Right now, I’m somewhere between worlds, writing this from the airport in Kuala Lumpur on my way to Australia. It’s been ten years since I last went there, and it feels like a full-circle moment. I am finally returning to the place where I first learned how to breathe again. This trip feels different. I’m not running away from anything this time.

I’m coming home — to the breath and to myself.

The first inhale

I grew up in a warm, loving home in the Netherlands: curious, playful, and full of lightness. But around the age of twelve, that bubble quietly burst. I became close friends with a girl whose home was filled with fear and control. Every visit felt tense, like walking on eggshells.

At first, I wanted to help her. But over time, she became more like her upbringing and became manipulative. Her sometimes implicitly spoken words to me — you’re not smart enough, not pretty enough, not good enough — slowly became my own. Bit by bit, I shrank. I learned to scan rooms for tension in the air and not to say or do the wrong thing in her eyes. My body stayed in alert mode long after I’d left her house. I didn’t know it then, but my teenage nervous system was learning how to survive.

One day, I remember cycling to my friend’s house, stopping mid-way, throwing my bike down and running into a field. I didn't want to go to her house anymore, but I felt like I had to. I screamed until my voice disappeared. I didn’t understand it, but my body did. It was my first, unconscious attempt to release what I had been holding for years. Looking back, that moment was where my journey toward healing and conscious breathing quietly began, even though I wasn’t aware of it at the time.

Holding my breath

By the time I finished high school, I felt disconnected and on autopilot. I studied mental health, but wasn’t ready to face the cracks in my own. I switched studies, entered a relationship, got a job and followed what society told me was 'the way to go.'

On paper, everything looked fine. Inside, I felt numb. I tried to find safety in relationships, in achievement, in being who others wanted me to be and what was supposed to make me happy. But it only pulled me further away from myself.

Along the way, as boys and love became more and more important, I started noticing something else; the subtle and not-so-subtle ways in which women are shaped and treated in the world. Men I dated often carried expectations of who I should be: softer, quieter, more pleasing. Most importantly, they seemed to all say: be what I want you to be, not who you are. Some experiences were uncomfortable; others crossed boundaries. There were moments when I felt unsafe or unseen, and I began to realize how much of our world still operates within a male framework that teaches women to adapt instead of expand.

That awareness increased the tension and alertness I was already feeling on the inside, the sense of having to make myself small and of holding everything in. My anxiety grew louder, panic attacks started occurring, and I felt increasingly trapped in a life that looked “right” but felt wrong. I didn’t yet realize I was, quite literally, holding my breath. I only knew that I was stuck, moving through life without truly living.

Then, one message from a friend changed everything:

“Do you want to come to Australia with me?”

Something in me said yes straight away. It was a yes that came not from the mind, but from somewhere deep within my body. And that yes would change everything.

The first exhale 

The 3-week trip didn’t bring a single big revelation or lightbulb moment, but it did start a shift in me. It brought peace and a sense of space that I hadn’t felt in years. Everything felt lighter: the people, the nature, the surroundings, the culture, even the air itself. It was the place where I began to truly breathe again, where I started letting go of the expectations and roles I had been living by back home.

Standing by the ocean, feeling the waves roll over my feet, I realized I didn’t want to live the same way anymore. Something inside me awakened. When I boarded the plane home, I cried quietly. I knew I couldn’t go back to living feeling numb. Australia had started something — a deep knowing that life could be lived differently.

Breathing myself back to life

Back home, I made a choice: I wouldn’t wait for someone else to make me happy. My knight in shining armour would not come to save me. It had to be me, and preferably without the armour I had been wearing for so long. I was done living in both a state of hyper-awareness and emptiness at the same time. I was done following what was expected of me.

I started making choices for myself, not for others. That became the beginning of a new chapter, a time of rebuilding myself. I stayed single for nearly ten years, not out of loneliness but out of freedom and curiosity. I learned what calmed me and what drained me. I explored, tried things, moved, laughed, cried, rested, and slowly came back to life.

Trail running cleared my mind. Yoga grounded me. Other forms of sports and dancing reconnected me with my own strength and helped me find my natural flow again. Psychology helped me understand my thoughts and behavioral patterns. Movement helped me reconnect to my body; it made me feel present and grounded again.

And then, almost by accident, I discovered breathwork. I joined a personal development course where I learned not just about the physiology of the breath, but also about its deeper, spiritual layers — how it connects body and mind, and how it influences the nervous system and our thoughts. I learned that deeper breathing could be profoundly therapeutic. Through faster breathing, I was brought into contact with emotions and memories that had been stored in my body for years without me realizing it.

Slowly, I learned to restore balance within myself. The tension in my body eased, my sleep improved, my migraines almost completely disappeared, and I began to feel stronger, more grounded, and more confident in my own mind. My thoughts changed from questioning myself to being sure:

I am worthy. I am enough.

Breathwork brought it all together and slowly started healing my spirit. It became the bridge between mind, body, and soul — the missing piece I hadn’t realized I was searching for. Through the breath, I released years of tension, learned to regulate my nervous system, and began to live with a sense of calm and clarity I had never known before. 

Coming home to myself

And now, ten years later, I’m returning to the same country, not to escape but to expand. To deepen what the breath has already taught me. To become certified as a Breathwork Instructor with Breathless, a Dutch–Australian organization that feels like the perfect mirror of my own journey.

When I found the training online, I got goosebumps and felt an instinctive knowing: this is what I need to do. The fact that it takes place in Australia, the land where I first learned to breathe freely, already felt symbolic. But realizing it was led by someone from the Netherlands made it feel as if all the pieces of my story were weaving together.

This trip is not only about the practices I’ll learn through Breathless, but also about developing and embodying everything I’ve learned so far on my journey. It’s about bringing it into the world with authenticity, presence, and joy. It’s about living as my most real, most authentic, and favourite self — and sharing that energy with others.

Breathing into the future

The breath has guided me from surviving to thriving. From feeling numb to feeling connected. It taught me that coming home isn’t about going back; it’s about remembering who you are, learning from your experiences and expanding into who you’re becoming.

Now, I want to help others do the same, especially those who know what it’s like to live in tension, to shrink themselves, or to forget what safety feels like in their own body or their own home. Because the breath, though not the only path, is a powerful one. It’s a foundation for healing, for regulation, for coming back to your natural rhythm. It’s an anchor, a medicine, and a way to your true home.

So here I am, flying to Australia again, full of excitement and smiling at the thought that this time, I’m not searching for myself. I already am me, returning home, consciously and joyfully, through every inhale and exhale.

Ten years ago, I went to Australia and learned how to breathe again.
Now I return, not to escape, but to expand.
To breathe deeper, live lighter, and help others do the same.