From Practice — why movement deepens the breath
- Anna-Karina Schmitt
- Jun 4
- 5 min read
Recently, after a practice of slow, spacious breathing and moments of deep stillness, I guided a client through a one-hour traditional yoga sequence. What he shared afterwards was deeply insightful and made me pause with a really good feeling from the inside.
Not only because it captured exactly why I had chosen this progression, but also because it confirmed something I deeply trust in my work: the ability to sense, read, and respond to the state of a person's nervous system.
He said:
"I felt like I was sinking into the ground. Not just lying on it... I was in it."
Then he asked:
"Why is meditation in Savasana after a practice like this so much deeper than when I simply sit down and meditate?"
It’s a powerful question, that I want to give an answer to in this blog.
The question points to something fundamental that yoga practitioners have been exploring for thousands of years, something that modern science is only beginning to understand and explain.
This article has been sitting in my drafts for about a month. Then, just yesterday, during a lesson of my Breath Resilience Instructor training with Martin McPhilimey, the exact same topic surfaced, this time through the lens of nervous system regulation and respiratory physiology. What fascinates me is that both perspectives point toward the same truth.
Yoga practitioners have been exploring this territory for thousands of years through direct experience. Modern neuroscience and respiratory physiology are now beginning to provide explanations for what practitioners have already known intuitively.
The language is different. The experience is the same.
“The Breath Does Not Exist in Isolation”
Breathing never exists in isolation. It is shaped by our lifestyle, habitual tension patterns, physical condition, and even the way we think. So many factors feed into it.
This is why “healthy breathing” is never a one-size-fits-all concept. A single breathing technique cannot simply fix anything on its own — without context, without observation, and without ongoing, individualized work.
From a physiological perspective, we often think about breathing as something that happens in the lungs. But breathing is a whole-body process.The rib cage moves. The diaphragm moves.
The spine moves.The pelvic floor responds. The abdominal wall adapts.
Even the hips, shoulders, neck, and upper back influence the quality of every breath we take. This is something I have embodied through years of practicing Iyengar Yoga.
The practice teaches us to pay attention to the relationships within the body. To understand that restriction in one area often affects something seemingly unrelated elsewhere.
Take the hip flexors, for example. Many people spend large portions of their day sitting. Over time, the hip flexors can become restricted, weak, or chronically tense. What is often overlooked is their intimate relationship with the diaphragm and surrounding breathing structures.
The same is true for the shoulders, chest, upper back, and neck.
When these areas lose mobility, breathing often becomes less efficient. Not because we consciously choose to breathe poorly.
But because the body can no longer move freely enough to support the breath it was designed for. Movement restores options. It creates space. And space changes breathing.
The Noise Behind the Breath
Yet the physical body is only one part of the story. The other part is what I learned is called "noise." Mental noise. Emotional noise.
Stress.
Pressure.
Deadlines.
Constant stimulation.
The nervous system is continuously interpreting signals from both the body and the environment. When stress remains elevated over long periods, breathing naturally adapts in response.
The breath adjusts to help us cope — and in the short term, this is actually useful and adaptive. It supports performance and survival in demanding situations.
The challenge arises when this adaptation becomes the new baseline and is never rebalanced.
Over time, what we often call “dysfunctional breathing” are not the root cause, but rather a reflection of underlying stress, tension, and environmental load.
This distinction is important. We are not trying to “fix the breath” itself. We are creating the conditions in which the breath can reorganize and return to its natural rhythm.
What is actually happening when the breath adapts to these signals:
It is becoming faster.
Shallower.
Higher in the chest.
The body learns this pattern so well that it eventually begins to feel normal.
What we experience as "normal breathing" is often simply the breathing style our nervous system has adapted to.
And that adaptation can become self-reinforcing.
A stressed system encourages inefficient breathing. Inefficient breathing can further contribute to feelings of tension, agitation, and physiological stress. The cycle continues.
Why We Started With Breath
This particular client had already been practicing slow breathing protocols for several weeks. I knew from observation that these longer, gentler breathing intervals worked well for him.
His breathing became smoother.
His facial muscles softened.
His heart rate settled.
A gentle smile often appeared.
The signs were subtle, but clear.
After around ten minutes, is when the shift happened. The mind was still present, but much of the noise had faded into the background.
Not completely. But enough.
Enough for the nervous system to experience safety.
Enough for attention to become available again.
Enough for the body to begin leading the experience rather than the busy mind.
Adding Movement
After the breath practice came one hour of traditional yoga. Not aggressive movement. Not performance. Not pushing. Simply steady, mindful movement synchronized with the breath. The body began to participate fully.
Muscles activated.
Joints moved.
Fascia lengthened.
Awareness expanded.
Breathing became integrated into the entire system. The longer the practice continued, the less breathing seemed to be driven by thought and the more it emerged naturally from a body that was gradually releasing unnecessary tension. The body spoke. And the mind finally had a chance to listen more clearly. Less noice.
Why Savasana Felt Weightless
By the time he lay down in Savasana, stillness was no longer something he had to create.
It was already there. The breath was happening by itself.
Deep.
Unforced.
Complete.
He described it beautifully. "I felt like I was sinking into the ground."
From a yoga perspective, this is exactly why movement traditionally leads to meditation.
Asana was never intended solely as physical exercise.
Its purpose is to prepare the practitioner to sit in stillness. To reduce distraction.
To reduce suffering from our lives as human being.
To create the conditions for deeper awareness.
From a nervous system perspective, we might describe the same experience differently.
The breathing practice reduced noise.
The movement restored mobility and regulation.
The nervous system experienced safety.
The body stopped demanding attention.
And when the body no longer needs to shout, stillness becomes available.
Different Doorways, Same Destination
What this session reminded me of is that meditation is not simply about sitting still. It is about creating the conditions in which stillness can naturally emerge.
Sometimes the doorway is movement.
Move first. Then arrive in stillness.
And notice what changes.
Other times, the doorway is the breath itself, a slower rhythm, a longer exhale, a gentle signal to the nervous system that it is safe to soften.
And in many cases, the doorway is lifestyle itself.
If we want to reduce restlessness, tension, or anxiety, breathwork alone is often not enough.
The breath is frequently a symptom — pointing us toward something deeper that needs to be understood individually, person by person.
From breath to body to mind. Different entry points. The same destination. Stillness is not something we force. It is something we allow ourselves to return to.
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