Sometimes, you feel like you’ve paid your dues. You’re good, and it’s going to be smooth sailing ahead.

Last week, as part of my Breathwork certification, I gave a practicum to the teachers, mentors, and fellow students.

“You’re good to go,” the mentor said after our sound check just moments before the session.

I launch in with my Big Why.

“The reason why breathwork is so important to me is because it’s given me confidence, peace, and energy.” I share that breathwork is something I’ve relied on with more devotion to get me through these last two tough years.

Hearts and clap emojis from the group pop over the screen. “Thank you for sharing your story, Robin. Beautiful,” somebody writes in the chat. I’ve been doing this for a long time, but this is a new group; I’m relieved people are receptive.

I settle them all into their breathing positions. My introduction is finished.

I do the sound check motions I was given. Verbatim.

Click Share Screen, open Spotify, select Computer Audio, click Advanced Settings. Press play. Ready to go.

Nothing. No music.

My mentor messages me to simply share my screen with her so she can play it from her computer. I somehow communicate I have no clue how to do that.

“Bring your arms above your head,” I instruct the breathers while I scramble.

“Come now,” I text my daughter, “Spotify not working!”

In a flash she comes to my computer. Forgetting there is a mute button, I continue with a combination of hand signals and whisper, Help me.

She does what she’s done before: force quits the app, and after what seems like the longest minute, the sound returns. She scurries out of the room. Thumbs up. All good!

The music is timed. I’m in the zone. It’s going great. Three minutes later, my mentor messages, “We can’t hear any music, is it on?” At this point, I look down and see that I forgot to press the Share Music button.

Click. All good.

The music pipes through their computers, and I smoothly begin again, finishing without any more glitches.

My lead teacher’s most impressive feedback is, “Robin, your ability to recover was impressive. It’s a skill we could all use. No matter what happens in the next moment, we can proceed because it’s a new one. That moment could have otherwise had horrible results.”

I wasn’t really worried about that. Things always come through for me. I’ve always figured things out – a confidence maybe veering on arrogance.

But I have this one problem that I’m afraid I can’t figure out.

I want to be free. I want our girls to be free. I’ve spent the last twelve years untangling myself so I can breathe. I want my girls to have the option to choose their own breaths.

I always have the option to breathe and start again. I just have to pay attention to my breath. And then, when I arrive at the moment when I know everyone is free, I can breathe again.

So, what’s the problem? My one big problem I’m afraid I can’t figure out? Suddenly, I laugh out loud. How to work my computer. Thank God for my daughter. If she hadn’t swooped in and fixed my problem, my class would have been a disaster. She did all the fixing. And she didn’t miss a beat.

Maybe for now, all I need to do is learn how to work my Zoom.

The rest of it is Grace’s job.

Always has been.

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