A Moment to Take a Breath
If you’ve ever spent more than an hour in one of my streams, you’ve probably noticed a pattern. Every hour I take a short break. I pause whatever game I’m playing and step away from the mic for three to five minutes. It’s a time to refill my water bottle, stretch my legs, and check on my pups. These breaks have become a personal ritual for me. They are a way to reset, not just physically, but emotionally and mentally too.
Streaming, while something I deeply enjoy, can also be incredibly draining. You’re “on” the entire time: interacting, entertaining, reacting, thinking ahead. There’s a constant push to perform, to be present, to keep the energy going. And when you live with social anxiety like I do, that kind of sustained engagement takes a toll. Even if my viewer count is zero.
So when I take that break at the top of the hour, I’m doing more than just stepping away. I’m making space for myself to breathe.. And when I come back from those few minutes away, I don’t jump straight back into the flow. I pause. I breathe. And I invite everyone watching to do the same. It’s a simple moment. One deep breath in. One deep breath out. Sometimes I’ll it’s more than a single breathe.
I started doing it almost instinctively. After returning from a break, I noticed that I still felt keyed up, still buzzing from the last hour’s energy, still overthinking something I said or didn’t say. So I stopped. I took a breath. I told myself, “You’re okay. You’re back. Let’s start fresh.” Then, something told me: Maybe others need this too.
So I started inviting my viewers to breathe with me.
That moment, those few seconds of shared stillness, became a powerful point of connection. Not in the flashy, viral content kind of way, but in a quiet, human one. In that breath, we’re all just people. Not streamer and audience. Not usernames chatting online. We’re people. Breathing through our own stress, our own doubts, our own anxiety. Together.
And here’s the thing: we don’t often get that in our digital spaces. Most online environments are fast-paced, designed to keep you scrolling, clicking, reacting. Even in live content like streaming, there’s a pressure to constantly be doing something. Silence can feel like a threat. Stillness can feel like a failure.
But I’ve learned, and I’m still learning, that stillness is not failure. It creates room for reflection. It invites vulnerability. And sometimes, it’s exactly what we need to keep going.
For me, it’s also an anchor. When anxiety starts creeping in, when the little voice in my head starts asking if I’m doing enough, if I’m being enough, the breath is a reminder that I don’t have to prove anything in that moment. I just have to be present. I just have to breathe.
That’s a huge part of why I do this. Because streaming isn’t always easy for me. I love it, but I also wrestle with it. I have days where doubt gnaws at me, where I wonder if what I’m doing matters, if I’m connecting, if I belong. Taking that breath helps me push back against those feelings. It’s a tiny act of resistance against the noise in my head.
And by sharing it with others, I hope it becomes something more than just a personal coping mechanism. I hope it becomes a shared pause that offers comfort, permission, and peace.
Some viewers have told me they look forward to those breaths. That they needed that pause more than they realized. That it helped them refocus, feel less alone, or even just remember to drink water. That means the world to me. Because this little habit has turned into healing.
For me.
For others.
It’s funny how something so small can carry so much meaning. But maybe that’s the point. We live in a world where everything’s always moving, always demanding more. To pause, even for a few seconds, is a radical act of self-kindness.
So if you ever drop by my stream and see me take that breath, now you know why. It’s not filler. It’s not empty space. It’s a sacred moment, however small, where we choose presence over pressure. Where we let go of what we were holding onto for just a heartbeat. Where we remember that we’re allowed to slow down.
It’s a breath for me. A breath for you. A breath for anyone who needs one.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s exactly what we need.
Jesús M. Rivera 