She takes in a deep breath, and waits before letting it out. (4, 4, 4, 4, the therapist her parents had taken her to had said, and almost nothing else he'd said to her had really helped that much but this she was grateful for).
She's not backlashed enough to be some sort of robot, right now, the way she was yesterday (and - this morning don't think about it)
She doesn't actually have to do this, for all that she started it automatically. It's comforting, noticing that she could stop, but she doesn't.
She counts to 4 again, and again, and again, and again, breathing slowly, carefully, and methodically.