Getting Started with Conscious Connected breathwork

It is June 2021. After 15 years in London, I have just moved to Dublin. Like anyone new to a city, I want to make friends and find community. I’ve done a bit of breathwork in London and now feel a pull to try it in Ireland. I email a few facilitators and soon find myself cycling to Nadia’s house.  

I get there and Nadia greets me with a kind smile. She invites me into her family home. Photos of her children line the walls, giving the place a cosy, lived-in feel. She brings me a tea and we chat on the couch. “So, what got you interested in breathwork?” she asks.

I talk about my background and that I’ve done a couple of sessions in London. I remember the toning was pretty loud and am worried about making lots of noise with her kids around. She laughs and reassures me: “Don’t worry. They breathe.”

She coaches me on what I really want. She then invites me to set an intention. I think about what I need most and say: “To truly land in my new home.” “Let’s connect to that,” she says.

After a quick trip to the bathroom, I lie down on a mattress. Nadia dims the lights and puts on some music. She observes my natural breathing pattern. She then guides me to begin conscious connected breathing. This mean I’m breathing through my mouth, expanding the inhale, and letting go of the exhale with as little effort and sound as possible. The inhale and the exhale are 'connected' - no gaps or pauses.

She offers an invocation to open the session: “May the breath bring Paul perfect connection, transformation, and integration.” It feels like a ritual. Like something sacred.

At first, my breathing is awkward. Resistance comes quickly. My thinking kicks in: “What am I doing? This is stupid.” I know this is normal—it is not called breathwork for nothing.

A tingling sensation starts to spread to my hands and face, but I remember Nadia mentioning this was normal and due to the change of CO2 in my body. She then asks me to tone—making a clear loud ‘A’ sound—and to kick and pound the mat. I feel ridiculous. A weak, half-hearted sound escapes my lips. But as I lean in, something shifts. The toning gets louder. More natural. And with it, a release. The tension and resistance beginning to soften.

I return to the breath, this time with more ease. The mental chatter fading into the background. I feel Nadia pushing her finger under the bottom of my left rib. It feels a little strange, sort of sensitive but kind of soothing - like waking up an area I’ve ignored. As she lifts her hand away, I notice my belly moving more freely.

Random memories float in—an awkward interaction at work, a silly moment laughing with my sister. They float in and out, untangling without analysis.

Nadia supports the back of my neck, echoing infancy. Her hands find a sore spot in my shoulder. She whispers affirmations “I let go of all that doesn’t serve”

Waves of anger surface. Rejection. Frustration. Times when I could have stood up for myself. My face tightens, my breath quickens. “Breathe through it, Paul. Trust the breath” Nadia reminds me.

And I do. The breath like a thread pulling me through the emotion.

She asks me to tone again. This time I don’t hold back. I roar, kick, and pound the mat. A big release of anger. I’m not thinking about the emotion. I’m not analysing it. I am feeling it, feeling it fully.

After the storm, calm.

Nadia repeats my intention, more softly this time: “I connect to my new home.”

Her words land in fertile soil – my brain open to possibility.   

The music slows as the session moves into integration. Nadia drapes a blanket over me and places a mask over my eyes. I stretch out, get comfy and journey inward.

Sensations flicker across my body. Dreams, half-formed thoughts, and deep feelings surface. I twitch, cry, even laugh. The music speaks directly to my heart: a lyric helping me see how hard I am on myself, another helping me connect to a more compassionate part of me.

Towards the end, I feel energy rise to my forehead. Soft rainbows pulse in my mind’s eye - like my kids’ dreamcatcher.

“Slowly…slowly… come back into the room,” Nadia’s voice floats in. “Wiggle your fingers and toes—gently, in your own time.”

I sttttrrreeetttccchhh, feeling spacious and alive. “Wow,” I whisper. I can’t believe how great I feel.

She smiles, gives me some water and a piece of chocolate. We sit on the couch to reflect. I share what came up. She listens and offers insights. I realise how disconnected I am from my breath – and commit to five minutes a day to reconnect.

As I cycle home, I’m still buzzing. I can’t stop smiling. It’s a Wednesday afternoon! And I’ve just had that experience.