Bleed You Out

His face at first just ghostly. That's not true. He wasn't ghostly until so much later. After I'd already fallen in love with him and given my heart and body away to someone so much worse - because he was there, because he was interested in that deliciously toxic sort of way, because you were dying and I couldn't touch you and nobody saw me and watching you pale was turning me ghostly. All the pale grey concrete that exists inside me now is a product of that time and having to just stand there and work there and focus on sales there and teach cuban motion and proper frame and down-up-up while you died in slow motion in front of me.

And I had to keep up my well-dressed smile, my Coco Chanel illusion, my smile. While he assaulted me. While you fell apart like wet paper, only ever looking at me with sad eyes that said more to me that one day on the benches than your words ever did. Let's not do that, one of the last things you said to me and the closest you ever came. I loved you, I gave myself to him. Maybe that's the kernel of shame, black like a cinder, that lives at the bottom of this story? Shame-filled kernel, remnant of that volcanic time in my life. That volcano. That made - I don't think me hungry for life but scared of life - I think my body. It made my body scared. The way the Wolf dismissed my nos as much as Kenn turned more ghostly every time I saw him. And no one talked to me about that, so here's what I internalized:

You can never trust your body. The more radiant you are, the more something in this world wants to take it from you. Cut you down. Bleed you out. Turn you ghostly, just to show you that it can. 

Boys are the same way, I know that now.

So-called men, too.

🎧 Bring This Prompt into Your Own Body

The essay you just read began as a prompt inside the Body Writers Circle. We take our prompts from song lyrics and write whatever our bodies want to say. If your own body feels full or unsafe to exist in today, I invite you to try this gentle Body Writing™ practice:

Set the Mood: 

Get cozy, plug in headphones and sink into this week's featured song on Spotify.

Listen:

Close your eyes. Don't worry about the lyrics or what they mean intellectually. Just notice how the rhythm, melody and vibe affect your body. What do you feel opening up and coming forward?

Write:

Open your journal and write the opening lyric (His face at first just ghostly...) at the top of your page. Don't try to match my writing; just notice: what does it bring up for you? What does it make your body want to say? Write for three pages – without editing, censoring yourself or trying to make your writing "good."

Why Journaling Alone Is Only the First Step

While practicing this alone can bring beautiful moments of connection and relief, trying to navigate your deepest, most intense stories alone is a big ask for a sensitive nervous system. When you're the only one holding the pen and the space, your inner critic takes charge easily, causing you to freeze up or pull back before finding the deeper medicine.

True somatic resolution requires co-regulation.

Which is why doing this work inside an ultra-intimate, zero-critique group of just 5 to 6 women changes everything. In the Body Writers Circle, you don't carry emotional weight by yourself. The shared presence of our tiny, trusted community holds space for you – allowing you to feel safe venturing into the depths your body needs without freezing or flooding.

If you feel a quiet, resonant yes to this, you belong with us. 

A new, founding member circle is opening soon. (June 2026)

Add your name to the waitlist here, for first access to a space. 💗