When we are afraid, the body remembers things the mind has forgotten. The stomach tightens. The shoulders rise toward the ears. The breath becomes shallow, as if trying not to be heard.
Bring your attention, slowly, to your belly. Place a hand there if it helps.
Notice — without changing anything yet — how the belly is right now. Is it held? Pulled in? Hard, like a small fist?
On your next breath, let the belly be soft. Not flat. Not pretty. Soft. Let it round out into your hand like a sleeping animal.
Some part of you may resist this. There are places in the world where a soft belly does not feel safe. Let yourself be slow about it. Soften only as much as you can right now.
Each breath in, the belly expands. Each breath out, it falls. You are not making this happen. You are letting it happen.
If a thought rises up — about tomorrow, about a meeting, about whether you should be doing this differently — let it pass through. The belly stays soft underneath it.
This is a posture you can come back to. In a chair, in a line, in the middle of a difficult conversation. Soft belly. One breath. Then the next.