When body battles breath, the victory goes to body as often as fleece defeats fire.
As you know—as well as you know anything else—body has no leverage over breath, even as breath has every leverage over body: to preserve the breath, even the subconscious—and, all the more, the mind—will readily sacrifice any and all of the body. No question. No exceptions.
When your fallen physical form pains you—whether physically or mentally—and you seek to recover bodily balance, and that recovery so much as does not improve your breathing: you can continue, as a vain and spendthrift hobby, but any seeming recovery will be only mimicry—and will melt away completely, the moment that your massive efforts cease. No question. No exceptions.
You are allowed, by the law of nature and nature’s God, to cripple yourself with bad priorities—even the worst priority: a faith that bad proirities, stubbornly long-held, will hold. Never. No question. No exceptions.
The requirement for a truce between body and breath—i.e. a surrender and subordination of body to breath—is the courage to humble yourself to the only rhythm that you can ever really even nearly control: the breath. Frantic breath-scolding never more than placates your vain impatience in that immediate, frantic moment. Rather, to be better breath-controlled arises only by humbly rephrasing the body’s posture and movement to obey the breath. No exceptions.