Breathwork w/Ingunn Ytterhus

08/09/2026

we are built to protect ourselves. covering and hiding what we feel is one of the ways that instinct shows up, and we get so good at it that we stop noticing we are doing it at all. protecting yourself is not a flaw, it is the nervous system doing what it was designed to do. what protecting doesn't do is deal with the feeling. the body is where memory lives and where experience is stored, and what we could not feel then is waiting there now for a way through.

breathwork workshop. september 20 and november 8, 18:00, at glød yoga & pilates, oslo.

most people who find their way here already recognise some of this in themselves. they feel the weight of it, they want some relief from it, and they are looking for a way in that is not another conversation about it.

the lights go low, everyone lies down, and there is something about breathing in the same rhythm as the people around you that you will not get on your own.

we start slowly, and the breath stays soft while you land and settle into where you are, until the body answers on its own and the breathing begins to deepen. it is an active practice, and the breathing takes effort. what opens up on the other side of that effort is what we are actually here for, and it will not look the same for any two people lying in the room.

my voice and the music are with you the whole way through, and whatever rises or wants out is welcome in the room.

and afterwards we come into rest, which is where the receiving happens. the body gathers itself, and what moved begins to make sense in its own time.

welcome back if you have been here before, and welcome if you haven't.

september booking is open now, november opens closer to the date.

for more details and to save your spot, see the link in bio.

05/06/2026

some of the work we do on ourselves doesn’t look like work. there is no morning we sit down with it, no page we fill, no method, none of the steps we are told will carry us from one place to another. it lives somewhere beneath the days. and still, when it surfaces, when it arrives in the body, in the chest, in the way the shoulders gather, we meet it a fraction differently than before.

most of the time we don’t catch ourselves at it. it isn’t something we set out to do. it’s closer to the way a path wears in from being walked, without anyone meaning to make a path.

and then one day, paying attention, we notice the story we carried about this for so long has been coming apart at its edges. the emotion that used to rise with it rises slower now, or smaller, or not in the same place it used to. nothing announced it. there was no morning it lifted. it had been coming down gradually, without our noticing.

even then, the story doesn’t leave entirely. some of it stays in us, familiar, traceable. but the weight of it has shifted. what once took the whole body to hold has grown lighter to carry.

change rarely arrives the way we are taught to chase it. it gathers in us slowly, in all the moments we thought we were doing nothing, and shows itself only once it has already begun.

breathwork is how i came to notice the subtle, the slow movements beneath the louder ones. it is the practice i keep returning to. and if something in you has been refusing to move, it may already be moving, underneath, in a language slower than the one you are listening for.

25/05/2026

there are things you follow before you can explain why. before the proof arrives, before it makes sense to anyone else, sometimes before it makes sense to you. something that keeps calling even when the ground ahead is unclear. even when the timing is wrong. even when the voice in your head has a hundred reasons to wait.

you don’t always know if it is courage or stubbornness or just the inability to imagine going any other way. yet you stay.

the uncertainty doesn’t leave. if anything it grows with you, opens into new shapes, asks new things of you just when you thought you knew the terrain. no one really prepares you for that part.

and yet here you are. what you follow becomes yours.

16/05/2026

something moves through you.

and before it has landed, the mind is already there. turning it over. asking what it was, what it means, what it says about you.

the experience itself gets a moment, maybe two.
then it becomes material for thinking.

the felt thing, the actual thing, barely gets to be itself. and still, it leaves a mark.

13/05/2026

tender.

there are moments
that come without warning.

a conversation that cracks something open.
a piece of music.
a single look.

and suddenly you are in it
heart beating,
every nerve present,
something warm moving
from the chest outward.

tender.
a little frightening.
here.
unguarded.

yours.

07/05/2026

there are periods where the practice slips. life gets loud, the days fill up, and what usually comes first starts getting pushed to later, and later becomes not at all.

this quality of being present in yourself, in the body rather than just in the mind, doesn’t arrive on its own. it asks something of us. a return. a showing up. which is part of why we drift from it, and part of why it matters to come back.

when you do, something is waiting. the body holds a memory of what it felt like to be in it. that particular stillness, the connection that builds as the breath deepens, the feeling that doesn’t come from anywhere else. it returns, and with it a recognition that you haven’t lost as much ground as you thought.

this is what a practice builds. a familiarity that deepens the more you tend to it. something that gets a little more known with each visit, a little easier to find your way back to, even after some time away.

it accumulates in a way that only becomes visible over time. what it builds is something steadier than a mood or a moment. something that holds even when life gets loud again and the practice slips.

weekly classes in oslo, a regular space to return to.

workshops in oslo and online, for those who want more time and depth.

one to one sessions, for those who want to be met personally.

you are welcome. links in my bio.

04/05/2026

we have become very good at understanding our lives from a distance. we turn our experiences over in our minds, we find the words for them, we observe them and trace the shape of what they are. there is something restless in the way the mind works, the way it moves toward meaning, the way it tries to help us make sense of things.

the body holds its own language. the mind moves through experience by filtering, organising, making meaning. the body receives and stores sensation, tension, pattern and response. it doesn’t decide what to hold onto, the way the mind does.

we can understand something and still sense it sitting unfinished somewhere in the chest, the shoulders, the belly. and sometimes something stirs that we never went looking for. something we thought had passed, or never knew was there at all.

breathwork draws awareness into the part of us that thinks less and feels more. the body gets room to be felt. to be listened to, rather than managed. what has been held in the background of daily life may begin to soften. something that has been circling can find space to rest. what lives deeper has a chance to surface and find its way through.

understanding from a distance only takes us so far. the body holds something the mind cannot reach on its own. given space, it finds its way back.

28/04/2026

there was always something pulling. at sixteen i left my small town. different cities, different studies, different versions of what a life could look like. always with a sense that there was more, somewhere, if i just kept moving.

in my mid twenties i went to australia. a few months in i met someone. it felt immediately real. i applied for a masters to be able to stay. four years of building something that felt like it was finally going somewhere.

then he got offered a job in paris. we went, me and our dog.

paris was harder than i had expected. the outer life felt increasingly difficult to hold. we grew, but in different directions. eventually he ended things.

i was in my early thirties. no job, no home of my own, no money, friends scattered across different countries. i packed two suitcases leaving paris. one for going home. one for bali.

i had signed up for a yoga teacher training. what opened there i am still living from.

i came home and spent months going inward. coaches, body-based practices, communities, anything i could find. then i found a breathwork recording. i lay down, pressed play on something i didn’t fully understand, and felt something move through me that nothing else had reached. i trained as a facilitator the following year.

that was five years ago. since then i have sat with many people in this work. in weekly classes, in workshops and events, in private sessions. what all of that time has given me is harder to name than any training. a kind of presence, maybe. the ability to sense where someone is and meet them there.

what i offer comes from both sides. everything i have sat with in myself, and everything i have been trusted with in others.

i write here from inside the practice. about the kind of change that doesn’t always announce itself. and about my own process.

if any of this resonates, you’re welcome here. here is where you can find me:
weekly classes, blush yoga oslo / workshops, in person in oslo and online / private 1:1, link in bio.

19/01/2026