy no longer swaying as it should.

One of my patients, whom I will call Ms. Mary, struggled to listen to her body. Each month she arrived at the clinic carrying the weight of her portable oxygen and the burden of COPD. Chronic obstructive pulmonary disease is a slow suffocation of the inner forest, where branches narrow and stiffen until every breath feels like pulling air through a too-thin straw. She had smoked since she was seventeen, back when cigarettes were sold as symbols of sophistication and glamour.

Now in her sixties, the years of smoke are etched into her body. Her skin has the dryness of autumn leaves that crumble at a touch. Fine cuts line her face, carved by inhaled fire. And her eyes, often reddened, look both weary and sharp.

When I step into the room, she greets me with a smile that seems permanent, rooted deep into her being. Her teeth are stained, her voice husky, her words heavy with the effort of breath as if her lungs are forcing out sounds against their own resistance. Each sentence emerges slowly with her tongue sticking to every hard consonant.

More times than I can count, she has promised herself freedom from the fire that burned her forest. Each visit we built careful plans, step by step, paths meant to lead her out of the smoke. Yet each relapse brought her back, retracing her steps into the same clearing. I saw it in her eyes, heard it in her rasping voice, even before she admitted it.

I asked the question I always ask. “So, how is it going?”

She let out a sound that is part laugh and part sigh. “I took my breath for granted again,” she said, pulling a pack of cigarettes from her pocket and handing it to me. This was our ritual. The cigarettes pass from her hand to mine, then to the trash, a silent reminder of how easily we forget the gift of breath, how quickly we trade the life of our forest for what harms it.

Ms. Mary is not alone. People have been inhaling substances that damage the beautifully designed system of the lungs for centuries. Even as societies, we allow our air, the only food for our inner forests, to be polluted.

I often wonder why. Is it because we do not truly value life? Or have we lost connection to the body and its tireless effort to keep us alive? Or is it simply that we take our breath for granted?

I do not have all the answers.

But I do have experience and the conviction to guide you to pause, to listen, to reconnect to your body.

The body speaks when it's well and when it's not.

Every sigh is a relief.

Every cough is a broken branch.

Every slow deep breath opens a space to heal.

Every bout of shortness of breath is a canopy closing in.

Every husky voice or patch of dry skin is the soil crying out, “Please stop. Pay attention.”

Ms. Mary was caught in an addiction so strong it asked her to sacrifice the very thing that kept her alive. I have never personally felt the terror of gasping for air, yet in my practice, I have witnessed many like her. I have seen the grip of anxiety when breath becomes shallow and elusive. I have watched the chest of someone with heart failure tighten as if drowning in open air. I cannot claim to know exactly how that struggle feels, because unless you live it, you cannot fully know the anguish it brings. What I did learn was never to take the forest within for granted. It is fragile, yet also resilient when tended with care.

One day our breathing will stop and the forest will fall silent. But today, while it is still green and the gift of breath is ours, we can use each inhale and exhale to steady ourselves, to heal, and to find balance. To breathe better is to live better.

Science now affirms what healing traditions have long taught: intentional breathing can shift how we feel in real time. My hope is to guide you into deeper awareness of your breath, to show you how it works, and how it can become a tool for healing.

One practice I return to often is what I call the Efoy Physiological Belly Sigh. It is simple yet powerful, offering the body a quick reset when tension builds. I invite you to try it with me, and then explore other breathing practices to discover which ones meet you best.

The Dr. Kidi Reset: Efoy Physiological Belly Sigh

Across cultures, people have turned to chanting, rhythmic breathing, and many other techniques to support healing. What they share in common is simple: shallow breaths can create tension, while slow, steady breaths can quiet the mind and invite peace. Each practice may be different, yet all point to the same truth: breath is medicine.

Here, I focus on two simple and effective breathing practices: belly breathing and the physiological sigh. Both can be done anywhere, at any time. Both gently guide the body back toward calm. Together, these two practices form what I call the Efoy Physiological Belly Sigh, a simple but powerful way to restore balance.

Belly Breathing (Diaphragmatic Breathing)

What it is: Belly breathing activates the diaphragm. Instead of shallow chest breaths, you breathe deeply into the belly, signaling safety to the nervous system.

How to Practice

• Sit comfortably or lie down. Place one hand on your belly and the other on your chest.

• Inhale slowly through your nose, letting your belly rise while your chest stays still.

• Exhale gently through your mouth, feeling your belly fall.

• Practice few times.

  
  

The Physiological Sigh

What it is: The physiological sigh is a natural reset. It is the body’s way of releasing tension. Practicing it on purpose helps the mind and body return to balance.

How to Practice

• Inhale deeply through your nose.

• Take a second, smaller inhale on top of the first, as if topping up your breath.

• Exhale slowly and completely through your mouth with a soft sigh.

  
  

Efoy Physiological Belly Sigh

A Dr. Kidi Reset Practice

This practice combines the grounding of belly breathing with the release of the physiological sigh. It is simple, gentle, and deeply effective. Use it whenever stress rises, when you need to reset, or when you want to return to calm.

How to Practice

1. Find Your Seat: Sit comfortably with your back supported or lie down. Place one hand on your belly and one on your chest.

2. Begin with Belly Breathing

   • Inhale slowly through your nose, letting your belly rise.

   • Exhale gently through your mouth, letting your belly fall.

   • Continue for 3–4 breaths to settle.

3. Add the Physiological Sigh

   • Inhale deeply through your nose, belly expanding.

   • Take a smaller inhale on top of the first.

   • Exhale slowly through your mouth with a soft sigh.

4. Repeat the Cycle: Alternate between belly breathing and the physiological sigh. Try 3–5 rounds, noticing the body soften and the mind clear.

How to Measure Progress in Your Breath Practice

Progress in breathwork is not about perfection. It is not about holding your inhale longer than someone else or reaching a certain number of breaths per minute. Breath is personal. It is intimate. It is the rhythm of your own body speaking back to you.

Gentle ways to notice change

• Awareness: Do you notice your breath more often during the day? Awareness itself is progress. The moment you pause to feel an inhale or soften an exhale, you have already shifted something within.

• Recovery from stress: Pay attention to how quickly your body settles after a stressful moment. Do you find yourself returning to calm with greater ease when you use your breath intentionally? That shortened recovery time is a sign of healing.

• Physical signs: Notice your shoulders, jaw, and chest. Are they less tight after a few rounds of belly breathing or a physiological sigh? The release of tension is the body’s way of showing you the breath is doing its work.

• Energy and clarity: Over time, mindful breathing may leave you feeling less drained and more steady. Do you find your focus lasting longer, your mood balancing more quickly? This too is progress.

• Consistency over intensity: Progress is not about a single deep practice, but about choosing to return to your breath again and again. Even a minute or two, practiced daily, creates lasting change.

Remember. Progress in breathwork is not measured in numbers, but in presence. Each time you pause and breathe with awareness, you are restoring balance. Each time you choose your breath, you are teaching your body safety, peace, and healing.

What Next

Breath is the bridge between body and mind, a rhythm that belongs both to the subconscious and the conscious. It is the one system we can surrender to and also shape. Choosing how to breathe is choosing how to live, how to steady ourselves, and how to open space for healing.

In my years of medicine, I have stood at all three thresholds of breath. I witnessed the first gasp of a newborn, proof that breath itself is medicine, carrying life into fragile lungs. I was by Lucy's bedside, the cadaver with chipped pink polish, who reminded me that even in stillness, the last breath leaves behind a story, a lesson, a gift. And in between, I have walked with patients like Ms. Mary, who struggled with addiction and illness, and in her fight showed me how easily we take breath for granted until it is nearly gone.

The first breath, the last breath, and the breaths in between.

Together they became my teachers. Each one a reminder that our lungs are companions, our breath is presence, and our life is measured not only in years but in the way we breathe.

My hope is simple.

That you will come to know your lungs not as distant organs but as companions to cherish and protect.

That you will see your breath not as air alone but as medicine and presence.

That you will learn to use it as a guide toward prevention, healing, and wholeness.

May you never take your breath for granted.

When you are ready, step gently into my reflection space and let your breath carry you deeper.

Dr. Kidi's Healing Space

The Efoy Physiological Belly Sigh: A calming breath practice to release stress, reset the body, and return to peace

I invite you to join me in this guided breathing, which blends the grounding of belly breathing with the release of the Efoy physiological sigh. Gentle, effective, and always available, this practice is here for you whenever stress rises, when you feel scattered, or when you want to return to calm.

Tinfash (Breath) Journal Invitation

Take a quiet moment after your practice to reflect in writing. Use this prompts to guide you:

How does my breathing change the way I feel in response to stress?

Healing Words to Repeat

At the close of your practice, place your hands gently on your belly and repeat:

My breath is medicine, bringing space and peace.

Call to Connection

I would love to hear how this practice moved through you.

What challenges did you face as you tried to use your breath to heal?

Share your reflections in the comments on the blog so we can continue the conversation.

If you share on social media, tag me on Instagram @drkidi.healing so we can stay connected and walk this path together.

Until next time, trust the breath. Keep listening. Healing knows the way.